"What are you doing here?"
The voice cuts through everything.
Deep. Cold. Familiar.
My head snaps up.
Behind him, standing in the shadows, is Zayan.
I know that voice anywhere. It does not matter how dark it is or how far he stands. It wraps around the room like it owns the air, like it owns me, and for a second my grip on the gun falters before I force it steady again.
He steps forward slowly, the shadows peeling back from his face inch by inch. His expression is blank, completely unreadable, but there is something wrong in his eyes.
Something darker than before. Something that does not bother pretending anymore.
Izar releases my wrist.
The sudden absence of his grip sends a strange jolt through me, but I do not move my gaze away from Zayan.
My hand lowers slightly, the gun still in my grip but no longer pressed forward.
Zayan steps fully into the light.
"What are you doing here, Arshila?" he asks again, his voice quieter now, but there is no softness in it. Not even a trace.
"None of your business," I shoot back instantly, my chin lifting despite the way my pulse is starting to race again.
His jaw tightens.
For a second, he says nothing. Then his teeth drag slowly over his lower lip, a sharp, controlled movement that looks almost like he is holding something back. His gaze flicks past me toward Izar, and something shifts.
Darkens.
"Get dressed," he says flatly.
There is no room for argument in his tone.
Izar nods once, like this is nothing new, like this is expected, and disappears back into the shadows without another word.
That leaves me alone with Zayan.
The air changes.
Heavy. Charged. Wrong.
He steps closer.
I react instantly, lifting the gun again and pointing it straight at him.
"Stay back," I warn, my voice tight. "Or I swear I'll shoot."
His gaze drops to the weapon, then lifts back to my face without any sign of concern.
"What are you doing in another man's house in the middle of the night?" he asks instead, his tone dangerously calm.
"I said it's none of your business," I snap.
Silence stretches.
Thick.
Then he moves.
Fast.
Too fast.
Before I can react, his hand snaps out, gripping me and lifting me clean off my feet like I weigh nothing.
The world tilts violently as he throws me over his shoulder in one sharp motion, my breath punching out of me from the impact.
"What the fuck are you doing?" I gasp, struggling instantly, my fists hitting his back as I try to push myself off. "Put me down, you fucking bastard!"
He does not even flinch.
"You sneak into another man's place at this hour," he says coldly, his grip tightening just enough to stop my movements from actually doing anything, "and you think I'm just going to let that go?"
I kick harder, twisting, trying to get free—
And then I snap.
My teeth sink into his shoulder.
Hard.
No hesitation. No warning. Just pure, pissed-off instinct. I bite down like I want to tear something out of him, like I want him to feel even a fraction of what he's doing to me.
His entire body goes rigid.
A sharp hiss cuts through the air, low and dangerous, dragged straight from his chest.
"Fuck—"
His hand tightens instantly against me, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, his steps faltering for the first time.
But he does not drop me.
Of course he doesn't.
I bite harder.
"Arshila—" his voice drops, rough now, edged with something that is not just anger. "Let. Go."
I don't.
If anything, I press my teeth deeper, fueled by the way his muscles tense under me, by that crack in his control.
Big mistake.
His hand slides up—fast—gripping the back of my neck, not enough to choke, but enough to force my head up. My teeth tear away from his shoulder, leaving behind heat and what I'm pretty fucking sure is going to bruise.
His breath is heavier now. Controlled, but barely.
"You want to play like that?" he murmurs, voice low against the back of my thigh, something dark curling through every word. "Go on. Keep testing me."
My chest rises and falls sharply, adrenaline spiking higher. "Maybe I fucking will."
A pause.
Then—
He laughs.
Not amused.
Not soft.
Dark.
"Careful," he says quietly, adjusting me on his shoulder like I weigh nothing, like I didn't just bite him hard enough to draw blood. "You're already in my hands. Don't give me more reasons to forget how to be gentle with you."
A chill runs straight down my spine.
"You don't get to control me," I snap, even as my voice comes out tighter than I want.
His grip tightens in response. Not enough to hurt. Enough to remind.
