I bit my lip, trying to steady myself as the ache in my chest threatened to break me. I couldn’t meet his eyes right away, so I bowed my head, hiding the tremble of my lips, until I lifted my face again.
And he was closer.
So close now that his breath fanned against my skin, warm and laced with mint and a bitter scent. Alcohol. His hand cupped the side of my neck, and my whole body went rigid as he leaned in, inch by inch.
I forgot how to move. And I squeezed my eyes shut.
Closer. His warmth brushed nearer—
“Ahem.” The driver’s voice cut through the moment. “Miss, shall I take the toll road? Is that alright?”
My eyes flew open, and I stumbled back in my seat, heat flooding my cheeks. “Y-yes, sir, that’s fine,” I stammered.
But Zioh…
He didn’t move. His gaze hadn’t wavered from me, as if nothing had interrupted us.
29
Tshabina
We stepped out of the lift into a lavish space. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across every wall, offering sweeping views of Jakarta’s glittering skyline. The marble beneath our damp shoes gleamed in the muted light.
I trailed Zioh step by step into the living room. We stood beside a vast sectional sofa in muted grey. The chandelier above glowed, its golden rings cascading light across the sleek, minimal interior. Upstairs, more hallways and doors lined with glass walls stretched into the shadows.
When Zioh stared out at the city, I turned my gaze to the city, too. Then, he turned, his gaze softened on me. His voice was low, roughened but gentler than before. “I’ll call someone to bring you some clothes.”
My eyes dropped to myself, my drenched hoodie clinging, outlining every curve. Heat surged up my neck, and I folded my arms over my chest.
He watched me for a beat longer, then pulled his phone from his pocket, stepping aside as he made the call. I sank onto the sofa, wrapping my arms tighter around myself.
I couldn’t help but glance at him again. He was still on the phone, his voice quiet, his face set in shadows. Zioh ended his call and drifted toward me. “My room’s upstairs,” he murmured, lowering his gaze toward me. “Go on up, I’ll make us some tea.”
His tone was softer, more composed than in the park. I hesitated, glancing up at the stairs. There were so many doors and rooms… why had he pointed me to his room so directly? My heart stuttered with unease, but his careful, almost cautious expression pulled me back.
“This penthouse belongs to Zaeem,” he explained, seeming to notice my unease. “Most of the rooms are locked.At least in mine, you’ll find warm clothes, towels, and you can take a hot shower.”
He swallowed, his eyes steady on mine. “First door, black frame, down the first hallway.” He pointed. “Use whatever you need, make yourself warm. I’ll join you with tea—or hot chocolate, if it’s in my kitchen.”
I nodded, unable to meet his gaze for long. My steps felt heavy as I passed him and ascended the wide staircase. The second floor opened into another elegant lounge; the walls were lined with framed sketches.
Drawings. His drawings.
London Bridge, Tower Bridge, and other skylines from around the world—sketches that were mainly etched in black and white, with the odd flicker of surreal color—pink roads, violet skies, crimson towers, golden mountains.
But a frown deepened my brow as a single frame caught my eye, lying on the floor in the corner of the hallway. The frame was turned to face the wall. I strolled towards the frame, but my attention was diverted by a black door next to me. Zioh’s room.
My whole body shook, dampness seeping deeper into my bones. I reluctantly abandoned my intention to look at the frame and entered the room beside me.
Inside the room, his scent washed over me: cedarwood and vetiver, sharp yet warm. A vast room surrounded me, lined with dark tones. The closet door stood open, revealing rows of his monochrome clothes. The king-sized bed dominated the center, surrounded by simple furnishings.
I searched for the bathroom and found it hidden within the seamless wall design. The moment I stepped inside, I paused.
An enormous room greeted me; it was so vast I couldn’t take it all in at once. A bathtub and shower stood poised against the glass walls, framing Jakarta’s skyline. Marble floor. Chandeliers. Wrapped in a black-and-white mood.
It had been years—maybe a lifetime—since I’d stood in such opulence.
Shivering uncontrollably, I hurried to the shower and turned on the hot water. Steam began to rise, and as the heat poured over me, my body sighed in relief. I had just begun to undress when a knock on the door startled me. “Tshabina, are you there?” It was Zioh.
