Gianna stood stupefied at the door, her fingers curled tightly around the knob as if it were the only anchor keeping her sane.
Fight or flight? she considered, her pulse thundering in her ears as that cold voice—one that had never failed to grate on her nerves—slithered across the room.
Even in the past months where their coexistence in the same space had seemed necessary, his voice had always scraped at her composure like iron against bone.
Her mind hummed with disbelief and anger at this twist of fate, at the cruel joke life had played by dragging them into this wicked state… where they had to talk about a one-night stand.
Such unnecessary intimacy she couldn't even imagine. Such abnormality, when she had managed to survive the past months without being a foot near him. And now they had shared bodies?
Rage made her shudder, her shoulders trembling. The hell! It was good that she didn't remember any moment of it.
Then the distinct ruffling of sheets behind her alerted her that the egoistic prick was starting to sit up.
Her spine straightened. Fight then, she concluded, inhaling calmly, lifting her chin as though donning armor.
"Are we going to have this talk with you facing the door?" Zane's voice was a chilly one, smooth but cutting.
"We have been in the same rooms on various occasions in the past months, no? Just maintain the same casual indifference…"
As he spoke, he turned on the bedside lamp. The warm glow spilled across the room.
Gianna slowly turned.
Zane Whitman was sitting up against the headboard, the sheets pooled low around his waist. The planes of his body were a sculpted map of muscle and shadow—defined shoulders, a lean torso marked with sharp lines, a chest that rose and fell with frustrating steadiness.
His skin held a warm undertone, the kind that tempted touch, and his dark hair fell in messy strands over his forehead, making him look both annoyingly perfect and dangerously real.
But instead of the swoon he expected to see—what he always saw from his bedmates—Gianna's expression was twisted with pure disgust.
Worse, her stance—spine straight, shoulders pulled back, chin high, one hip slightly angled—radiated disdainful regality. She looked like a monarch addressing a servant she was two seconds away from banishing.
The sight unsettled him. But his face remained blank.
"Aren't you going to sit down?" he asked.
"Not at all," Gianna answered. "As a matter of fact, I don't think there's much to talk about."
She folded her arms loosely across her chest, each movement controlled. "This was a mistake. A drunken one. I'm not sure how it happened, but it did. But we can easily scrape it aside. I have no need for the drama."
Zane scoffed. "Scrape it aside? Aren't you happy that you have finally dug your claws into me? You have always wanted the Whitman wealth."
Gianna's response was a sardonic chuckle. "Your foolishness never ceases to amaze me, Whitman."
She shook her head slowly, disbelief rolling off her. "Why would I be interested in a family name that is tainted? Especially with my status at the moment? As a matter of fact, I count it pure joy that you had been stupid enough to let me go then."
His jaw tightened, a muscle ticking dangerously.
"So, as I was saying…" Gianna continued. "Let's scrape away this night like it never happened. We don't like each other, don't want to be in each other's spaces, so let's not pretend that we do. Athena isn't here, and neither is Ewan; there is no use for more unnecessary pretense."
She turned to leave, done with her piece, but Zane—feeling restless, remembering the entire details of what had led them here, the words exchanged, the melding of their bodies, the experience that had dredged up feelings he thought long dead—spoke again.
"We can scrape the night away, but what about the certificate, wife?"
He expected her to shout, to explode. But she simply cocked a brow, looking at him like he was a misguided child in need of scolding.
"Don't use that term again. You sound like a paedophile. It's creepy."
Zane's hands fisted on the bedsheets. "The certificate isn't a joke, Gianna."
Her name sounded strange on his tongue, unfamiliar from disuse.
"Then make it a joke, wealthy man. Or is your wealth for nothing?"
Zane bristled at the insult, the corner of his mouth twitching. "So, you don't want it?"
"Are you deaf, man?"
She let out a breath, and he caught the first glint of anger in her eyes—savored it—then hated himself for savoring it the very next second.
Why was he feeling this way? Surely it must be the proximity they had shared during the investigation of the Grey Virus… and then the sex. The sex that made him want more, even now…
"I don't want your godforsaken, evil-cursed name," Gianna continued. "Neither do I want your wealth. I have mine. Or did you forget that I am the best designer in the country?"
"I see…" he said, nodding like he didn't see at all. "But the marriage can't be dissolved. Well, not if you want to maintain your position in your company."
Gianna frowned, her voice sharp. "Excuse me?"
"As of three days ago, I acquired your company."
Gianna was already shaking her head. "That's impossible. Dane wouldn't do such a thing without informing me."
"Well, he did." Zane cut in, standing to his full height.
But Gianna didn't turn away as he expected. If anything, her gaze locked on his eyes with even more intensity, her own height dwarfed but her presence very much towering.
"He needed the money… wanted to travel."
"What did you do?" Gianna asked slowly, disbelief dripping from every syllable. Insults were already being hurled at Dane in her mind. The pathetic excuse for a boss! How dare he?
Zane only shrugged. "It's just business, wife. And you have to learn to use my name when you address me… or maybe husband?"
Gianna eyed him in a way that would have turned lesser men to dust, much to his amusement.
"In your dreams. And I don't need your surname to survive in the industry. I have already built one for myself."
"True," Zane nodded. "But without it, with the sale of your company, you will be a castaway—a suspected designer. Others will think you are incapable of boosting your company's GDP. You will lose your shares in the company too. Unless…"
He paused, gaze lowering. "Unless you choose to stay and work for me. To be my wife. To…"
"Why?" Gianna interrupted, confusion finally slicing through her fury. "Why do you want to keep me orbiting around you?"
Zane's lips pressed into a thin line. "I don't need you in my orbit. I'm just trying to help Athena's…"
Gianna laughed then—loud, incredulous. "Help me? Shove that help under your ass, Whitman. I don't need it."
She turned, yanked the door open, done with the talks, done with the man, done with the stupidity of this morning.
"And get rid of this stupid notion of marriage at the registry," she added coldly, "because it's not happening in this life."