Who He Really Is

“I knew you would change your mind, Heaven,” he says when he reaches her, stretching his right hand out to her, “though I thought you’d be crying.”

Heaven snaps out of her daze, accepts the hand, and covertly turns it to the back—just to make sure he has no scar on that hand. There’s none, thankfully.

“Why?” she ask while standing up.

“About the breakup, and… your friend?”

Heaven huffs. “I’ve cried all my tears at fourteen. I have no more.”

Ziason’s gaze is quite enthralling as he stares down at her, a dark shade swirling around his narrowed eyes.

He has to move away from her front for her to pass. But now she can’t since he has occupied her entrance, his body even shielding her from the lashes of rain that were once attacking her.

“You are a strong one, Heaven Litotes, it’s why I picked you for this job.”

He even knows her full name.

“For how long have you been investigating me?” Heaven queries while squinting her eyes at the man. She senses he has been watching her. Because how the hell does he know about what happened just now with Hector and Lulu?

“In case you wonder, I have people stationed at places where I want them,” he casually explains. “One of my agents saw your friend go into your lover’s house at the time when I watched you dance in your school. I followed you down here and saw you go in as well, only for you to come out with a frown. I may not have an expression, but I do have a knowledge of it.”

So he knows a child would skip three paces at once to flee from him.

“You must have a certificate in Kinesics, then.”

“It’s just instinct, princess.” The man squishes Heaven’s hand softly. “Let’s go?”

She quickly retrieves her hand. “Spying on me wasn’t a good call, Mister. Why should I trust you now?”

Instead of answering the question immediately, the side of Ziason’s lips pull up into a smirk, yet that doesn’t affect the vivid look of his eyes.

The same eyes that draw Heaven’s attention like a magnet to iron, that are shielded beneath thick brows and long clustered lashes. And it doesn’t help that his pompadour-styled hair falls over his forehead in moist strands, highlighting a certain kind of visual ecstasy that Heaven didn’t know existed.

“I know a lot about you, Heaven,” he finally responds. “I know there are no records of you in the werewolf world, which means you are a rogue. And in the human world, your school record says you lost your parents when you were fourteen. It states you do not know how they disappeared. I like to know the secrets and the weak spots of whoever I’m working with. But, with you, there’s nothing. Honestly, it’s thrilling. It makes me want to find out more about you. And, believe me, I will.”

For some reason, Heaven enjoys the challenge. She didn’t think she would love something so weird and probably twisted, but she does.

Maybe it’s the kind of person she would have grown to become had her parents not died, thereby turning her life completely upside down.

She doesn’t know what it is, but this man in front of her screams of danger from all round; his dressing, his thick hair that’s styled to loom over his forehead down to his eyes, not to talk of the eyes themselves.

The blank intensity in their stare look so unnatural, and their color—it’s a bit uncanny.

One moment, they’re a rich dim red, sort of burgundy.

The next moment, they adopt the shade of ashes.

And moments like now when she’s sticking her gaze on them and catching their color switching only feels unearthly,

as if there’s magic settled beneath his irises.

She should be scared of him.

His spying habit should have already convinced her to run for her dear life. Plus, entering a slick car that belongs to a total stranger isn’t how anyone should end such a stormy and gloomy night.

But Heaven thinks she knows all the dangers in the world.

In this past seven years, she has gone through most of the things anyone in their 70s can boost of experiencing, so she forgot the meaning of danger.

She has forgotten the meaning of anything in fact, except fear. Not fear of anyone. Fear of herself.

Heaven has always been scared of feeling miserable. Because it’s that feeling that brings about self-sabotage—the disgust for herself and her existence.

It’s why she didn’t succumb to Lulu and Hector’s request. Because if she did, she’d only hate herself, and end up thinking of several ways to get rid of herself. She can only do that by suicide. That’s the last thing she wants right now.

No matter how she looks at it, she still wants to live. She wants to prove to this forsaken world that she can make it. It wants her to fail, but she won’t let it watch her do so.

“I’ll do it,” she tells Ziason, thrusting her long slender chin forward. “I’ll teach your child how to dance. But then you’ll have to pay me.”

For the first time, Heaven sees what looks like a genuine smile come across Ziason’s face.

“Come then,” he says before leading the way to his car.

The vehicle reeks of the man alone; the smell of first rain showers meeting scorched earth, with a hint of calming mildness that Heaven can’t decipher.

But that’s not his wolf smell. His wolf scent rather lingers—like a vivid aroma of pinewood. She loves the latter scent more, and wishes it was thicker.

Aside from that, Heaven also notices the squealing luxury in the car. She has never boarded a limousine before, and she never for once thought the seat arrangement was different from any other car. Now she knows.

Rubbing the fine leather of the seat, she can’t help but smile before looking at the man, who’s sitting opposite her.

“That is your contract. Go through it,” he mutters while gesturing to a thick paper by his side.

Heaven immediately reaches for it. Then she scans its wordings with her eyes.

She already knows she has to teach a seven-year-old how to dance. However, she’s only now finding out she has to live in a lonely place with the girl alone for five years. No phone. No way of contacting the outer world.

“Is this right? Five years. Isn’t it too much to have me locked up for such a long time?” she voices her displeasure.

Ziason gives her a perfect response. “Have you seen the numbers you will be get?”

Yes, she’s looking at it right now. Three billion rakis per month. And it’s cash.

“Are you that wealthy?” she asks even though it’s a dumb one, seeing his vehicle alone.

“If you had to pick between half a decade of freedom with nothing, and five years of bondage with all your expenses covered while receiving such amount every month, which would you chose?” Ziason queries nonchalantly.

Heaven doesn’t reply. She isn’t even thinking about it. She just stares at the digits, her brain totally blank.

“Let us ditch the future, regard the present,” Ziason continues. “What happens when you reject this and walk out of this car? You return to the lodge, realize you are really doomed, then you repeat final year while struggling with your part-time jobs. But at the end of the year, you still gain nothing. No better jobs. More frustration. Even if you decide it’s a waste of time to repeat final year, and decide to drop out, your life still won’t turn any better.”

Heaven heard everything he said, yet only the last sentence stuck—the one that finally wakes her up.

“Who says I were rejecting the offer?” she asks the man. “My mind was already made up the moment I dialed your contact.”

Heaven proceeds to sign the contract, placing it back on Ziason’s seat and leaning back in hers to watch the man with a deadpan expression.

Ziason smirks, then looks out the window behind her just as the car kicks off. “Your bravery astounds me, Heaven,” he mutters while returning his gaze to Heaven.

He finds her still staring. Not many people have been able to look at him straight up like that, or hold his gaze. Only his brothers could afford to do that, yet here’s this tiny redhead girl in her little coat staring at him like he’s her next plaything.

But then she doesn’t know, does she, about who he really is?

“Tell me, Heaven,” he starts while squinting his eyes and cocking his head to the side, “what is your beef with Alphas?”