Chapter 02

Zayden

The moment I walked into the dining room, the room went quiet.

All eyes fell on me.

My father sat at the head of the table. My stepmother was beside him, with Adrian and Ryan on either side.

No one smiled when they saw me.

Neither did I.

My father pointed toward the empty chair.

"Sit."

I did.

Shortly after, the food was served, but my father's eyes remained on me, watching silently.

The moment the last plate was placed on the table, he broke the awkward silence.

"Why have you been avoiding Edwina?"

I looked at him, my fork paused over my plate.

"I'm not."

My stepmother gave a mocking laugh.

"Of course you aren't."

I ignored her and continued eating in silence.

"She's called you repeatedly. You don't answer. She came to your office, and you left without even speaking to her."

"I was busy, Father."

"You always have an excuse," my stepmother interrupted.

My father looked at her.

"Clara."

She ignored him and continued.

"Do you know how humiliating it is to have Edwina's mother calling me, asking why her daughter keeps getting rejected by you? She's even threatening to withdraw her shares."

My eyes moved to her, my jaw tightening.

"I didn't ask you to speak to her."

It was as if those words triggered something in her.

Her face hardened.

"No, you didn't ask me to speak to her. You never ask anyone for anything. You just do whatever you want and expect everyone else to deal with the consequences."

She raised her hand and pointed her index finger at me.

"I am your mother. I make the decisions here."

I slowly raised my head.

My eyes bored into hers as my face darkened with anger.

"Mother?"

A short, humorless laugh escaped my lips.

"What does the word mother mean to you?"

"You litt—"

She scoffed, but before she could finish, my father's hand slammed against the table.

"That's enough."

She fell silent, but I could still see her chest rising and falling with anger.

Adrian, leaned back in his chair.

"She's right about one thing."

My father looked at him, but Adrian continued.

"Zayden has always done whatever he wants. I can still clearly remember when Dad let him take over the company. Za—"

"We're not discussing that," my father interrupted with a frown.

Adrian gave a bitter smile.

"Why not?"

His voice sharpened, his eyes never leaving my father.

"It's always the same. Whenever Zayden does something, everyone is expected to accept it."

His voice broke slightly.

"But when I make one mistake, what do you do? Hate me? Curse me? Compare me to this bastard?"

My hands curled into fists.

I pushed my tongue against the inside of my cheek.

Family dinners were never meant to end well in this house.

My father stared at him but said nothing.

Ryan spilled water onto the table, clearly trying to distract them, but neither my father nor Adrian stopped.

"You're my son, Adrian. And so are all of you."

"Oh, please," Adrian said, rolling his eyes.

Before he could say anything else, my father slammed his hand against the table again.

"I said enough."

The room went quiet.

His voice echoed through the hallway, and everyone went back to eating, this time in complete silence.

After a few minutes, my father finally spoke.

"Now we can talk about the real problem."

He pushed a folder across the table.

"Hamilton."

I opened it slowly and scanned the pages.

"They signed this afternoon."

"I know," I whispered before closing the folder.

"You know, and you still lost it to Blackwell?"

My father's voice thundered across the room.

I said nothing.

"You know what bothers me?"

He paused.

Then his voice rose again.

"It's not that Blackwell won. It's that you don't seem bothered that they did."

"I am bothered."

"Then show it!"

He slammed his hand against the table, the veins on his forehead standing out.

I saw my stepmother tremble.

"Honey... please, your blood pressure—"

"Shut up!"

He yelled at her before turning back to me.

I remained quiet.

Then Adrian muttered something under his breath.

But I heard him clearly.

"This is exactly what I've been saying. He has never had to worry about consequences."

My father continued, but this time his voice was lower, as if he was trying hard to control his anger.

"The board meets tomorrow. They're going to question Hamilton, and they're going to question you."

My stepmother spoke quietly.

"Perhaps it's time."

My father's eyes turned toward her.

"Don't you dare interrupt me."

She immediately closed her mouth.

He looked back at me and pushed the folder toward me again.

