Sunlight poured through the heavy drapes of the guest bedroom, but I felt trapped beneath a suffocating storm cloud.
I stared blankly at my phone. The message from the unknown number sat there, a digital poison. The photo of Zyran and Mina looking blissfully happy mocked me. “I’ll enjoy him later.”
"Stop staring at it," a voice barked.
I looked up. Nixie strode into the room carrying a tray with toast, fruit, and a glass of milk. She looked furious, but her gaze softened the moment she saw my face.
"You didn't sleep a wink, did you?" she deduced, dropping the tray onto the mattress.
"I couldn't," I confessed, pushing myself up. My body felt leaden. My ankle was stiff and bound in thick bandages, and my abdomen still ached. "Nixie, that text... do you think they're...?"
"Screwing?" Nixie finished bluntly. She perched on the edge of the bed with a heavy sigh. "Honestly, Rose? I don't know. Men are clueless idiots. But Zyran isn't the cheating type. He's too obsessed with his reputation and his so-called 'principles.'"
She grabbed an apple slice, pointing it at me like a weapon. "But that doesn’t mean the stray isn’t trying. She’s a snake, and your husband is letting her slither all over your marriage because of a childhood promise to his mother."
I rubbed my throbbing temples. "He feels obligated. He claims she's family."
"You are his family!" Nixie snapped. "You're his wife! And you're carrying his—"
She cut herself off, dropping her voice to an urgent whisper. "You're carrying his baby, Roosevelt. You have to tell him. You can't keep this bottled up forever."
"I know," I whispered back, staring at the milk. "But not yet. Did you see how he looked at her last night? He protected her. If I drop the bomb now, he might think I'm weaponizing a pregnancy to kick her out. Or worse, Mina might find out and actually try to hurt the baby."
Nixie looked appalled. "You really think she'd sink that low?"
"She shoved me down a flight of stairs, Nix," I stated flatly. "I wouldn't put murder past her."
Just then, a sharp knock rapped against the door.
Nixie shot to her feet, crossing her arms and slapping on her "battle face."
"Come in," I called.
The door swung inward and Zyran stepped inside. He wore a tailored charcoal suit, looking utterly flawless. He smelled of rich espresso and expensive cologne. He didn't look like a man who spent the night dealing with cops and stalkers.
He appraised Nixie briefly, then looked at me.
"Good morning," he greeted smoothly. His tone was perfectly professional. "How is the ankle?"
"It’s fine," I lied. It pulsed with every heartbeat.
"Good," Zyran nodded, checking his Rolex. "I'm heading to the office. I have a board meeting I can't reschedule. Security is stationed outside the door. Nobody comes in or out without my explicit clearance."
"You're leaving?" I asked, a spike of anxiety piercing my chest. "Zyran, we're in a safe house. Is it safe for you to travel?"
"I have my detail with me," he assured me. He stepped closer but stopped short of the bed. "Mina is coming with me."
Nixie scoffed loudly. "Naturally. Did she snag a board seat overnight?"
Zyran shot her a glacial glare. "Mina needs fresh ID. Her paperwork burned in the fire. My assistant is meeting us to fast-track it. I can't leave her here unsupervised."
"She wouldn't be unsupervised," Nixie shot back. "Roosevelt is here."
"That is exactly why I'm taking her," Zyran countered, meeting my gaze. "I won't tolerate any more 'accidents' while I'm out. It's safer if you two are separated."
A painful lump lodged in my throat. He was separating us, yet he chose to take her. He was abandoning his injured, pregnant wife in a strange fortress so he could babysit his ex.
"Fine," I murmured, staring at my hands. "Do what you have to do."
Zyran hesitated. For a split second, he looked conflicted. He clocked the bandage on my ankle, his hand twitching at his side.
"I'll be back for dinner," he finally said. "Please... just rest. Avoid stress."
He turned on his heel and strode out.
I listened to his heavy footsteps retreat down the hall. I heard Mina’s voice float up from the foyer—high and ecstatic—and then the heavy front door slammed shut.
Nixie plopped back onto the mattress, aggressively biting into her apple.
"He is an idiot," she declared around a mouthful of fruit. "A handsome, loaded, colossal idiot."
"I know," I agreed, reaching for the milk. I choked it down. I had to stay strong. Not for Zyran, and not for myself. For the tiny life blossoming inside me.
"So, what's the game plan?" Nixie demanded. "We can't just sit here twiddling our thumbs."
I wiped my mouth, meeting my friend's fiery gaze. The despair was still there, but a spark of fury was finally igniting in my chest.
