ZAYAN — POV
The house is finally quiet.
Not the fake quiet.
The real one.
I sit on the couch like I've been dropped here and forgotten. One hand hooked over the armrest. The other flat on my thigh like it's keeping me grounded.
In front of me, on the single couch, Boo Boo is curled up tight.
Back to me.
Tail tucked.
Ears angled away.
Not even pretending I exist.
I huff a breath and lean forward a little.
"Are you still mad at me?"
No movement.
"Dude," I add, low. "It's been almost two years. You've lived with me two fucking years.
He flicks one ear.
Doesn't turn.
I snort despite myself. "You're unbelievable."
That gets me a side-eye.
Slow. Judgmental. Personal.
I laugh under my breath. It slips out before I can stop it.
"You really do have your mommy's attitude," I say. "She passed that shit down perfectly."
He lets out a short, offended meow. Sharp. Like a slap.
I lift my free hand. "Okay, okay. Not talking shit. I'm complimenting her. Relax."
Another meow. Louder. Arrogant as hell.
I smile without wanting to.
Then it fades.
My gaze drops to the floor. The words come out rougher than I expect.
"I didn't know," I say quietly. "I didn't know she was suffering like that."
My throat tightens. I hate it. I swallow and keep going anyway.
"She's… unreal," I mutter. "You know that? The way she laughs. The way she walks into rooms like nothing's eating her alive."
My jaw clenches.
"How the fuck do you do that?" I whisper. "How do you carry all that and still crack jokes like it's nothing?"
Boo Boo finally turns his head fully toward me.
Watching.
"She never cried in front of you, did she?" I ask. "Not in those three years."
I shake my head once. Hard.
"She cried in front of me," I say. "Two days ago"
My voice cuts. I don't fix it.
"She broke," I continue. "Like she finally put the weight down for one second."
My chest tightens so bad it pisses me off.
"And it broke me," I admit. "Watching her fall apart like that."
Boo Boo stands up.
Stretches.
Jumps down.
Walks straight to me like he made a decision.
He hops up, circles once, then settles right on my lap. Heavy. Warm. Solid.
Starts purring immediately.
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.
"Yeah," I murmur, fingers moving on instinct through his fur. "Just like her. Acting all tough. All offended."
I scratch under his chin. Slow.
"Soft as hell inside," I add.
The purring gets louder.
I go quiet again.
Minutes pass. Maybe more.
My hand keeps moving because stopping feels wrong.
Then the thoughts crawl back in. Ugly. Loud.
"Do you think she'll break more when she sees you here?" I ask him quietly.
Boo Boo blinks.
I swallow.
"Do you think she'll scream?" I ask. "Nah. She won't."
My jaw tightens.
"She'll freeze," I say. "Go quiet. Disappear into that place I can't reach."
The idea makes my stomach drop.
"That scares me," I admit. "More than her yelling. More than her hating me."
Boo Boo tilts his head like he's actually listening.
I let out a dry breath.
"Do you think she'll forgive me?" I ask. "For everything I've done."
I don't wait for an answer.
"No," I mutter. "I wouldn't."
I lean back into the couch, head dropping against the cushion. I stare at the ceiling like it's got something useful to say.
"She can hate me," I say. "As much as she wants."
My fingers curl slightly in his fur.
"I just hope she doesn't leave."
The words sit there. Naked. Dangerous.
Because if she does—
I don't finish it out loud.
I don't know how I'm supposed to breathe without her in the house. Without her footsteps. Without her silence filling rooms I didn't know could echo.
I stare at the ceiling and let it hit me fully.
If she leaves—
I don't know who the fuck I am after that.
Boo Boo presses closer, purring steady, like he's anchoring me to the couch.
I close my eyes.
And for the first time tonight—
I let myself be scared.
--------------------
Morning hits the house differently.
Cleaner. Sharper. Like nothing ugly is allowed to linger past sunrise.
I come in from the gym still warm, skin tight, lungs burning in that good way. Sweat cooling down my spine. Towel slung over my shoulder. Bottle already halfway empty because my body's still catching up.
