3 - Her Again

Zayn's Pov

The office buzzed with activity as I walked in, and I dove straight into work. Meetings with the data analytics team awaited me, and I needed to review last month’s performance. But even as I flipped through files and interviewed candidates for an open position, my mind wandered.

I couldn’t shake her image. The girl from the club. Her scent, a warm blend of caramel, vanilla, and amber, still lingered in my mind. Her skin had felt like silk under my hand, and the way she moved on that stage, so graceful and deliberate.

She was no doubt captivating, her image kept replaying in my head. It had been a week since I saw her, yet she occupied more space in my mind than I wanted to admit.

I shook my head, refocusing on the file in front of me. This wasn’t like me. I never got distracted, least of all over a woman. My life had no room for complications, and this girl was exactly that, an unnecessary distraction.

But I couldn’t stop. My thoughts kept dragging me back.

**Flashback**

The glowing digits on the bedside clock read 4:03 a.m. My hand instinctively reached for Freya, wanting to pull her closer, but all I found was cold, untouched sheets. Her side of the bed looked perfect, wrinkle-free.

She hadn’t come home. Again.

I clenched my jaw, the familiar surge of frustration bubbling up. “Not again.” I muttered under my breath.

Freya’s work kept her out late, or so she claimed. Three years of late-night meetings, early flights, and countless unanswered texts had left me second-guessing everything. I ran multiple companies and somehow managed to be present for her and the kids, yet it felt like I was holding our marriage together with duct tape and wasted efforts.

Dragging myself out of bed, I splashed cold water on my face in the bathroom. The sight of my reflection, dark circles under my eyes, stubble lining my jaw, only reminded me of how tired I was. Physically, emotionally, mentally.

After changing into gym clothes, I decided on a light jog to clear my head. The estate was silent, save for the occasional chirp of birds waking with the sun. Security guards nodded as I passed and I returned the gesture.

By the time I returned, sweat dripping and lungs burning, it was almost six. The house was still eerily quiet. Freya’s side of the closet remained untouched, her clothes were perfectly organized, the color coordination showed just how perfect my wife loves to be.

 Shaking off the unease, I dressed for the day, choosing a black suit and T*m F**d’s Oud Wood Intense perfume for the day.

 Just as I reached the kitchen, two small bodies collided with my legs.

“Daddy, I want pancakes!” Kamila’s voice rang out, full of energy, her hair looking wild.

“Daddy, where’s Mummy?” Kamrin followed, his tone curious but softer.

I crouched to their level, ruffling Kamila’s hair. “One at a time, you two.”

Kamrin grinned. “Ladies first,” he said, giving his sister the floor.

Kamila’s pout was almost comical. “Where’s Mummy?” she asked again.

I hesitated but forced a smile. “She left early for work, sweetheart. She will be back soon.” The lie tasted bitter, but what was I supposed to tell them? That their mother hasn’t been home in days?

“And pancakes?” Kamrin chimed in, clearly unimpressed by my evasion.

I chuckled, scooping him up. “Pancakes it is. Extra syrup for you, right?”

“Right!” he beamed.

In the kitchen, I slipped off my jacket and rolled up my sleeves, setting to work on breakfast. Kamila sat at the island, chatting about school and her art project, while Kamrin counted the bubbles forming in the pancake batter. I served them their fluffy stacks, making sure to add extra syrup to Kamrin's plate.

After breakfast, I handed them off to the nanny, making sure they were settled before leaving for work.

At the office, the day passed in a blur of meetings. By the time the boardroom door opened for my final appointment, I was running on autopilot. 

“Sir, Mr. Colt's team are here, there are ready for the meeting.” Fiona reminded me.

“Good. Make sure the conference room is ready. And I need coffee. Black. Strong.”

My secretary barely kept pace as I made my way to the fifteenth floor for the meeting with Nexusphere Technologies.

Inside, the room fell silent as I entered. The team from Nexusphere stood opposite my own, and Mr. Colt, their founder, greeted me with a firm handshake. The meeting went as expected, proposals, negotiations, counteroffers. Nothing new to me. Their representative, a young man trying too hard to appear confident, presented a solid case.

“Thirty percent,” he concluded, his voice steady despite the obvious nerves. “With your company’s marketing reach, we project monthly earnings of $200,000.”

“Forty,” I said, leaning back in my chair.

The man blinked. “Excuse me?”

I swallowed the urge to ask if he has hearing issues.

“Forty percent,” I repeated. “Or no deal.”

The room buzzed with murmurs until Mr. Colt nodded. “Forty it is.”

I stood, signaling the end of the discussion. “My team will draft the contract and send it over.”

As I returned to my office, irritation simmered beneath the surface. The morning hadn’t been smooth, and the weight of Freya’s absence lingered in the back of my mind.

Hours passed as I buried myself in work, trying to silence my racing thoughts. It wasn’t until the door opened unannounced that I looked up.

Louis leaned against the frame, his grin irritatingly smug. “Still married to the job, huh?” He raised an eyebrow. “Thought you gave up sleeping at the office after getting married?”

I glanced at the darkened sky outside, realizing how late it had gotten. “Lost track of time.”

He studied me for a moment. “You have been off lately. What’s going on?”

My marriage is falling apart, and my wife isn't making any effort to fix things. I feel trapped in my home.

“Nothing.” I rubbed my temples, “What are you doing here?”

Louis narrowed his eyes at me but didn’t push. “Trying to save you from dying. How about a night out? Clubbing, my treat.”

“I’m not in the mood.”

“You are never in the mood. Come on, Zayn. You need it.”

I sighed, knowing he wouldn’t leave until I agreed. “Fine. But you are covering the tab.”

"Of course I am, wouldn't want to make a dent on your account big boy."

I let out a laugh, knowing full well my account could withstand far more than a night out.

Forty minutes later, I found myself in the passenger seat of Louis’s car, regretting my decision. The neighborhood we entered was far removed from my usual, rundown buildings, cracked sidewalks, garbage piled on the road. I resisted the urge to ask Louis how he got himself in such a neighborhood.

Inside the club, neon lights flickered over the dark interior. Louis disappeared with two girls, leaving me alone at the bar. 

I was halfway through my long island iced tea when the next wave of dancers hit the stage.

They moved with practiced ease, but one among them caught my attention.

She moved with grace, every step smooth and deliberate, dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, her petite curves accentuated in her outfit.

The stage light danced on her skin, my gaze remained on her, taking note of the tattoos peeking from beneath her outfit, and the sleeve tattoo that adored her arm, adding an edge to her elegance.

I couldn’t look away. Just like most men in the club, she had my eyes hooked on her.

“Another drink?” the bartender asked, breaking my trance.

I nodded absently, pulling out my phone. Before I could stop myself, I snapped a picture of her.

END OF FLASHBACK

The memory played on a loop in my mind. Who was she? Why couldn’t I shake her image?

"This is all your fault Louis."

I groaned, running a hand through my hair. Picking up my phone, I scrolled to Ultra’s contact.

“Boss,” his voice came through, sharp and professional. Always ready to work.

“I need you to look into someone,” I said, hesitating.

“Yes, sir.”

I hovered over the photo, thumb poised over the send button. This isn't right, married men don’t do this. I shouldn’t do this.

Freya might have stepped out of line, but that doesn't mean I should do same.

I want to keep fighting for my marriage regardless of what it takes.

But something about her felt… different. Personal.

I tossed my phone aside, shaking my head. “Damn you, Zayn.”

Just then, the door to my office opened. I looked up, expecting Fiona or one of the line-ups for the interview.

But there she was. 

The girl from the club.