5. To Zaika

Marissa POV

I was the first to wake up. The room was deathly still, the only sound of the faint hum of the air conditioning. I felt the heavy and the weight of his arm draped across my waist, pinning me to the silk sheets.

For a second, I let myself breathe in the scent of him, sandalwood and raw, masculine heat before the reality of what I’d done slammed into me.

Gently, I lifted his hand off me. My heart hammered against my ribs as I slid out of bed, my legs trembling slightly. I didn't look back at the silver mask resting on the nightstand or the man behind it. I just gathered my red gown, stepped into my heels, and fled.

By the time I was in the back of a cab, my phone was exploding. Hailey. I hit redial immediately.

"Damn, girl! You should have given me a heads up!" Hailey scolded, her voice sharp with relief. "I turned around and you were just gone. I almost called the police."

"I am sorry, Hails," I whispered, leaning my forehead against the cool glass of the window. "I will make it up to you, okay? I just... I needed to get out of there."

"Okay, fine. But we are meeting later. You are telling me everything about last night. Every. Single. Detail."

"Okay," I said, taking a bottle of water from the driver and drowning half of it in one go. My head was throbbing with a spitting migraine, and the tequila was starting to stage a coup in my stomach.

What if you were literally kidnapped? my inner voice hissed. Too many movies got me thinking like that. I mean you can't blame tho. Everytime that shit happens, something bad is about to happen. I ignored it. I wasn't kidnapped. I was liberated. Or at least, that’s what I told myself until the cab pulled up to my driveway and I saw the one person I wasn't ready to face.

Ethan.

He was leaning against the front door, looking like he hadn't slept a wink. What is this jinx doing here? I thought, a surge of irritation cutting through my hangover. He said he’d give me all the space I needed, didn’t he?

"Marissa," he started, pushing off the door as I approached. "You don't look alright."

"Good morning to you too, sir," I snapped, fumbling for my keys. "Please state your business, and if you have none, please leave."

He blocked my path, his eyes raking over my disheveled hair and the slit in my gown. "Marissa, you are a hot mess. You reek of expensive alcohol and you didn't even use my card..." He stopped, his face pale. "Wait. You really did it, didn't you? You actually cheated back."

I looked him dead in the eye, the guilt I expected to feel nowhere to be found.

"Yes, I did," I responded blatantly. "Does that bother you, Ethan?"

I watched the pain flicker in his eyes—a jagged, raw hurt that almost made him look human. "No... I mean, it does. But what can I do, Marissa? I started it."

"Good. Now leave."

"If that's what you want Marissa." He whispered.

To my surprise, he actually did. He turned and walked to his car without another word, leaving me alone in the silence of our shared, broken home.

I practically stumbled inside. I needed a hot shower to scrub the night off my skin and at least six hours of sleep. I spent an hour under the water, then collapsed onto the sofa in my robe, flipping the TV on to drown out the silence.

A sharp knock at the door made me jump.

"If that is Ethan again, I am getting a restraining order," I growled, my voice sounding like I had swallowed glass.

I yanked the door open, ready to absolutely unload on my husband, but the air died in my throat. It wasn't Ethan. It was a courier in a plain black uniform, holding a heavy, high-end box. No flowers. No "I am sorry" balloons. Just matte black cardboard.

"Delivery for Marissa," he said, handing it over with zero emotion.

I took it, my blood still simmering. My first thought was that Ethan had gone to some boutique to buy my forgiveness again. I walked straight to the kitchen, intending to chuck the whole thing into the trash before I even saw what was inside. He thought a gift could fix a four-month affair? He was delusional.

But as I reached for the bin, the small tag hanging from the silk ribbon caught the light. I froze.

It wasn't Ethan’s sloppy, rushed handwriting. It was a single word, written in bold, sharp black ink that looked like it had been done with a fountain pen.

𝐓𝐨 𝐙𝐚𝐢𝐤𝐚.

My stomach did a slow, sickening flip. I ripped the lid off, my heart starting to hammer a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

Inside, resting on a bed of black tissue paper, was my red gown from last night. It had been cleaned and pressed, looking better than the day I bought it. But it was what sat on top of the dress that made the room go cold.

A small, silver velvet box.

I opened it, my breath hitching. Inside was a heavy, matte black access card. No name. No logo. Just a gold chip and a magnetic strip that screamed exclusive. Tucked under the card was a thick, cream-colored note.

“You left before the sun came up, Zaika. It was a bold move, but a pointless one. I didn't give you permission to end our little rendezvous so abruptly. If you're looking for more of what happened last night and we both know you are....you can always come find me here.”

Beneath the note was a printed address.

A penthouse in Tribeca.

I dropped the box on the counter, the black access card sliding across the marble with a sharp clack. My knees felt like they were about to give out.

Only one person called me that. Only one person knew exactly how I’d felt under those silk sheets. The man in the silver mask.

He didn't just know my name. He knew where I lived. He’d had my dress in his possession all morning. And now, he’d literally handed me the key to his front door.

I leaned against the sink, staring at that black card. I’d gone out last night to "even the score" and get a little bit of my soul back. But looking at that card, I realized I hadn't just cheated on Ethan.

I had caught the attention of a predator. And he wasn't asking me to come back.....he was telling me.

But the good thing is.... I am no fucking prey. I refuse to be... So I left the entire package on the kitchen counter and continued watching my movie.