I tilt my head back, drink.
And that's when I hear it.
Footsteps.
Light. Bare. Familiar in a way my body clocks before my brain does.
A smirk pulls at my mouth automatically.
Of course.
Timing has always been her thing.
I lower the bottle, eyes already on the staircase.
And then—
What the fuck.
I choke.
Actually choke.
Water goes down the wrong pipe. I cough hard, sharp, bend forward a little, hand braced on the counter as I spit and wheeze like an idiot.
Because she's coming down the stairs.
And she's wearing shorts.
Not long ones.
Not "technically still modest" ones.
Actual fucking shorts.
Bare legs.
All of them.
Long. Smooth. Unapologetic.
My brain blanks out mid-thought.
I forget how stairs work.
How gravity works.
How to be a functioning human being.
She doesn't rush.
Doesn't hesitate.
Just walks down like she didn't just rewrite my entire morning.
My eyes stick. I don't even pretend they don't.
Calves.
Thighs.
The way her steps make muscles move like they know they're being watched.
God.
She reaches the last step and finally looks at me.
One brow lifts.
"Dramatic in the morning?" she says.
Her voice is normal. Casual. Like she didn't just almost kill me with exposed skin.
I straighten slowly, still coughing a little because my body's a traitor.
"Yeah," I say hoarsely. "Nearly died."
She glances at the bottle. Then back at my face.
"That bad?"
I swallow. Force my eyes up. It takes effort. Actual effort.
"So," I say, clearing my throat. "You have legs."
She looks down at herself.
Looks back at me.
"No," she says flatly. "These are illusions."
I huff a laugh before I can stop it. Fuck.
"Could've fooled me," I mutter.
She steps closer. Not invading. Just enough to be felt.
My brain starts doing that dangerous thing where it forgets yesterday ever happened. Where it forgets pain and replaces it with heat.
She crosses her arms. Tilts her head.
"You're staring," she says.
"I'm observing," I correct.
She snorts. "Creepy."
"Accurate," I reply easily.
Her mouth twitches. Just barely. Like a smile trying not to be one.
She glances at my chest. My shoulders. The sweat still clinging to my skin.
"You're sweating, Zayan."
I lift one brow. Slow.
"Jealous?"
She rolls her eyes. "Please."
I lean my hip against the counter, casual like my pulse isn't doing laps.
"Morning workout," I add. "You know. Health. Discipline."
She hums. Looks pointedly at my arms.
"Looks exhausting."
"You have no idea."
Her gaze flicks back to my face. Holds.
There's something different in it. Not soft. Not guarded either. Just… sharp. Present.
Like she's aware of the space between us and choosing not to fill it.
"Why the shorts?" I ask before thinking.
She shrugs. Easy. Too easy.
"Why not?"
My jaw tightens. Because why now? Because that day cracked something open and now she's walking around like this?
Dangerous game.
"They're new," she adds.
I smirk. "I noticed."
She steps past me toward the fridge, brushing close enough that my arm heats where she doesn't touch.
"Control yourself," she says lightly.
"Trying," I reply. "You're making it difficult."
She opens the fridge, grabs a bottle, then looks back at me.
"That sounds like a you problem."
"Everything about you is a me problem."
The words slip out before I cage them.
She freezes. Just for half a second.
Then she straightens, face blank again.
"Don't start," she says.
"I didn't," I say quietly. "You walked down the stairs like that."
She scoffs. "Like what? Dressed like a human?"
"Like a threat," I say.
Her eyes flicker. Something dark. Amused. Aware.
She takes a sip of water. Slow. Watching me over the rim.
"You're still sweaty," she says again. "Go shower."
I grin. "Kicking me out?"
"Protecting myself," she shoots back.
Smart girl.
She moves toward the hallway.
I watch her go. Legs. Shorts. Confidence held together with spite and control.
Just before she turns the corner, she glances back.
"And Zayan?"
"Yeah."
She pauses.
