Elio
The penthouse was easy to navigate, and from the number of rooms and the interior decor, I knew a lot of money had been used to reserve this place for a month. I understood why she brought me here.
She was trying to save me and do what she thought was right, even if she did it wrong. I understood that we all made mistakes, but I failed to understand why she would not open up to me as I had done for her.
I needed to know—trulyknow the woman I had fallen for.
My heart felt so heavy, and I needed to leave.
There were no guards in the house, and as I moved to the elevator, I brought my wrist to my view, aiming to check the time, but my watch wasn’t around my wrist.
Then it clicked in my head, what exactly I had forgotten to put on.
“Fuck.”
My wristwatch. It was still on the bedside table.
I turned and walked back in the direction of the room. Reaching it, I hesitated for a few seconds before pushing the door open, letting out a sigh of relief when I didn’t find her in the position I’d left her, which only meant she’d gone to the bathroom again.
I locked the door behind me, spotting my wristwatch where I had last seen it, and then proceeded to fetch it—putting it around my wrist and noting that it was 5AM, almost dawn. It gave me enough time to figure out what to do about Casmiro and Angelo.
I could not let this slide.
Their subordinates would handle their duties. I did not want them in the compound. They were too close to me to consider a permanent solution to their defiance, and honestly, I did not care enough to exact dire punishments. They did, indirectly, try to save my life, but that didn’t excuse the fact that they’d carried out something significant because they thought I would not care to know. Of course, I wouldn’t have cared to know, most likely I would’ve ignored it, but still. I would insist they leave the compound until I thought it necessary for them to come back.
It was an order that would not sit well with them; they would hate it, and so it was the perfect punishment, giving them limited access to me—and giving myself the space to get to work without them watching me.
Clipping the wristwatch in place, I made my way back to the door, but the moment I placed my hand on the knob, a soft sound came from behind the bathroom door.
It made me halt, frown, and listen; I didn’t hear myself breathe for a second. It seemed as though I’d stopped my heart from beating to make sure what I heard wasn’t my mind playing tricks.
It came again, a small sniff, a soft sob, uneven breathing—crying.
The frown fell from my face, and my hand slowly and softly dropped from the knob, detesting what I was hearing.
Fuck—it cut me. The sounds of her crying—it cut me deep, and to know I was responsible for that… I did not like it. Not one bit. I walked quietly to stand in front of the bathroom door, her crying much more audible.
I placed my hand on the door handle, wanting to push it open and stop those sounds. Stop her crying because it was odd. Zahra never cried—this was the last thing I expected.
I ground my teeth together so hard the clenching hurt my jaw.
Resigned, I swiftly kicked off my shoes and softly knocked on the door. “Zahra. ¿Qué estás haciendo?” I said softly. “Hm?”
“Zahra. What are you doing?”
The soul-torturing sounds didn’t stop.
I sighed, dropping my forehead against the hard surface of the door, closing my eyes, and swallowing as emotions moved through me, decisions falling and shattering, my mind discarding affirmations, and taking a back seat again, allowing this stupid heart to leadagain.
I was so gone.
“Zahra,” I called again, pulling my eyes back open, but only her crying met my ears.
It was melting my resolve—it hadalreadymelted my resolve; I could barely remember why I had left this room, ending us.
“I’m coming in, okay?” I said, waiting a few seconds before I pushed open the door and stepped inside.
She was leaning against the sink in front of the mirror, hands covering her face, shoulders heaving as each sob left her.
