Mina began to shake very seriously and despite the terror I felt, a little gladness lingered in between. Mina nearly harmed my child, she deserved no mercy.
But the terror was short-lived.
Zyran's security detail was ruthless. Before the masked thugs even breached the lobby, five black SUVs boxed them in.
And within a few minutes, the police got here. We watched from the window as sirens flooded the lot. Mina's ex was cuffed and thrown into a cruiser within ten minutes.
"It's over," Zyran declared, snapping the blinds shut. "He's going away for a long time. You're safe." Mina sobbed with relief, and I cleared my throat.
“Now that Mina’s ex is out of the way, she can stay in a hotel instead,” I said and Mina sobbed harder.
“How can you be so ruthless? She just went through trauma. She needs somewhere that feels safe.” Zyrain replied sternly, patting her back and my heart squeezed in pain.
It looked more like he just wanted to be by her side.
Zyran transported us to his safe house—a cavernous mansion on the city's edge. It looked cold and impenetrable.
By the time we settled, it was past midnight. Nixie retreated to a guest room to call her husband, leaving me alone with Zyran and Mina in the kitchen.
Zyran was about to leave, when he paused to look at me. “There’s food in the kitchen. Take your medication after you eat.”
I glanced toward the kitchen before remembering.
“There isn’t.”
Zyran frowned.
“What?”
“I used everything for dinner.”
I tried to push myself off the stool, but pain shot through my ankle and I immediately grabbed the counter. “I’ll manage something.”
He stared at me for a moment before exhaling.
“You can barely walk from here to the kitchen.”
“I can still—”
“Roosevelt.”
His jaw tightened. “Sit down. I’ll make something.”
“Thank you, Zyran."
"Zyran!"
Mina's shrill voice sliced through the moment. She pranced into the kitchen, wearing fresh loungewear the housekeeper had provided. She spotted Zyran holding a skillet and gasped, utterly horrified.
"Why are you cooking, Zyran?" she admonished, strutting over to pry the pan from his grip. "Cooking is domestic work. It's beneath you."
I blinked, floored. Was she serious?
Mina blatantly ignored me. She zeroed in on Zyran, her voice dripping with honey. "You see. I've had a traumatic day. I'm so exhausted I can barely stand, or else I'd cook for you. But you're a CEO. Running an empire is grueling. You deserve to rest."
She finally pivoted and glared at me. Her eyes were glacial, but she kept her tone sickeningly sweet for Zyran's benefit.
"Roosevelt should cook," Mina declared, gesturing at me. "She seemed incredibly energetic when she tried to fight me on the stairs earlier. She should channel that energy into making dinner. Besides, isn't she an interior designer? She's practically a maid. She knows how to serve."
I was paralyzed. My jaw literally dropped. I nearly miscarried my baby tonight. I could barely put weight on my swollen ankle. And this parasite wanted me to serve her?
Zyran went rigid. He slammed the pan onto the marble counter with a resounding thud.
"She didn't ask me to cook, Mina," Zyran growled, his tone dangerously low. "I offered. She is my wife. Watch your mouth."
A wave of vindication washed over me. At least he defended me this time.
But Mina didn't back down. She looked devastated, acting as if Zyran had physically struck her. Tears instantly pooled in her eyes.
"You've changed, Zyran," she wept. "This isn't you. What has that woman done to you?" She closed the distance between them, icing me out completely.
"What were you thinking when you married someone as cold as Roosevelt?" Mina sniffled. "She's heartless. Didn't you notice how little she cared about me losing my home tonight? She wanted to dump me at a hotel! She's totally ruthless."
"Mina..." Zyran warned.
"I'm just being honest!" Mina sobbed.
"Given her own rough past, she shouldn't interfere with us. Remember how we used to be? You were never this soft. You were a king." She said sharply and I nearly scoffed.
She reached out, pressing her petite palm flat against Zyran's chest, directly over his heart, and I gritted my teeth.
"Let me cook," she whispered. "I might be exhausted, but I refuse to let a King slave in the kitchen while his wife just sits there like a statue."
Zyran stared at her hand on his chest. Then, his gaze flicked to me.
I waited for him to shove her away. I waited for him to throw her out.
Instead, Zyran exhaled heavily. He gently peeled Mina's hand off his chest, but the anger had vanished from his features. He just looked conflicted.
"Go to bed, Mina," he murmured. "I'll bring a tray up to your room."
Mina flashed a victorious smirk at me over Zyran's shoulder. It was a fleeting, toxic gloat before she turned back to him, nodding demurely.
"Okay, Zyran. But only because you asked," she purred.
She spun on her heel and glided out of the kitchen, leaving a suffocating silence in her wake. Zyran retrieved the skillet and cracked an egg against the rim. He refused to meet my eyes. "She's just stressed," he muttered, sounding like he was trying to convince himself.
I gripped the edge of the marble counter until my knuckles turned white. He was still making excuses for her.
"Zyran," I stated quietly. "We need to talk."
"Not tonight, Roosevelt," he deflected. "I'm exhausted. Let's just eat."
He plated the food and slid a dish across the island. But just as I picked up my fork, my phone vibrated in my pocket.
It was a text from an unknown number.
I opened it, and my blood turned to ice. It was a vintage photo of Zyran and Mina, looking sickeningly in love.
Underneath, a caption read:
He promised his mother he would take care of me. Do you really think a 'wife' can break a promise made to family? Enjoy the eggs. I'll enjoy him later.
+
Sunlight poured through the heavy drapes of the guest bedroom, but I felt trapped beneath a suffocating house.
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.
From the text, to the way my fierce husband was vulnerable around her, and then to how touchy she was around him….
Everything was suspicious! I could only think of the worst.
"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.'" Nixie said and I nodded, calming my racing heart.
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 in the name of being a childhood friend."
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 weaponising my 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. How is the ankle?" He asked in a formal tone and I pushed all the anger, suspicion and pain reeking through me aside, giving him a calm smile.
"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."
He stepped closer but stopped short of the bed.
"Mina is coming with me." He added flatly and Nixie scoffed loudly.
"Naturally. Did she snag a board seat overnight?"
Zyran shot her a glacial glare.
"Mina needs a 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 prioritise 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 strategising, 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 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, colour 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.
" 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.