ARSHILA POV
Zayan tilts his head slightly, like he is observing something interesting, then shifts his gaze.
Over his shoulder.
And he fucking smirks.
The moment hits me like something sharp sliding under my skin, slow and deliberate, because that look is not confusion and it is not suspicion, it is recognition.
He knows. He has known. Every second, every turn, every choice I made to get here was never mine to begin with, and the realization crashes into me so hard it steals the air from my lungs.
My hand clamps harder over my mouth, pressing until it hurts, trapping every sound as my body starts to shake uncontrollably.
Tears blur my vision, spilling faster now, hot and endless, and I press myself back against the wall like I can disappear into it, like I can undo the fact that I am here, that I saw this, that I walked exactly where he wanted me to.
I can't look at him anymore.
I can't breathe in the same space as him.
My body finally reacts, sharp and sudden, turning away from the doorway as I move, fast but silent, forcing my legs to work even though they feel weak.
The hallway stretches too long, the shadows thicker than before, and every step feels like I might collapse, like I might trip and make a sound that will drag him after me.
I don't stop.
I don't look back.
I rush down the stairs, my hand gripping the railing too tight as my feet move faster than they should, the fear of falling barely registering over the need to get out.
The house feels alive now, watching, closing in, and I push through it, straight to the door, pulling it open and stepping into the cold night air like I am breaking out of something.
The wind hits me hard, but it doesn't ground me.
Nothing does.
I run to the car, my hands shaking so badly I almost miss the handle before I get inside, slamming the door shut and locking it immediately like that can keep him out.
My chest rises and falls too fast as I start the engine, the sound loud, violent, cutting through everything.
Then I hit the gas.
The car jerks forward and I don't slow down, pulling away from the house, from the road, from the entire place like it is chasing me, like if I hesitate for even a second, he will be right there.
I need to get out of here.
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ZAYAN POV
I stand by the window, watching her through the glass as she stumbles out of the house like the walls are chasing her, her movements sharp and unsteady in a way that would look like fear to anyone else.
One hand rests inside my pocket, relaxed, while the other hangs loosely by my side, the scissors still caught between my fingers, warm blood slipping down the metal and dripping slowly onto the floor.
A smirk settles on my lips as she reaches the car, her hands shaking, her body moving too fast, too desperate, and then she is gone, the engine roaring as she drives away like distance might save her from what she just saw.
It doesn't. It won't. Because I know her better than she knows herself, and this doesn't end with her running.
She will come back.
She will stand in front of me, eyes burning, demanding answers she is not ready to hear, pushing until the truth cuts deeper than anything she witnessed tonight.
And if it comes to it, if she ever decides to raise her hand against me, to choose me as the thing she wants to destroy, I know exactly how I will end.
I will let her.
My gaze shifts away from the window, settling on the man tied to the chair, his body barely holding itself together, blood covering what used to be a face people worshipped across the world.
Ares Vance breathes in broken, wet sounds, his chest rising unevenly, his voice gone, ruined beyond repair.
Two years older than me. Rich. Beautiful in a way that made people forget to look deeper.
A global idol with an angelic voice that sold lies wrapped in melody, while beneath it all sat something rotten, something filthy that fed on innocence and called it desire.
Millions adored him.
They never saw the truth.
I did.
And this is where men like him end up.
Not dead.
Not yet.
Not quickly.
My phone comes out of my pocket with ease, my thumb pressing against the screen as I bring it to my ear, my gaze never leaving the broken figure in front of me.
"Clean this up," I say, my tone even, untouched by what surrounds me. "And move him. You know what to do."
Izar doesn't hesitate. "Of course."
The call ends without another word, the silence settling back into the room like it belongs here, thick and unmoving.
I take a step forward, then another, until I am close enough to see the life still clinging to him, stubborn and useless.
I crouch down in front of him, the scissors hanging loosely from my fingers as I tilt my head slightly, studying what's left of him with quiet interest.
"I hope you see hell soon."
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ARSHILA POV
The road blurs in front of me as I drive, too fast, too reckless, the engine roaring like it's trying to keep up with the chaos tearing through my chest.
My heart pounds so violently it feels like it might rip through my ribs, my hands trembling against the steering wheel, my grip uneven, slipping and tightening in the same breath.
My lips won't stop shaking, my breathing coming out broken, sharp, like I forgot how to do it properly.
I just saw a man get killed.
No.
Worse.
I saw my husband do it.
A broken sound escapes me, something between a breath and a laugh, but there's nothing sane in it.
I knew he was dangerous. I knew there was something wrong with him, something cold and calculated that didn't belong to normal people, but this—this is something else entirely.
This is not power. This is not control.
This is a monster.
And I walked straight into it.
My vision blurs again, not from speed this time, but from the tears that won't stop, my chest tightening painfully as everything crashes together in my head at once.
Why did I follow him? Why did I push? Why the hell did I need to know? I could have stayed blind.
I could have stayed in that safe, stupid place where he is just a man I'm forced to live with.
I don't want this.
I don't want to know this shit.
My fingers dig harder into the wheel as another thought slams into me, colder than the rest.
The police. The word feels foreign and useless at the same time. Should I go? Should I tell them? Will they even touch him?
The Tavarian name sits too high, too powerful, tangled behind everything, pulling strings no one even sees, and the Nazranis sit on the throne like puppets while they controls everything from the dark.
Who the hell would arrest him?
The car swerves slightly before I correct it, my breathing turning harsher as another realization crawls in, slower but more suffocating.
Do I go back? Do I walk into that mansion like nothing happened, like I didn't just watch him destroy someone like it meant nothing?
Do I stand in front of him and pretend I didn't see the way he looked at me, like I was part of it?
My stomach twists violently.
And then it gets worse.
Yesterday.
His lips on mine.
The way I didn't push him away.
The way I—
"Fuck!" I slam the brakes so hard the car jerks to a stop, the tires screeching against the empty road as the sound tears through the silence.
My whole body lurches forward before the seatbelt catches me, my hands slipping from the wheel as I gasp, my chest heaving uncontrollably.
A scream rips out of me, loud and raw and broken, filling the car as I drop my forehead against the steering wheel, my entire body shaking with it, the sound echoing around me like it's the only thing keeping me from losing it completely.
For a second, there's nothing but my breathing.
Then I lift my head, my fingers tightening slowly around the wheel again, something shifting behind the fear, something sharper forcing its way through.
"I am going to the cops."