"No," I agreed. "We aren't sitting around. I'm making a call. If Zyran is going to prioritize his 'old friend,' I need to protect my assets."
"Who are you calling?" Nixie pressed.
"My lawyer," I stated simply. "I need to know my options. Just in case."
Nixie nodded approvingly. "That’s my girl."
We sat in the quiet bedroom, eating toast and strategizing, while my husband drove off with the parasite intent on destroying my life.
Two days later, the swelling in my ankle subsided enough for me to walk without a glaring limp. My OB-GYN confirmed the baby was stable, yet a low hum of chronic anxiety vibrated in my chest.
I couldn't rot in the safe house any longer. The walls were too sterile, the silence too deafening. Whenever our paths crossed, Mina would flash me a hollow smile, or I'd catch her whispering intimately to Zyran in a corner.
I needed oxygen. I needed my life back.
"Are you absolutely sure you're ready?" Nixie asked, zipping her duffel. She was returning to her husband and kids.
"I have to be," I insisted, smoothing the wrinkles from my pencil skirt. "I have the Henderson pitch today. If I stay in this prison, I’ll lose my mind."
Nixie pulled me into a fierce hug. "Call me if the stray tries anything. I mean it, Rose."
"I will," I promised.
Once Nixie left, I booked a black car. I didn't ask Zyran's permission. I simply texted him: Going to the office. I have work.
Stepping into Elite Interiors felt like surfacing from deep water. The aroma of roasted coffee and fresh drafting paper grounded me instantly. My assistant, Sarah, practically sprinted over when the elevator dinged.
"Mrs. King! We didn't expect you so soon," Sarah gushed, looking incredibly relieved. "We’ve been juggling the Henderson file, but they are demanding you."
"I’m here," I declared, marching into my office. I trailed a hand across my mahogany desk. This was my sanctuary. Here, I wasn't a neglected wife or a clumsy incubator. I was Roosevelt King, the most sought-after interior designer in the city.
I ground away for four straight hours. I buried myself in velvet swatches, color palettes, and architectural blueprints. For a brief window, Mina ceased to exist.
Then, my desk phone chimed.
"Mrs. King?" Sarah’s voice crackled through the intercom. "Mr. King is on line one. He says it’s urgent."
My stomach plummeted. Was it Mina?
I snatched the receiver. "Zyran? Is everything okay?"
"I’m fine," Zyran’s deep baritone rumbled in my ear. He sounded calm, but there was an uncharacteristic hesitation in his voice. "I got your text. I’m glad you felt up to working."
"I needed a distraction," I admitted. "What’s wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong," he deflected. "Actually, I have a favor to ask. A professional favor."
I sat up straighter. Zyran respected my empire. He never asked for professional favors unless it was massive.
"Alright," I said cautiously. "What do you need?"
"I just closed on a property," Zyran explained. "A luxury penthouse downtown. It needs a total gut and redesign. Furniture, paint, the works. And I need it fast. Two weeks max."
"Two weeks is insanely tight, Zyran," I noted, grabbing a Montblanc pen. "But for you, I'll pull strings. Is this for a VIP client? Or a flip?"
A heavy silence stretched across the line. I could hear him breathing.
"It’s not an investment," he finally confessed. "I bought it for Mina."
My pen froze.
"Mina?" I whispered.
"She can't camp at the safe house forever," Zyran rushed to explain. "And returning to her old neighborhood is a death sentence. So, I bought her a place. A clean slate."
The blood drained from my face. He bought her a condo? A luxury penthouse?
"And you want me to design it?" I asked, my voice quaking with pure disbelief.
"You're the best in the business, Roosevelt," Zyran reasoned. "Mina has suffered trauma. I want her space to feel serene. She loves your aesthetic. She actually requested you."
She requested me.
Of course she did. She didn't want a sanctuary; she wanted to see if I'd submit. She wanted me picking out throw pillows for the love nest my husband bought her.
"Zyran, I really don't think—"
"Please, Roosevelt," he cut in. His tone was soft, almost pleading. "I just want to get her settled so we can get back to normal. If you do this, she’s out of our hair permanently. We can focus on our marriage. On us."
I stared at the blank notepad.
Every instinct screamed no. It was degrading. It was sickening.
But if I refused, I'd solidify my role as the petty, jealous wife. If I refused, he'd hire someone else, and he'd still spend his evenings "checking on the project."
But if I agreed... I'd be decorating the web for the black widow trying to steal my life.
"Roosevelt?" Zyran prompted softly. "Will you do it?"
I gripped the phone until my knuckles ached. I had to choose. Preserve my pride, or play the long game to win my husband back?
"Send the address," I commanded.