7. Weird Dinner

Helga took a towel. Her body was shivering from the cold because of Zean’s doing. Even though she had bathed in warm water, her body still trembled, especially when she remembered the man’s rough treatment earlier.

When she stepped out of the bathroom, Helga was slightly startled to find Zean sitting on the bed, his gaze fixed on her. She had thought he had already left the room.

Trying to ignore him, Helga chose to step into the dressing room. Just as she was about to close the door, a hand stopped it from the outside. Zean pushed the door open, making Helga step aside.

“I’ll help you,” the man said, still as cold as always.

“No need. I can—” Helga shut her mouth when she saw Zean’s sharp gaze. He was not someone who could be argued with.

Zean’s large hand guided Helga to a chair in front of the dressing table, leaving her there. She sat still, unable to refuse whatever Zean was doing. Helga just clutched the towel wrapped around her body to keep it from slipping, because underneath it, she wore nothing at all.

Silence. Neither of them spoke, the only sound being the hum of the hair dryer Zean was using to dry Helga’s hair. Her body shivered even more from the wind of the hair dryer, but Zean seemed unconcerned.

“This room will be mine and yours,” Zean said without pausing his activity of drying her hair. “So never let just anyone in!”

Silent. Helga said nothing, but she listened.

“Do you hear me?” Zean’s tone was always cold and piercing.

“Yes. I hear you,” Helga replied.

Helga quietly watched Zean’s reflection in the mirror.

He stopped the hair dryer, setting it down gently on the table. The hum of the machine faded, replaced by a tense silence hanging in the air. Helga kept her head down, trying to steady her racing heartbeat.

Zean bent down slightly so that his face was level with hers. His gaze was sharp, yet there was something else in his eyes something Helga couldn’t quite understand.

“I won’t hurt you if you don’t defy me,” he said softly but firmly. His warm breath brushed against her cheek, which was beginning to flush.

Helga lifted her face, looking at Zean through the reflection in the mirror. “Why me?” she murmured faintly. “Why did you choose me as your wife?”

Zean didn’t answer right away. He lifted his hand, tucking a half-dried strand of Helga’s hair behind her ear. His movement was gentle, unlike his behavior the past few days.

“There are many things you don’t know, Helga.” His voice lowered, almost a whisper. “And you’re not ready to know them.”

Helga held her breath. A storm brewed inside her, a mix of fear, anger, and a curiosity she couldn’t suppress.

“I’m not a doll you can order around at will. I’m a human being. I—”

Zean suddenly stood. His cold demeanor returned in full force, like a door slammed shut.

“But starting tonight, you are my wife. The wife of a mafia. So be prepared.”

He walked out of the dressing room, leaving Helga frozen before the mirror, her eyes beginning to glisten with tears. This new world of hers was nothing like she had ever imagined.

After dressing, Helga stepped out of the dressing room and found Zean still there, sitting at the edge of the bed with his phone in hand. He turned to her as she came out, then rose to his feet.

Without another word, Zean brushed past her.

“Why so quiet? Come, dinner is ready,” Zean said coldly, commanding.

Helga blinked, then moved toward Zean at the doorway. Following his steps his hands buried in his trouser pockets, Helga trailed after him.

When they reached the ground floor, Zean finally matched her pace, even casually sliding an arm around her waist.

“You need to act like a good wife for me. My friends are coming today,” Zean whispered. “You might be able to observe, and you’ll find the answer to your curiosity, the reason you’re here,” he continued.

Helga swallowed. His voice felt intimidating.

She followed Zean with a tense body. A slight tremor still lingered in her fingers not only from the cooling night air, but from the atmosphere she couldn’t fully grasp.

They passed through a grand hallway with gleaming marble floors and glittering chandeliers. A large oak door stood wide open. Beyond it lay a spacious dining room with a long table, around which sat five men in black suits each with an aura as cold as Zean’s.

Their conversation stopped as they saw Zean enter the room with a young woman, Helga. The men’s sharp eyes immediately fixed on her, the long-haired girl standing hesitantly beside Zean.

Zean didn’t stop walking. His left hand still rested around Helga’s waist, and when they reached the head of the table, he let out a breath, then looked at them all.

“This is my wife,” he said, his voice calm but laced with weight. “Her name is Helga.”

For a moment, silence filled the room.

Then the man sitting nearest to the end of the table leaned forward slightly. “Your wife?” His tone was half-disbelieving.

Zean simply gave a short nod. “As of tonight.”

One by one, the men gave slow nods. None offered congratulations, but from the way they exchanged glances, Helga knew she was being assessed, like a new item placed in the midst of predators.

A silver haired man, whose face was slightly friendlier than the rest, lifted his glass. “Good evening, Miss Helga. Our world may feel strange to you now, but, slowly, you’ll get used to it.”

Helga returned his words with a small, forced smile. She didn’t know what else to say.

Zean pulled out a chair for her, inviting her to sit beside him. His manner was polite, but Helga knew all of this was part of a role, a role as the wife of a cold and secretive man.

Dinner began. The men spoke in coded language, discussing “shipments” and “old clients,” while occasionally glancing at Helga. Every so often, Zean would touch her hand on the table, a gentle gesture, but one meant to keep her calm and silent.

Helga tried tasting her food, though her throat felt stiff. She was also uncomfortable with the stare of a man seated directly across from her, the same man who had touched her earlier on the bed. She shifted closer toward Zean, pressing herself against his broad frame.

Noticing Helga’s strange behavior, Zean shot a piercing glare at the man across from her, sending a silent threat with his eyes.

In the midst of the conversation, one of the men spoke directly to her.

“So, how does it feel to be a mafia’s wife, Miss Helga?” asked the man who had been eyeing her hungrily all evening.

Zean’s head snapped toward him, his gaze as sharp as a blade. “Your mouth is too loose, Ruben.”

The man chuckled, raising both hands as if in surrender. “Relax, Zean. I’m just joking.”

Helga lowered her gaze, but inside, she realized one thing, she wasn’t just Zean’s wife. She had stepped into a world filled with traps, power games, and dangers she hadn’t even begun to recognize.

And Zean, he was at the center of it all.