Chapter 7: The Deal Unveiled
Mira sat on her bed, her baggy t-shirt draping loosely over her frame, and a pair of shorts barely covering her legs. Her phone rested beside her, the silence of the room comforting, if only for a moment. She stared out the window, watching as the light filtered through the curtains, casting shadows on the floor. The stillness of the afternoon was suddenly interrupted by the sharp ring of her phone. It startled her, pulling her out of her thoughts.
She glanced at the screen, recognizing Zack’s number. A small, hopeful smile played on her lips as she picked up the phone, pressing it to her ear.
"Hello?" Her voice was soft, filled with the warmth she reserved only for Zack.
"Mira, it’s Zack." His familiar voice brought immediate comfort, a sense of safety she hadn’t realized she craved. "I’ve been worried. I haven’t seen you for three days. I tried knocking on your door, even calling out your name. I had to reach out to a friend and got your number from the secretary. I hope that’s okay."
Mira’s face softened further, her lips curving into a more genuine smile. "It’s fine, Zack. I don’t mind at all. How have you been?"
"I’m doing well, Mira," he replied, his voice carrying that gentle concern that always reassured her. "I just wanted to check in since I haven’t seen you around."
Before she could respond, a sudden loud bang on the door shattered the moment. Her entire body tensed as the sound echoed through her large room. She quickly hung up the call, her fingers trembling slightly as she looked up, her heart beginning to race.
Standing in the doorway was Zamian, his presence commanding the room. It wasn’t just his intimidating confidence, something unsettlingly familiar; it was the way his cold, unwavering eyes locked onto hers. Her body froze under his gaze, her breath catching in her throat, a storm of shock and anger swirling within her, leaving her speechless. What was he doing here? The man she had encountered in the forest—the one who wanted to kill her—was her husband-to-be, if not already her husband.
His face remained impassive, emotionless, which somehow made his presence even more unsettling. As he crossed the room, he lowered himself into a chair opposite her, crossing his legs with a practiced ease that only intensified the oppressive air between them. Mira remained seated on the bed, her body stiff, every muscle tight with a mixture of fear and defiance.