Another choked, pitiful sound escaped my throat, thin this time, as though it was all I had left.Pain on the outside might cover it up.
I jerked my head from side to side.
Everything should be clear, but it was grey, full of illusions.Still, what happened, what she did, was real. That was what mattered. That was the most important thing to remember.
My chest tightened again.
I held the faucet and turned it off. The water had been pouring out of the bathtub for who knew how long. I pushed my head under, trying to blur the world away. When the burning hit, I lifted my face, grabbing the floor to keep myself upright as I forced myself out.
Pathetic.The worst of all of this was knowing I’d had to face her again. Seeing her again. Relived it all and was haunted by the thought of it because I couldn’t run.Because she was the one who did it.Because even the smallest glance at her was enough to draw me back.Hatred.It reminded me of a deceptive hatred.
Crazy.Made the truth disappear into the darkness.
I wanted to punch myself for being like this, especially with the mountain of work waiting. Projects in London. Projects here. All piling up.
I needed to pull myself together.
Distanced myself.
That was the only way to hold myself steady again.
I’m sorry, sir. I’m at Mr Zioh’s penthouse.One, two, three, four.I came because they said there was a prospectivebuyer, but the woman’s here again.One, two, three, four.She says she won’t leave unless Zioh meetsher.One, two, three, four.
Fuck!
I grabbed my bathrobe and slipped it on, walking to the nightstand. I kept my gaze fixed on the floor, reaching blindly for my AirPods. The bathroom mirror had just been replaced, and I kept my eyes averted. My own reflection was a provocation, a reason to hurl the nearest object at the glass.
I pressed my AirPods into my ears. Voices chattered at me as I stepped out of the bathroom and headed towards the walk-in closet.
But then—
My Dad. Right there, in my study.
And I stopped dead.
I halted, and an icy chill seeped into my skin, even as my blood burned inside me.He was scheming something.Even back in the UK, he never stopped.
Changing course, I stepped quickly into my study. He stood beside my desk. Damn it.
My heart slammed against my ribs, and I glanced up at the ceiling. Even though Zaeem had already taken down the cameras, safety was an impossibility with him here.
“What are you doing here, Dad?” My voice came out in a rush and cold. My eyes burned into him as he lingered over the papers on my desk.
Blueprints. My designs for Artamain’s new office project, along with scattered sketches for the London work, too.
What was he planning?
My pulse blurred into the noise. Loud.
“It’s great, Zi,” he hummed, his eyes never leaving my drawings. “I always knew my son was talented.” Then he turned, smiling with that proud, bloody, sickening smile. “Even though your brother’s back, you’ll still be the project manager, won’t you?” His calm voice made my skin crawl.
My breath was ragged, and I shoved my wet hair back, harder than I meant to. I strode over, yanking the papers from under his hands, glaring at him as I forced myself to hold back, not to shatter that disgusted smile.
“Get out.”
“Oh, don’t be like that.” He tilted his head, humming. “This is my project too. That company is mine as well.”
My jaw clenched hard. “Then let’s talk after the conference,” I said through gritted teeth. “Properly.”