"I don't?"
The way he says it—
Calm. Certain.
Terrifying.
His thumb presses slowly into the back of my neck, forcing my head slightly to the side, exposing more of my throat even in this position.
"Then bite me again," he murmurs, almost curious. "Let's see how that ends for you."
My breath stutters.
Something in the way he says it—like he already knows exactly what he'll do—makes my body hesitate for the first time.
But I still twist, still fight, even as my pulse goes wild.
He continues walking.
Unbothered.
Unshaken.
Like the fact that I just sank my teeth into him means absolutely nothing.
"Let me go!" I snap again, but there is something weaker underneath it now, something I hate.
"If you don't stop moving," he says quietly, "I won't be gentle."
The warning hits different this time.
Because now I know exactly what that means.
We step out into the night.
The cold air hits my skin, but it does nothing to cool the heat building under it. He carries me across the marble path like this, like I am something he owns, something he has the right to handle however he wants.
I hate it.
I hate how easily he does it.
I twist again, trying to push myself up, but his hand presses harder against me, locking me in place.
"Zayan," I snap, my voice sharper now, "I swear to God—"
"Keep talking," he mutters. "It's not going to help you."
We reach the mansion.
He does not even slow down.
Instead of taking the elevator, he turns toward the stairs.
And starts climbing.
With me still thrown over his shoulder.
Each step jolts through me, my breath hitching with the motion as I grip onto him instinctively just to keep from slipping. My heart is racing now, pounding so hard it feels like it might break through my ribs.
"Fuck you," I bite out, anger burning through the fear.
"That's exactly what I'm going to do," he replies without hesitation.
The words hit like a slap.
I freeze for half a second, my body going still before instinct kicks back in and I try to push away again.
"Don't—" I start, but the words don't even come out properly.
He reaches the top.
Our room.
The door opens.
Then—
I am thrown.
The bed hits my back hard, the force bouncing me slightly before I manage to catch myself, my grip still locked around the gun.
My chest rises and falls rapidly as I push myself up, anger flashing across my face, my entire body still charged from the way he handled me.
I look at him.
Really look at him.
And something in my chest tightens.
Because this is not the man who was teasing me earlier.
This is not the man who smirks and plays and pretends like everything is under control.
This is something else.
His eyes are darker than I have ever seen them.
Cold.
Empty.
Violent.
Not a trace of softness.
Not even a hint of restraint.
Just pure rage sitting there, barely contained.
And for the first time since this all started—
I don't know what he is going to do next.
I snap before he can move.
The mattress dips as I shove myself up, bare feet hitting the cold floor, grounding me just enough to move fast, to think fast.
The gun comes up instantly, my arm locking straight as I aim it at him, my chest rising and falling too hard, too uneven.
"Stop right there."
Zayan exhales slowly, like this is nothing, like I am pointing a toy at him instead of something that can end him. His gaze drops to the gun, then lifts back to my face, completely unfazed.
"Give it to me," he says, voice low, controlled. "Where did you get it?"
He takes a step forward.
I tighten my grip. "Don't come any closer, Zayan. I will shoot you."
He doesn't stop.
Not even a second of hesitation.
Another step.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Like he already knows I won't.
Like he doesn't care if I do.
And that—
That is what breaks something in me.
A sharp breath leaves my lips as my arm shifts suddenly, the gun moving away from him—
And pressing against my own head.
Everything stops.
Zayan freezes.
For the first time tonight.
His entire body goes still, his eyes snapping to the gun at my temple, something sharp cutting through the darkness in them.
"Don't," he says, his voice dropping lower, rougher now. "Arshila—don't do that."
My finger tightens slightly on the trigger, my pulse screaming in my ears.
"Take another step," I say, my voice shaking but loud enough, sharp enough, "and I swear to God I'll pull it."
Silence slams into the room.
Heavy.
Breathing.
Alive.
I swallow hard, my gaze locked on him, refusing to look away, refusing to break.
"If you come close," I whisper, my voice breaking just enough to make it real, "I will fucking shoot myself."