I don’t know what terrifies me more: the power this man has over me, or the fact that I crave his nearness. Surrendering to my need for him frees something in me.
When we’re together, unveiling my past becomes a second thought, yet it still intrudes, disturbing every peaceful moment.
Just then, my phone vibrates, startling me, and my eyes fly open. His name flashes on the screen, and a smile tugs at the corners of my lips, the tears drying on my face. There’s this pressure pulsing behind my rib cage, as if my quest is a betrayal to him. After so long, maybe I should simply forget and live.
I pick up the phone from my desk and lean back in my chair as I answer—always torn between two lives.
“How did it go?” he asks, sounding genuinely interested.
“I have a reputation for closing deals.”
“I’ve heard that.”
“What about you, husband? Don’t you want to do business with me?” I ask, my voice laced with flirtation.
“I don’t mix business with pleasure, wife.”
“I think you single-handedly keep my competition alive.”
He chuckles, the rich sound tugging at my heartstrings. “We must level the playing field. Without competition, we settle. In our world, that would be dangerous.”
He makes it sound as if he cares.
There is something between us. I can’t deny it because it’s the root of my confusion. My walls threaten to crumble around me one by one. Keeping a safe distance and pretending our marriage is just a show is not as simple as I initially thought.
“I don’t like going to bed alone, Zara.” He says my name with such longing it makes me want to fly to him right this moment and ease both our needs. Luckily, I still preserve some common sense.
“You knew who you married, Vian.”
“I know exactly who I married. Do you?” His voice deepens, eliciting goose bumps that trickle down my body. “I’m on my way.”
He hangs up, leaving me to believe he just wanted to gauge my reaction. He made up his mind long before he called me. In his own way, he prepared me as if knowing I don’t like surprises.
What an intriguing man.
I won’t have much time to work once he’s here, so I schedule an appointment with a renowned therapist who specializes in hypnosis. The others weren’t much help, and I don’t let my hopes climb, but I need to do something.
Standing up, I walk to the window, the familiar landscape offering me some much-needed comfort.
A knock sounds, but I don’t bother turning knowing it’s Conrad.
“The shipment arrived as scheduled with no issues,” he says, approaching me.
“Good. Vian is coming.”
“I see you’re trying to work on your marriage,” he teases, elbowing my side playfully.
“I guess.”
“It’s okay to let go. I know you’re tired of hearing that, but the past doesn’t define us.”
I am tired of trying to make people who haven’t woken up with a chunk of their identity ripped away understand. Memories make us. They tell tidbits of our story, guide us to act in certain ways, and offer glimpses into our personality. This Zara is a product of butchering my old self.
“I’ll visit another hypnotherapist.”
His eyes widen into two pools of worry. “I must vet them first. You know that.”
I jerk my chin toward my laptop because I can’t ignore that I am a security risk. It’s the consequence of my line of work.
