Breathe. Stay calm. Press it down.
Statues, paintings, sofas, chairs… people.
Wet, soft, smooth—
I couldn’t focus.
Zaeem’d been pressuring me since earlier this afternoon to come back here, insisting that we have some special event tonight. Whatever that was meant to be, I didn’t care anymore. If Zaeem and Zeraiah wanted to spend time together, they could do it at the penthouse or anywhere they liked. But no, they had to drag me back here again and again.
When would Zaeem finally realise this place and that man were purevenom?Not just for me. Slowly, Dad would rot him and Zeraiah, too, until they end up broken and defective like me.
But today, he was so insistent. Almost pleading. He even said, “You’ll like this.”
Like?I scoffed. What on earth could make me happy these past few years? How could my brother possibly know, when even I didn’t?
But at the thought of that word,happy, only one face came to my mind.
Tshabina’s face.
As I stepped deeper into the residence, I stopped. Housemaids and staff rushed about, preparing the dining table nearby as I passed down the hallway from the living room to the family room.
Even the chef set out dishes on the table. The arrangement was meticulous: elegant cutlery, candles, and a vase of flowers. The napkins were perfectly folded, all in harmony.
What the hell?
“Who the hell is coming? Prince William?” I muttered, watching the frenzy.
Instead of amusing me, it made me sigh. Scenes like this usually meant one thing: either a celebration or some terribly important guest. It even reminded me a little of Christmas. Back then, we’d decorate the dining table in all its extravagance, eat together before church, and open our presents.
But Christmas was far off. No celebration on the calendar. Which meant they were welcoming someone.
I exhaled, my breath shallow and uneven.
One of the housemaids walked past, carrying a tray of drinks. I reached out and touched her shoulder, stopping her. “Who’s coming?” I asked, straight to the point.
The housemaid stopped mid-step and turned to me. “Guests of Mr Bakti and Mr Zaeem, sir,” she replied.
I frowned. “Who?”
She adjusted the tray in her hands, hesitant, as though searching for the right words. “If I’m not mistaken… Mr Tsabinu and his younger sister, sir.”
What?
My heart thudded, wild and frantic.
I couldn’t stop the sharp edge of my voice. “What did you say?” The ones who caused this fuss… were Tsabinu and Tshabina?!
No,she couldn’t come here.
I swallowed hard, glaring at the housemaid. “Tsabinu and his sibling?” My tone dropped, cold and sharp. “You mean, Tshabina?”Please, for fuck’s sake, tell me you’re wrong.
The housemaid fumbled, her eyes rounding as if they might burst. That look again. The same look everyone gave me. I had to bite down hard on the urge to explode. “Y-yes, sir… Mr. Zaeem himself told me earlier,” she answered, her voice low and cautious.
It hit me all at once. I couldn’t move or speak for a second. This was his doing.He did it onpurpose.
I remembered the sound of those moans, ringing in my ears. The way my fathercalledthat fucking slag. The things thrown all over the floor—a denim jacket, underwear, a bag, and shoes. And the young version of me, standing in the doorway, unable to move.
I squeezed my head, my hands trembling.“Zioh… It’s all in your head. I didn’t do it, remember?”One. Two. Three. Four.“You’re exaggerating, son.”ONE. TWO. THREE. FOUR.
