The man gave me a warm nod. “I’m Anton, the manager here. I apologize for troubling you, but… one of our guests lost consciousness after drinking too much.” He gently rubbed his hands together. “At first, we considered calling the authorities because he came alone, with a foreign ID. But then, we checked his credit card and phone.” He handed me a Coutts World Silk Card and a black phone, which I assumed belonged to Zioh.
“We realized he wasn’t an ordinary guest. We decided to check his emergency contact, and the name that appeared was yours, Mrs. Sophie.”
My fingers locked around the phone. His words echoed, looping around in my head over and over, making me swallow.
Zioh listed me as his emergency contact with the old name he used to call me?
He had done that before, long ago, before he left me to disappear into the UK. Was this a coincidence? Had he forgotten to change it? But the manager called me “Sophie.” Just like his assistant had a few days ago. Which meant… he hadn’t changed it.
The name Zioh had given me, the name he had only ever used.
The taste of iron filled my mouth as I bit the inside of my cheek—or lip. I wasn’t sure.
A deep, dull ache. Twisted with both beautiful memories and the ones that bled with pain.“Sophie is only for me… to use only for you.” “Only for us.”The past flooded back—too many, too much. I trembled beneath the weight of it all.
Why hadn’t he changed it? Wasn’t he the one who insisted on being formal now? Why was I still Sophie?
Why did he leave?
Why did he throw me away?
Why did he hate me so easily?
“Please, follow me, ma’am,” Anton’s voice pulled me back. He explained as we walked, “We transferred him to a hotel suite. Too many guests saw him at the lounge.” He glanced at me, and his voice lowered. “We didn’t want him drawing attention, and Mr. Zaeem Danudara is one of our VIP regulars, so we decided to protect the privacy of one of our VIPs and their family.”
Giving a stiff nod, I moved after him. A heavy weight settled in my chest, the thudding within it sounding like a warning. My brain screamed at me to run, yet my legs refused to obey. Or maybe not my legs at all.
Finally, we reached a suite door, and Anton handed me a card. “He’s inside. He was still asleep when we moved him, and if you need anything, please call our staff.” With a polite bow, he left me.
I stood before the door. My trembling hand rose to hold the handle, but I halted and clenched it hard instead.
I knew I was throwing salt on my open wound, but the unease that drove me to check on him had swallowed me whole. I thought for a moment about calling Tsabinu, because in the past, when I was in this kind of situation, Tsabinu would accompany Zioh.
There had been a time that changed Zioh. Something was missing from him when we were teenagers that made Zioh start drinking alcohol, but he only showed it to Tsabinu.
Hand trembling, I tapped the keycard and pushed the door open. The suite was magnificent, with floor-to-ceiling windows spilling the city lights across a lavish interior.
“Zi? Zioh—” I stopped myself. I remembered he had told me to be formal. “Sir? Mr. Zioh?” The living room was empty. I moved through the space, checking three rooms. Dark. Empty. Until one door remained.
My pulse spiked, my hands shaking. I eased the handle down. “Mr. Zioh? It’s me, Tshabi—”
“Tshabina. What are you doing here?”
I couldn’t move. The door swung open, and the stench of alcohol and cigarette smoke hit me. I held my breath as my eyes landed on him.
Zioh sat slumped on a sofa, shirt rumpled, top three buttons undone, hair a mess, eyes dull and shadowed. Bottles littered the floor, and he dragged on a cigarette, with several open vodka bottles on the coffee table. His breath came heavy, as if something huge pressed down on him.
My eyes met his weary, dim gaze, and my heart tightened—what happened? Why was Zioh like this?
I had to swallow twice before I could speak. “The Manager of this place called me,” I whispered, stepping inside despite the sharpness of his gaze. “They said you were unconscious.” My voice cracked. “A-are you okay? Should I call someone from home? Or maybe your assistant?”
Fixing my gaze on him as he sat there in silence, he stared back at me with a hollow expression. But then, Zioh scoffed, his eyes shifting—darkening. “Don’t you dare call them,” he snapped. “Especially your brother. I don’t want my family to know. And Tsabinu…” His words sliced through me. “Your brother would only make it worse.”
He let out a dry laugh, but it broke halfway through, rubbing his temple, muttering. “Slave. Danudara’s precious slave.” He growled and looked back at me with darkness pooling in his eyes. “Since when did your twin become my dad’s lapdog, huh?” Zioh’s low snarl came as he dragged on his cigarette and exhaled the smoke.
I winced at his words as though he had physically hit me. But I knew. I knew I had to hold myself together; the man before me was rambling, a ghost of his former self. He was lost—someone I no longer recognized.
Swallowing hard, I forced my voice not to tremble. “You know you can trust Bibu, Zioh,” I searched his eyes, desperate for him tohearme. “As a friend, Bibu will always be on your side, not t—”
