Chapter 7

Zenith’s POV

The doctor found me in the corridor just as I stepped out of the waiting room, my chest tight with worry. He looked calm, professional, but there was a softness in his gaze I hadn’t expected.

“Miss Francia,” he said, removing his surgical cap. “The surgery was successful. Your mother is out of danger for now, but she’ll remain under observation through the night.”

Relief hit me like a tidal wave. I nearly staggered.

“Thank you,” I breathed. “Thank you so much.”

He nodded with a reassuring smile and left, and I pushed open the door to the private room where my mother now lay sleeping.

She looked so fragile, tucked beneath the crisp hospital sheets, her blonde hair streaked with silver fanned across the pillow. Her face, once full of life, laughter, and sarcasm, was pale, lined with exhaustion she had never been allowed to escape. The machines beeped in rhythm with her heartbeat, and the antiseptic scent couldn’t mask the warmth she carried everywhere. She smelled like home. Like Dad.

I leaned over, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. Her skin was cool, soft. The tears came before I could stop them, hot, messy, uncontrollable. I let my body fold forward, crying into the crook of my arm.

“I can’t believe this,” I whispered, bitter. “You’ll kill me when you wake up and find out I’m married.”

I glanced at her peaceful face again. “But I know you’ll forgive me. Eventually.”

With one last kiss to her temple, I straightened and checked my phone. Helton James’s name flashed across the screen. I hesitated, then answered.

“Good evening, Malishka,” his smooth voice came, amusement threading through every word. I could almost picture the smirk. He wasn’t what I’d expected, not cold, not tyrannical. There was warmth in him, a mischievousness that seemed built into him, something older and smoother than Dexter, as if he’d seen too much but chose to be entertained rather than bitter.

I shook my head. This was business. Transactional. Contractual. Nothing more. I couldn’t read too much into a man I’d only known for a few hours.

“Good evening,” I said, softer than I meant to, my fingers tightening around the phone.

There was a pause. Then, “Have you been crying?”

I stiffened, startled that he noticed. A breathless laugh escaped me. “Should I be laughing instead? Celebrating?”

After all, wasn’t it ridiculous? That everything had happened in less than forty-eight hours?

He didn’t answer, only said, “Your mother will be fine.”

A lump lodged in my throat. “Will she really? The love of her life just died yesterday, you know?”

My voice cracked, raw and broken. I hadn’t dared say it aloud until now. There it was, the guilt. Had I been selfish, clinging to her when maybe she wanted to go be with Dad?

Helton James cleared his throat, and his tone shifted slightly awkwardly. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

I could tell he didn’t say things like that often. And once again, the image I had built of him over the years, this untouchable, steel-hearted CEO, cracked.

I wondered: did he even cry when his mother died? Would he cry if his father died? Probably not. He seemed to carry this steely, controlled look in his eyes every time he glanced at him. I wouldn’t blame him. After all, he may have been a father, but he wasn’t a dad.

I hummed a quiet acknowledgment, not knowing what else to say. Silence stretched between us.

“Do you want to reschedule this for another day?” he finally asked.

That caught me off guard. I blinked, letting his words sink in.

Wasn’t he the one who said,

“Weren’t you the one who said, and I quote, ‘The early bird catches the worm’?” I teased, just barely.

A sigh on the other end. “Well, firstly, you didn’t let me finish that line. Secondly… I apologize if I rushed you.”

His voice was softer now, not businesslike, not flirtatious. Human.

I thought about it. Really thought.

“No,” I said after a moment. “Let’s do it now.”

He paused, and I could hear the shift in his breathing.

“Okay. Then come down. There’ll be a car waiting for you.”

“Alright. Thank you,” I replied, the words catching in my throat. That “thank you” wasn’t for the ride. It was for everything, even if it was all just part of a contract.

I ended the call and turned back to my mother. I lingered by her side for a moment longer, brushing a strand of hair off her cheek.

“Sleep well,” I murmured. “Please wake up soon.”

But to my shock, there was no chauffeur.

It was Helton James himself, leaning casually against a sleek black car, one hand in his pocket, the other pocketing his phone. The city lights glinted off the polished surface, reflecting his sharp suit and that damn unreadable expression.

I froze for a moment, my heels clicking softly on the pavement as I approached. Why him? Why did he always seem to show up exactly when I least expected him, and yet exactly when I needed him?

He straightened as I neared, his dark eyes locking onto mine. There were no words, just that familiar smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He appeared calm, composed, and dangerous, yet impossibly enticing.

“Ready?” he asked finally, voice smooth, controlled, but with something softer underneath, a thread of amusement, maybe curiosity.

I swallowed, tugging my dress down and taking a shaky breath. “Yes,” I said. Short. Firm. Determined. But inside, my heart was racing like it had a mind of its own.

He opened the passenger door with a fluid motion, motioning for me to get in. The world around me blurred, lights, cars, sounds, all fading into the background. All that mattered was the space between us, the tension in the air, and the undeniable weight of the decision I had just made.

As I slid into the car, he closed the door behind me, leaning in slightly. “Hold on,” he murmured, almost like a promise.

And in that instant, I realized, there was no going back.