Chapter 36

Zara’s POV

The music was loud again, almost too loud for my ears to handle. Bass vibrating through my bones, lights flashing red and blue across my skin, and smoke.

I was back at the club. Back in that dress. Back in the heat of bodies and reckless laughter.

Alex’s hand was on my waist again. But it wasn’t him I was looking at. It was Matteo.

Standing across the room. Watching.

His eyes were darker than the club lights, his expression clearer than the music, cutting through everything until there was only me and him and that unbearable pull between us.

Alex leaned closer in the dream.

“Relax,” he whispered against my ear. But Matteo’s gaze hardened in a possessive kind of way. I tried to move toward him. Or maybe away from him.

But I couldn’t. The music warped. Faces blurred. Suddenly the club wasn’t the club anymore.

It was the living room. The couch. Matteo’s hand on my waist. His mouth on mine. The kiss from the other night. The one I had pretended didn’t matter. The one I had replayed too many times in the dark.

His voice in my ear—So much for a smart mouth, huh? That the memory burned. In the dream, he leaned in again. Closer than usual. And this time, I kissed him first.

No hesitation, no walls built from pent-up anger.Just heat. His hand slid to my neck.

And then— I woke up. Breathless.

My room was dark except for the faint morning light bleeding through the curtains. My heart was racing in my chest like I had actually been running.

And just when I remembered the dream I just had, shame flooded me instantly.

“God,” I whispered, pressing a hand to my face. Why was I dreaming about that? About him?

About the club night and the kiss tangled together like they were connected?

I sat up slowly and for some reason, my skin still felt warm from the dream, like phantom hands lingered where they shouldn’t.

I hated that my body remembered. I hated more that part of me wanted to. I pushed the blanket off and stood.

Cold floor against bare feet as I chant to myself repeatedly that it was just a dream. Just a stupid, twisted mix of memory and imagination.

I walked over to the mirror, ready to get prepped for the day. My hair was messy, cheeks faintly flushed.

I looked… guilty. As if someone could see what I’d just been thinking. Which was pathetic.

A couple of hours later, I grabbed my bag and headed downstairs. The kitchen was empty and relief washed through me because I wasn’t ready to see him. Not after that dream.

I poured myself coffee and stared at the surface of it, watching my reflection distort.

“Morning,” a voice came from behind me and I nearly dropped the cup. Frozen in my chair that he was here again.

He walked past me to the counter and without needing to be there any longer I grabbed my bag quickly, running off.

******************************

The University was louder than usual that day or maybe my head was. Sofia as usual as well spotted me immediately near the gate.

“You look exhausted.”

“Thanks.”

She narrowed her eyes. “That wasn’t a compliment.”

“I know.”

“You're weird!” she said and chuckled as we started walking toward the main building.

“You okay?” she asked more seriously.

I hesitated. Do I tell her I dreamed about the man who’s making my life a controlled nightmare? No. Absolutely not.

“I’m fine.”

“Liar.”

“Drop it.”

She sighed dramatically but didn’t push further and as we entered the lecture hall, I felt it again, that memory clinging to me like a second skin.

And even worse… The memory of him in the hallway the other day resurfaced. The way his eyes had found mine instantly. Like he’d been searching.

Class began minutes later as the professor’s voice droned on about international policy frameworks, but my mind drifted.

Back to the dream. To the club, to the couch scene. To the way his lips had felt on mine. Heat crept up my neck again.

And I shifted in my seat. More like Sofia noticed and nudged me lightly. “You’re spacing out.”

“I’m listening.”

“You’re blushing.”

I snapped my head toward her. “I am not.”

She smirked. “You so are.”

“Stop.”

She stared at me for a moment longer before whispering, “Is this about someone?”

I stiffened looking away.

“Don’t.”

“That means yes.”

I leaned closer, lowering my voice. “Care to share?”

“That’s not what’s important.” I snapped because the truth was complicated. I hated him. I resented him. I didn’t trust him either.

And yet—My body remembered him, my mind replayed him over and over again. And my dreams betrayed me.

***********************************

By lunchtime, the restlessness hadn’t faded. We sat in the cafeteria, trays in front of us. Sofia chatted about an upcoming assignment.

I nodded at the right moments. But my thoughts at intervals were elsewhere.

What was he doing right now?

At the office?

In meetings?

Arguing with his father?

Was he thinking about me at all?

Or was I the only one stuck in this frustrating loop?

“Zara.”

I blinked. “What?”

“I just asked if you’re coming to the study group tomorrow.”

“Oh. Yes. Sure.”

“You’re not even here today.”

“I am.”

She gave me a look that said otherwise and I pushed my tray away.

“How about we take a walk to the mall after our last class,” I said.

“Without your driver?” she asked.

“Yes, without him!” I said.

“I just realized I haven't really taken out time to tour the city just yet. I hope you don't mind showing me around to a few interesting places,”

“Oh my goodness, I knew this day would come. Trust me, you're going to love it!” she said excitedly.

“I'm tagging the day ‘Un tour con Sofia’”

“Why does that even mean?” I asked with a smile on my face.

“It means a tour with Sofia,” she responded, placing a hand on her hips as she spoke.

“You're funny!” I said, grinning at her.