Chapter 61: Threads of Possession
The lady turned to Zamian, bowing her head as she spoke, her voice trembling slightly. "P-Please... Why don’t I do it, Mr. Zamian?"
Her nervousness was palpable, and Zamian finally lowered his hand. She hadn’t expected him to be so possessive of his wife. If she had known, she would have brought a female tailor instead. She had chosen him because he was the best tailor they had, but now, in hindsight, it seemed wiser to handle the measuring herself, allowing the tailor to focus solely on crafting the dress.
Zamian’s reaction left her uneasy. She couldn’t afford to jeopardize this relationship; Zamian was one of their most important clients, and losing him would be a massive blow to the company. The thought sent a fresh wave of anxiety coursing through her.
Addressing Mira, the lady’s voice steadied as she said, "Could you come this way, please?"
Mira nodded, stepping forward and following the woman’s instructions. As the lady began measuring her, Mira noticed Zamian’s expression darken immediately. His eyes hardened, and his entire demeanor shifted, like a storm brewing just beneath the surface.
Mira could almost feel the tension radiating from him. She didn’t understand why he was so upset. The tailor was only trying to do his job. Yet the mere thought of another man touching Mira had sent Zamian spiraling into silent fury.
Zamian’s presence was overwhelming, and the lady clearly felt it. Beads of sweat formed on her brow, and her hands trembled as she took the measurements. Mira couldn’t blame her. Zamian had always been intense, but in this moment, his aura filled the room, suffocating everything around them. It was as if he had become the embodiment of raw intimidation, dominating the space with his energy alone.
As the lady continued measuring, Zamian spoke, his voice low, "Too close." The words caused the woman to bow her head even lower in submission.
She worked quickly, her movements becoming almost frantic. It was clear she wanted nothing more than to escape the room. Finally, she straightened up, her voice shaky, "Mr. Zamian, we’ll return in the evening to finalize the designs."
Zamian didn’t move, his eyes never leaving Mira. "No," he said firmly. "Come tomorrow."
The lady nodded quickly, relief flooding her features. "Of course, tomorrow it is. Thank you for working with us," she said, bowing deeply once more before practically fleeing the room. It was as if she were running from something far more terrifying than a simple tailoring job—something more dangerous.