"If you don't get Hamilton back before the board meeting, I swear you'll have to bear the consequences."

No one spoke.

I picked up the folder and rose to my feet.

"Where are you going?" my father asked.

I held the folder at my side.

"To fix it."

Adrian laughed.

"You really think you can?"

I looked at him but said nothing.

I simply walked out of the house without looking back.

I walked quickly until I was outside.

Then I stopped and released a deep sigh, letting the cold breeze wash over my face as I closed my eyes and ran my fingers through my hair.

__

I had asked for a bottle of whiskey.

I wanted to drink myself to sleep, hoping it would ease the pain in my chest.

Today marked ten years since my mother died.

Ten years of unbearable pain.

I finished my drink and headed toward the bathroom, feeling the alcohol already taking over my body.

After a quick bath, I made my way toward my room, hoping to finally get some sleep.

But as I got closer, I heard something.

Whimpering.

Soft sighs.

It sounded like someone was crying.

In my room?

What was going on?

I ran my fingers through my hair and walked toward the room.

I stopped at the doorway.

A fragile figure was lying on my bed.

Her bag was on the floor, and she still had her heels on.

She slowly raised her head.

And then I saw her face.

She was beautiful.

More beautiful than words could describe.

Even with her disheveled hair, there was something about her that caught my attention.

I didn't know why.

Maybe it was the alcohol.

Maybe it was the grief.

Maybe I was simply tired and wasn't thinking clearly.

I didn't know.

We stared at each other longer than we should have.

Who was this woman?

And what was she doing in my room?

I hadn't asked for anyone.

Before I could say anything, she started moving toward me.

I instinctively moved backward until my back hit the wall.

I wanted to stop her.

I should have stopped her.

But I couldn't bring myself to move.

She raised herself onto her toes and pressed her lips against mine.

I froze.

Her lips tasted like strawberries, soft and warm, with the faint taste of alcohol.

Then she moved her hands to the back of my head.

For a moment, I simply stood there.

I didn't want to take advantage of her drunken state.

But my body moved before my mind could catch up.

I kissed her back.

My arms wrapped around her, pulling her closer before I carried her toward the bed.

I could see the conflict in her eyes, the part of her that seemed to know this was dangerous.

But neither of us stopped.

I didn't know why I loved the way her body arched into my touch, the way she moaned softly as I caressed her.

When she screamed and moaned I could help but crave for more. When we finally reached climax, she fell asleep on my arm.

I ran my fingers through her hair, almost smiling at how peacefully she slept.

Who was she?

What had brought her here?

I stared at her for a long moment.

She was damn beautiful.

I couldn't even think of the right word to describe her.

“I'm sorry, I wasn't in my right mind” I whispered softly.

Then the weight of my actions settled over me like a shroud, the realization that I had taken something precious from a stranger.

A drunk stranger.

And I had crossed a line I couldn't take back.

I looked at her sleeping face.

I knew I would never forget this night.

Not this woman.

Not the way she had made me feel.

My phone suddenly rang.

I carefully got up and walked toward the window, placing the phone against my ear before glancing back at her.

"Calm down and talk to me," I whispered.

"What?"

I almost yelled.

My heart froze.

I clenched my fist at my side, my jaw tightening as I listened.

"No. Tell me again."

Silence.

I swallowed hard, suddenly feeling like the room had become too small.

"When did this happen?"

My eyes darted toward the door.

"Are you sure?"

Another pause.

I slowly lowered the phone from my ear.

My fingers were trembling.

"What the hell...?"

I yelled and then paused when she suddenly flinched and turned to the other side, pulling the blanket closer to herself like a baby.

Her lips moved as she hummed softly, almost as if she were talking to someone in her dream.

Then I heard her whisper.

“I’m sorry. I... I love you so much that it hurts to see you leave.”

My eyes remained fixed on her.

Who the hell was she talking about?

I took a slow step toward the bed, staring at her sleeping face.

“Who are you dreaming about?” I whispered to her smiling admiringly.