Chapter 6: A Deal With the Devil

“You,” Daniel sneers. “The gigolo. How dare you take my Jade?”

Zayn doesn’t reply.

“That’s my wife in there. You gotta give her back, man. She’s just confused.”

The hallway suddenly falls quiet again. Daniel’s voice dies in his throat. I can’t see what’s happening from where I stand, but I hear the shift in the air.

“Let me go,” Daniel barks.

There’s a soft thud. A sharp gasp. Then the dull scrape of shoes against carpet. It sounds like Daniel’s hurting. He groans, trying to laugh it off. “She’s my fiancée. You think you can just—”

Another thud comes. This time Daniel curses. There’s struggling now. A lot of it. What the hell is happening out there? I want to find out. I rush toward the door, fingers wrapping around the knob. I stop. I can’t do it. I just can't.

Because opening the door means facing Daniel again. And if he gets his hands on me, he’ll drag me straight back into the life where I die slowly while he watches.

So I wait. Seconds stretch. Long enough for my heart to start hammering. Then fast footsteps retreat down the hallway like a prey escaping a predator. I realize I’ve been holding my breath. The door opens a moment later. Zayn walks back into the suite. He’s calm. Like he didn’t just deal with a money-hungry rabid animal outside.

“He’s gone,” he says.

Just like that? Something about the way he said it makes my skin prickle.

“How did you—”

“People like him only understand two things,” Zayn says, brushing invisible dust from his sleeve. “Fear and humiliation.”

My stomach twists.

“I threatened to call security and have him thrown out.”

I study his face. “Did you fight him?” I ask slowly. “I thought I heard—”

Zayn looks genuinely confused. “I just taught him to watch his mouth.”

That’s the explanation I get. Nothing more. His body brushes past mine as he walks by. His warmth makes me shiver and I don't know why. There’s something about him that haunts me.

I walk toward him. He pours himself a drink like tossing my violent fiancé down the hallway was just another item on his evening schedule. I scrutinize him carefully.

Who is this man?

Zayn glances at me. “You look like you’re rethinking our deal already.”

I shake my head quickly. “No.”

Hell no. I’m not rethinking anything. Because for the first time since waking up a year in the past, I feel something close to relief. I don’t feel alone anymore. I don't know this stranger. But I might as well know him now if he’s really going to help me. He sits across from me, stretching one arm along the back of the sofa.

“So,” he says, “let’s talk about our marriage.”

My pulse quickens again.

“This is strictly a contract,” I say quickly. “One year. We play the roles. Nothing more.”

“Agreed.”

“And we set rules.”

Zayn nods once. “You go first.”

I inhale slowly, organizing my thoughts. “We keep our finances separate. No interfering in each other’s personal matters. If either of us wants out after the year, we walk away clean.”

“Reasonable.”

I hesitate before saying the last one.

“And we don’t fall in love.”

Zayn’s lips twitch slightly. “I promise you,” he murmurs, “that won’t be an issue.”

I’m not sure why that answer annoys me. Maybe because it sounds so confident. He leans forward. “My rule.”

I brace myself.

“No questions about my life.”

My brows knit together. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

The simplicity of it unsettles me more than anything else. But I nod anyway. I’m starting to wonder what he actually does for a living.

Escort? Actor? Professional rich woman hunter?

My brain starts working overtime. Maybe he’s secretly married. Maybe he’s running from the mafia. Maybe he’s the mafia.

…

Okay. I’ve got nothing.

“Fine,” I say. “No questions.”

My wrist vibrates softly. I glance down. The timer glows faintly under my skin. 365 days. One year until the night I died. My chest tightens. One year to expose them. One year to survive.

Zayn follows my gaze but says nothing. Instead he pushes the whiskey bottle toward me.

“Drink.”

I hesitate. Then I pour. The alcohol burns going down. But it quiets the noise in my head. Another glass follows. And another. The memories start creeping back. Daniel’s cold smile. Barbara’s whispering voice.

The taste of poison on my tongue. The hospital room. My body slowly shutting down while the people I loved waited for my trust fund to transfer. Tears sting my eyes. My grip tightens around the glass.

“Careful,” Zayn says quietly. “You might break it and hurt yourself.”

I laugh weakly. “Why do you care? It’s not like I’m not already hurt and broken.”

He watches me for a long moment. He doesn't say a word. His eyes are soft and terribly cold at the same time I don't know what he’s thinking. It’s almost impossible to read him.

“You said you wanted a wife,” I mumble, reaching for the bottle again. “Oh wait. Sorry. ‘NO QUESTIONS.’”

I laugh out loud, drowning my sadness in more whiskey as if it’ll make me forget everything. Zayn’s dark eyes narrow.

“You’re terrified. I know. But I’m here now.”

His words hit too close. I look away.

“You’re wrong.” I grab the bottle and drink straight from it. “My family hates me,” I say, my words slurring slightly. “My fiancé hates me too. My best friend wants me dead. Why should I be terrified?”

I laugh. God, I sound insane.

“I married a man who despised me,” I continue. “And he ruined my life. Then he killed me.”

I can't believe I just said that to Zayn. He’ll think I’m crazy. But of course, he says nothing. He just keeps staring at me, his expression unreadable. My head is spiraling. I’m so fucking drunk. I’m not a heavy drinker.

I should’ve stopped myself after my first glass. I don’t even remember opening the second bottle. Zayn just sits there, watching me drink myself into oblivion.

“Whatever,” I think out loud, chugging it down.

Silence stretches between us. Then Zayn says, “I’m going to be a better husband.”

I pause, his words striking a chord in me. I feel my heart thud. His gaze locks onto mine. “I promise,” he finishes with a soft smile.

Then his name slips out before I can stop myself from being any more awkward.

“Zayn?”

“Yes?”

“Will you be my first?”

Zayn freezes. “What?”

I stare at the bottle in my hand.

“I was saving myself,” I continue quietly. “For my honeymoon. With Daniel.” The name tastes sour. “What a joke.” I force myself to look at Zayn. “We’re getting married anyway. So… why not?”

I throw the bottle across the room. It shatters against the wall. I launch forward before my brain can stop me. I climb straight into Zayn’s lap. His body goes completely still. My fingers curl into his thick black hair.

Up close he looks even more unfairly handsome. Like some fallen god pretending to be human just to entertain himself. I smile drunkenly.

“Zayn?” His name tastes like sin. “Be my first.” My lips hover inches from his. “Please. You’ve kissed me before. Now I want you to fuck me.”

Zayn’s lips twitch into a vicious smirk. “You have no idea what you’re asking for.”

His grip on my waist tightens.