The apology that didn't happen.

Zoe’s POV

I should apologize.

I had ignored Arman twice and indirectly called him stupid. Although the last part wasn't intentional, it wouldn’t have been so bad if everyone hadn’t been listening—but they had. We would begin shooting the movie by the weekend, and I would have to spend a lot of time with him. It wouldn't be good if we started off on the wrong foot. We already had, but I was hoping to correct it.

M.J. would call for me any minute; he still had to show me my new apartment, settle me in, and teach me a lot of things, yet I had still not found Arman. I knew he was still in the building because his car was outside. Mind you, it wasn’t hard to figure out which car was his—the red sports car screamed his name even without the customized license plate.

Where on earth was—There! I found him.

I increased my pace to catch up with him, thinking it would be weird to shout his name, but he had already turned a corner. I would have bolted after him, but his words quieted my steps.

"Really?" His voice was cold and harsh, like the edge of a designer belt, and he lashed out with it. These were words designed to hurt. "An apology? How dare you?"

The words felt as if they had been delivered to me, but I realized he was on the phone. He didn’t stop. "You’re a bitch, aren’t you?" A two-second pause. "Oh, shut the fuck up! I know, M. I know what you’ve been up to, so spare me the words. And please, if you love yourself and that pretty little neck of yours, do not appear before me. This is not a mere threat. I will strangle you, and not in the way you like," he hissed.

Heat crawled up my cheeks as I got the message: Arman was not a forgiving man. Like the person on the phone, my apology would likely not be accepted—and unlike the person on the phone, I did not like *any* kind of strangling. I bolted before he could notice my presence.

"Where have you been?" M.J. asked with a frown when I almost bumped into him.

"I... uh..." I was a terrible liar, and I wasn’t about to tell him I’d been hunting for Arman. "I was searching for the restroom." Even my tone sounded wrong.

M.J.’s features softened. He was truly worried about me. "Then you should have asked me, or anyone, instead of wandering around. Don’t do that next time, okay?"

Something shifted in my stomach at his tone—the calmness in how he spoke, the way he used words to emphasize that my well-being was paramount. No one ever spoke to me like that. You should have seen how my parents "corrected" me. My mom didn’t believe in rods or canes, but she knew how to break people with words. M.J.’s calmness was like water to my starving soul.

He looked at me as if expecting a response, so I nodded. "Okay."

He gestured for us to move, making me lead the way back to the car. My mom would have extended a scolding forever, ensuring she had the last word.

My new apartment was wonderful.

"I had to pull some strings to get this place on such short notice, but I hope you like it," M.J. explained as he showed me around. The place had only a small couch in the living room and a bed in the bedroom, but it was everything to a girl who had lived in a medical school dormitory her whole life.

"I love it!" What was there not to love? It was a three-story building and I was on the top floor, which gave me a perfect view of the city. I could imagine myself looking down at the hustle and bustle while sipping coffee. I was sure I’d be able to see the Statue of Liberty if I had a pair of binoculars.

"There won’t be time for you to buy furniture in person, so you’ll have to do it all online, but I’ll be here to guide you. You get to decorate this room however you like, but I get to pick your clothes. From now on, you have an image to portray and I’m in charge of that. Capiche?"

I lifted both thumbs. I was perfectly fine with that arrangement; I knew nothing about clothes anyway. Then I remembered: "I don’t have any money."

My parents were rich, but my mom believed that purchasing power encouraged people to rebel. I never had my own money, only a meager allowance for food and essentials. I hadn't taken her actions to heart because I technically had a house in my name—my brother did, too—but I wouldn't have access to it until I became what my mother wanted me to be. Now, I knew I would never have that house. I was on a path my mother would hate—a path she had yet to discover, but once she did, hell would break loose.

"Zoe!" M.J. was pulling me out of my thoughts.

"Yes!" I jumped. I had a tendency to zone out; it helped me study, but my mother hated it. Fear crawled up my spine as I anticipated M.J.’s reaction.

"Are you okay?" he asked, worry etched into his face. Relief flooded through me.

I nodded. "Just a bit worried. Looks like I’ll have to live like this until I begin to earn my own way." I gave a small smile.

M.J. shook his head. "Not on my watch."

The rest of my day was uneventful because I slept through it; my body was exhausted. But one thought remained even as my eyelids closed: Arman was not a forgiving man, and I had gone ahead and offended him anyway.

I just hoped I was the one overthinking it. I hoped he hadn't truly taken offense.