"Try not to choke next time."
Then she's gone.
I stand there in the kitchen, bottle loose in my hand, heart pounding like it wants to punch through my ribs.
Fuck.
Two days ago she trusted me with her pain.
This morning she's reminding me she's still fire.
And I don't know which one is more dangerous.
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, exhale slowly.
This is going to ruin me.
Slowly.
Thoroughly.
And I let it.
I turn away from the kitchen before I do something stupid.
Or honest.
Both are dangerous right now.
I take the stairs two at a time, towel slipping on my shoulder, phone already in my hand like my body knows what it needs before my head catches up.
Dial.
Ring.
He picks up on the second tone.
"Izar"
"Yes?"
I don't slow down. Don't soften it.
"Don't come to the house today."
Silence. One beat. Two.
"What—"
"No male staff inside," I cut in. My voice stays level, but it's tight underneath. "Not a single one."
I hear movement on his end. Papers. A chair scraping. Panic trying to stay professional.
"Sir, is something—"
"You heard me," I snap. "No men inside the house. And turn off the fucking cameras indoors."
"What?" He doesn't even try to hide it now.
I stop halfway up the stairs, fingers digging into the railing.
"indoor cameras. Off," I repeat. Slower. Meaner. "Now."
A breath on the other end. Then, "Yes, sir."
"And one more thing," I add, already moving again. "Don't let the heirs in. If they show up, send them away."
Another pause. Shorter this time.
"Understood, sir."
The call cuts.
Good.
I reach my room, shut the door behind me, and the quiet slams into place like a held breath finally released.
I peel my shirt off and toss it aside. My skin still hums. Muscles tight. Head louder than my heartbeat.
Bathroom.
Lights on.
Shower.
The water hits hot and immediate, steam blooming around me like a wall. I step under it and—
Fuck.
I exhale hard. Like I've been holding something in my lungs since she walked down those stairs.
My shoulders drop. Just a fraction. Enough to feel it.
Water runs down my neck, my chest, my back. Goosebumps pop up anyway because my body's confused as hell. Hot water, cold realization.
She wore shorts.
Not for attention.
Not for me.
That's the part that messes me up.
She didn't glance at me first. Didn't check my reaction. Didn't brace. She just… existed. Comfortable. Unarmored.
Trust.
The word lands heavy.
If she's showing skin in front of me, it means something shifted. Something loosened. A thread she stopped pulling tight.
And I swear to God, I'm not allowed to fuck that up.
I tilt my head back under the spray and drag a hand through my hair. Water slicks it down, fingers catching, tugging harder than necessary.
But fuck, it's hard.
It's hard not to look.
Hard not to think.
Because my brain is a traitor and keeps replaying it like a highlight reel.
Her legs.
Bare.
Close.
First time I've seen them like that. First time I've seen all of her without layers and distance doing the work for me.
Yeah. I'm definitely a creep.
I press my palms flat against the tiled wall and laugh once under my breath. Low. Disbelieving.
"Get it together," I mutter to myself.
Because this isn't about wanting.
It's about respecting the space she finally stopped defending with barbed wire.
And still—
My jaw tightens.
Her calves flexing when she stepped down.
The way her thighs caught the light.
The way she didn't flinch when I looked.
Fuck.
I drag my hand down my face, water streaming over my knuckles.
"You're going to be the death of me," I say out loud, voice rough, swallowed by the spray. "You know that?"
She doesn't hear it.
Good.
Because if she did, she'd call me dramatic again and walk away like she didn't just rearrange my insides before breakfast.
I turn my back to the water, let it hit my spine, breathe through it.
This is new territory.
Two days ago she trusted me with her pain.
Today she trusted me with her body.
Not in a sexual way.
In a real way.
And I don't get to confuse the two.
I run my hands through my hair again, slower this time, forcing my thoughts to settle.
No rushing.
No pushing.
No staring like an idiot next time.
Just… be steady.
I shut my eyes, water still pouring, steam thick around me.
Fuck, Arshila.
You're going to ruin me.