"Zara."
Marco's deep voice echoed through the quiet room.
"Yes," I answered softly, my head lowered, avoiding his eyes. I couldn't look at him—not when everything about him terrified me and pulled me in at the same time.
"I'm sorry for not being there on time," he said.
His apology made me look up instantly. A man like Marco… apologizing? Why would someone like him care about someone like me? I'm just a nobody. A low-life girl with nothing to offer.
"Sir… it's not your fault," I whispered, quickly breaking eye contact again. "Mari was at fault. She did all this. You don't have to apologize for something you knew nothing about."
He stared at me with something I had never seen in his eyes before—concern. Real concern.
"From now on, Zara, you will live here," he said firmly. "Anything you do, I must know. You don't leave this house without telling me. Do you understand?"
"Yes… but I…" I stuttered, terrified to say the wrong thing. "I don't want to bring you any trouble. I can handle things on my own. Thank you for your help."
His footsteps came closer—slow, controlled, dangerous.
"What did you just say, Zara?" he asked, lowering his voice as he approached me. My hands began shaking instantly.
"Zara," he murmured, lifting my chin gently with his fingers. His touch was too soft for a man like him. "You don't get it, do you?"
He tilted my face up, forcing me to meet his beautiful blue eyes.
"You will live in my house from now on," he said softly but with authority. "You belong to me… forever, baby."
Belong to him?
When? How? What does that even mean?
I don't even know him that well…
"Sir—" I tried to speak, but he didn't let me finish.
"Don't call me 'sir,' Zara," he whispered, brushing his thumb across my cheek. "Call me Marco… or my love."
My breath hitched.
He smiled—just a little—and took my hand, leading me to his personal room. His grip was firm but gentle, like he was afraid I might break.
He had me sit on his bed and slowly pushed my hair away from my face.
"You look so pretty, Zara," he whispered, his breath ghosting over my skin.
My heart began beating so fast I thought he could hear it. My body trembled on its own.
What is he doing to me?
Why do I feel like this around a man who kills without mercy?
He moved closer. Too close. I could feel his warmth, his breath… his intentions.
Then he did something I never expected.
He kissed me.
It wasn't rough. It wasn't forceful.
It was soft… almost scared.
Like he didn't know how to be gentle, but he tried for me.
The second he felt himself losing control, he pulled back quickly, breathing heavily as if he surprised even himself.
"Stay here for a while," he said, clearing his throat. "The doctor is coming to check on you. And the little angel is fine—you don't need to worry."
He looked at me one more time, gave a small almost-shy smile, then walked out of the room.
I stayed on his bed, clutching the sheets, trying to calm my heart.
What is happening to me?
Why do I feel this way every time he's near me?
I buried my face in my hands.
"I can't be falling for a killer… right?"