Chapter 02

Zoya

My blood turned to liquid fire. It surged through my veins, searing my fingertips as I gripped that lip balm.

The sweet, cloying scent of strawberry wafted from the tube. A silent witness confirming every one of Shane’s accusations and the mystery message I had just deleted.

My mind was a war zone. Tension knotted in my chest, a physical weight strangling my denial.

I stood frozen beside the sofa, staring at the bathroom door. Waiting with a cocktail of rage and gut-wrenching fear.

The bathroom door finally opened. Alex stepped out, a white towel draped low around his waist, wisps of warm steam trailing behind him.

His hair was damp and artfully tousled, radiating the kind of effortless masculine charm that had hooked me from day one.

I didn't waste time on pleasantries. I stepped toward him, thrusting the object in my hand toward his chest.

"What is this, Alex?" My voice trembled, fighting back a hurricane of emotions.

Alex froze for a heartbeat. His eyes flickered to the pink tube with a flash of genuine surprise.

But a second later, a warm, reassuring smile broke across his handsome face. He pulled me into his arms, wrapping me in that familiar embrace, that scent of his signature masculine soap.

"Oh, so this is why my beautiful wife is suddenly pouting?" he whispered, his voice smooth as velvet against my ear.

He pulled back just enough to look me in the eye. Giving me that adoring, camera, ready gaze he reserved for our talk, show appearances.

"It’s been freezing out there, and the air is bone-dry. I was in a boardroom with the AC blasting all day for those coordination meetings. My lips were getting chapped, cracking, and stinging like hell," he explained softly.

His fingers brushed my cheek with tender familiarity. "I stopped at a convenience store and grabbed the first thing I saw. I’ve been using it to get them soft again. But the real reason ..."

Alex paused, dipping his face until our lips were mere millimeters apart.

"I didn't want my wife to feel uncomfortable if I kissed her with rough, dry lips," he murmured.

He cupped my face and sealed his mouth to mine. A kiss so warm and demanding it felt like it vaporized every doubt that had been burning in my chest moments ago.

"How’s that? Soft enough for you? It’s all for you, Babe," he whispered when he pulled away, flashing a playful, lopsided grin.

"I have to start taking better care of myself now. I want my brilliant wife to always feel comfortable and proud when she’s standing next to me in the spotlight."

His sweet talk flowed like an antidote, instantly melting the icy shards of suspicion in my heart.

"So, you’ve been taking extra care of your appearance lately just for me?" I asked, my voice finally softening.

Alex let out a low chuckle, giving my nose a playful squeeze.

"Of course. Who else would it be for, hmm?" He arched a brow, teasing me.

"You’ve been acting so strange tonight. Why? Has someone been getting in your head out there to make you this paranoid about your own husband?"

The image of Shane flashed in my mind. I felt a sudden, sharp pang of guilt for ever doubting the sincerity of the man standing before me.

"I’m sorry, Alex. I’m just, I’m exhausted today," I whispered, bowing my head.

Alex just smiled with patient understanding. He turned toward the dressing room to put on the pajamas I’d laid out on the bed.

Watching his back, I let out a long, shuddering breath of relief. All my doubts vanished into thin air.

Alex was still the same loving man, the husband who prioritized me above everything else.

"Alex, don't forget. We’ve got that dinner with my extended family in Mayfair tomorrow night," I reminded him as I pulled the heavy duvet up to our chests.

"Of course I remember, honey. I’ll wrap up my work early and swing by your office to pick you up at five," he promised without a hint of hesitation.

He pulled me into his chest, and we drifted off to sleep. That night, I slept soundly, convinced the storm in our marriage had passed.

The following day, a chaotic afternoon bled into the dim light of dusk.

I stood in my office lobby, pacing nervously. My watch read 5:30 p.m.

Time was slipping away, and the Mayfair traffic would be a gridlock by now.

Yet, Alex was nowhere to be seen, and my texts from an hour ago still sat on "delivered" without a read receipt.

