Chapter 5: Ghosts With Perfect Voices

“Put me down,” I hissed, squirming in his arms.

“In a minute.”

His voice was all gravel and silk, and I could feel the tension in his biceps as he adjusted his grip. My arms instinctively looped around his neck. The scent of his cologne ,cedar and something darker, curled in my lungs like smoke. His jaw was set, unreadable, as he carried me down the corridor, past wide windows and closed doors, finally pushing open the one at the end of the hall.

A guest room. Warm, minimal, and private.

He set me down on the edge of the bed, surprisingly gentle. Then he pressed his thumb just under the curve of my ankle again, massaging gently. My lips parted at the feel of it, at how his touch was simultaneously careful and firm, clinical and maddening. I hated that it felt good. I hated that I wanted to keep watching his lashes lower every time he focused on a tender spot.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” I muttered.

“Only a little. Your face goes all flushed when you're mad at me.”

“Jokes on you. I have melanin. Do you collect enemies or just torment women for sport?”

“I only torment the ones who pretend they don’t like me.”

I glared. He smirked.

“Don’t move,” he said.

“You’re not the boss of me.”

“Still. Don’t.”

He disappeared into the ensuite bathroom. I heard water running, cabinets opening, the clink of something metallic. When he returned, he had a basin of water, a towel, bandages, and a small tub of balm.

“I’ve had worse,” I said as he knelt in front of me again.

“I haven’t,” he replied under his breath, as if it meant more than it sounded.

The way he dabbed at the swelling with the warm towel, carefully, like I might shatter, made me want to cry. Not from pain, but from remembering and pretending none of this meant anything.

His fingers brushed my skin, calloused and warm. My pulse throbbed in places it shouldn’t.

“I told you not to wear those damn heels,” he said softly.

“You don’t get to have opinions about my shoes.”

“I do when you fall like a rag doll and make half the staff think my isn’t safety conscious. Allowing a lady on heels to work around and plan my wedding?” He wrapped the bandage slowly, his fingers grazing my calf too often to be accidental. He lingered for a second, thumb brushing over the curve of my shin. When he finally looked up, his expression had changed. “Don’t get up. Not until it’s rested.”

I narrowed my eyes. “I can walk, Zane.”

“Try it and I’ll tie you to this couch.”

I let out a disbelieving laugh. “You are so—”

But he was gone again before I could finish. I sat frozen,, breathing hard. My fingers trembled where they rested on my lap. The room felt too quiet without him.

Why was he touching me like that? Why did it feel like his hands remembered parts of me his mind had forgotten?

Or… had he?

I rubbed my wrist, trying to steady myself. Maybe I was imagining things.

While he disappeared into what I guessed was an adjoining office, I pushed myself up and limped to the open balcony door. The city spread beneath us, glittering and endless. The wind kissed my skin, sharp and cool. I leaned on the railing, staring at the trees swaying gently in the breeze. The scent of distant pine reminded me of another time, another place.

Five years ago.

I closed my eyes. I could still hear the crackle of the fire. The sound of shattering glass. My father’s voice yelling my name. The heat pressing into my back as I ran barefoot into the dark.

We were never the same since then.

I drew in a breath, sharp and unsteady. That night changed everything. And I never let myself relive it. But now, standing on this balcony, with Zane somewhere just down the hall…

It was all coming back.

“I told you not to get up.”

I turned around, startled. Zane’s voice was low and dangerous. He was standing in the doorway, holding a small black box and something furry under his arm. His eyes dropped to my bare feet.

“I just needed air.”

His jaw flexed. “You disobeyed me.”

“I didn’t realize I worked for a dictator now.”

He stalked toward me, each step slow and simmering with something I couldn’t name. “Miss Ibe…”

“What? You’re going to scold me again? Maybe spank me too?”

The pain was catching up to me. And the fight. And the flashbacks. My voice cracked. I hated the wobble in it.

Zane stepped closer. “Hey. Hey. Don’t do that.” His gaze fell to my ankle again. “Sit down. You’re shaking.”

I didn’t even know what “that” meant until he reached out and gently cupped my face.

“Sit down,” he repeated.

“I’m fine—”

“Sit down.”

His other hand went to my waist, guiding me back to the couch.

I sat down, blinking fast. Then nodded to the black box. “Let me guess. You keep emergency slippers for all your injured staff.”

He didn’t smile. “Only the ones I like.”

That shut me up.

He knelt again, carefully setting the box down beside him. His knee brushed mine as he did. The contact was light, incidental. But it scorched through my skin like fire. He peeled away the wrap on my ankle with infinite care, his brows drawn in concentration.

He looked… worried.

“I’m fine, Zane,” I said, softer this time. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I know.” His eyes flicked up to mine. “That’s why I’m doing it.”

I swallowed.

He didn’t say anything. He just knelt before me, silent, and took my foot in his hands. Then he slid the slipper on slowly, reverently, as if apologizing without words. The way he touched me was too careful, too knowing.

His gaze lifted to mine. Locked there. “Better?”

I couldn’t find my voice. So I nodded.

He stayed there, crouched between my knees, hands still on me. His eyes searched mine like he was looking for something buried beneath the surface. And maybe he was.

Because how could he not remember me?

Was it perhaps a trauma response? Like when you want to forget something so bad you manipulate your brain into forgetting it. I could understand that. But the accident-induced amnesia storyline? I won’t fall for that.

“I didn’t mean for things to be this tense,” he murmured.

“You mean with the wedding?” I asked, voice dry.

“I mean with you.”

I tried to pull my foot back, but he didn’t let go. His thumb brushed over my ankle again, slower this time. His other hand rested lightly on my knee. We were too close. My breath hitched. He leaned in, just a fraction. Just enough that I could feel the warmth of his breath. His eyes dropped to my mouth.

“Zane…” I whispered, warning and plea tangled into one.

His voice was low. “Tell me to stop.”

I didn’t. Because I couldn’t. My chest was rising too fast. My body was already leaning in, mouth parting, lips nearly brushing…

Click.

We both froze as the door handle turned.

“Zane?” A light, polished female voice said.

His jaw clenched but he didn’t look away from me. “That’s my fiancée,” he said quietly, as if it were just another fact. Like grass is green and the sky is blue.

Oh my God. I knew that voice. I knew her from the past. I hadn’t seen her in five years. She was Zane’s fiancée???