Anxious and on edge, I dialed his number. After a few rings, he picked up.

"Hey, I'm so sorry, Babe." Alex’s voice sounded rushed, punctuated by the faint hum of background noise.

"I’m still buried in this meeting with some new investors. I can’t just walk out on this one."

"But Alex, the dinner starts in thirty minutes," I said, struggling to swallow the disappointment rising in my throat.

"I know, I know. I’m so sorry. Why don’t you head over to the restaurant first?" he suggested.

"I promise I’ll be right behind you as soon as this wraps up. I won't keep you waiting long, okay?"

I sighed, realizing I had no other choice. "Fine. I’ll go ahead. Don't be late, Alex."

"Thank you, my understanding wife. I love you—"

Just before Alex hung up, a woman's voice, very faint, drifted through the background.

"Who was that, Babe?"

I stopped dead in the middle of the lobby. My heart slammed against my ribs.

"Alex? Whose voice was that? Are you with a woman?" I demanded.

Alex let out a low, breezy laugh on the other end. As if my question were the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard.

"Babe, why have you become so paranoid lately, hmm? Yes, I am with a woman. But she’s one of the lead clients from our partner firm. We’re reviewing the proposal docs together."

"Don't you trust me? Want me to put her on so you can talk to my client directly?" Alex challenged, his voice infuriatingly calm and convincing.

Faced with his bold challenge, shame washed over me. I felt like a paranoid wreck.

"Never mind, Alex. I'm sorry for being so sensitive. I’m heading to the restaurant now. See you there," I said quickly, hanging up with a head full of mixed signals.

During the ride, my mind refused to settle. Something was snagging at my memory, that woman’s voice on the phone, it sounded painfully familiar.

But I shoved the thought away, forcing myself to focus on the family dinner ahead.

When I pulled up to the luxury restaurant in Mayfair, the place was already buzzing with my extended family.

I walked into the VIP room. But the warmth I’d been hoping for evaporated the second my cousins gathered around, eyeing me with predatory, cynical smiles.

"Oh, look who it is. The famous architect who’s always parading her 'perfect' romance on TV," my cousin Serly sneered. Her tone dripping with fake sweetness.

"But why come alone? Where’s your reckless husband who loves you so damn much, Zoya? Is he too busy to accompany his own superstar wife?"

The other cousins erupted in laughter. It was clear they loved seeing me arrive without Alex.

They’d always been jealous of my career trajectory and the "flawless" public image of my marriage.

But they forgot who they were dealing with. Underneath my composure, I was a shark in the boardroom, seasoned by years of brutal negotiations.

My wit and sharp tongue wouldn't let them trample my dignity.

I flashed a saccharine smile, locking eyes with Serly.

"Alex is wrapping up a vital meeting with global investors. As a man responsible for his family's future, he knows exactly when to grind," I replied, my tone calm but cutting.

"Though, I suppose that’s a concept that might be hard for someone to grasp when their husband’s only talent is burning through inheritance money without producing a single cent, right?"

Serly’s face went beet-red. The snickering cousins fell deathly silent.

I turned around with effortless grace, leaving them to simmer in their own spite.

I walked over to my uncle by the window. Engaging him in casual conversation about London’s property market.

A few minutes later, my attention snapped to the door as it swung open.

A wide, relieved smile broke across my face when I saw my husband walk in. He’d kept his word, he’d made it.

But my smile curdled and died.

Walking just a few paces behind Alex, was a young woman in a dress that matched the color of his suit.

It was Zeena. My stepsister, who had always acted so sugary-sweet to my face.

They walked side-by-side, too close for comfort. Looking so perfectly coordinated that the entire room fell into a heavy, suffocating silence.

Before I could move to greet him, my cousins caught the scene. They pounced, shouting with provocatively loud voices that carried across the entire room.

"Alex! Why didn't you come with your wife? You’re here with Zeena instead?"

"And you’re even wearing matching colors. If I didn't know better, I’d say you two look like quite the pair."