Zayan sat in the grand lounge of the mansion, shadows clinging to the edges of the room as dusk settled. He hadn't planned on returning so early, but something—someone—had drawn him back.
The heavy front door creaked open.
Nora stepped inside quietly, unaware of his presence. She looked tired, her hair slightly tousled, her uniform still clutched in one hand. She was the only one back early, and as usual, she moved silently through the halls like a ghost that belonged more to the walls than the world.
Zayan watched her from his place on the couch, concealed behind the velvet drapes and flickering candlelight. He told himself to look away—just look away—but his eyes stayed fixed on her.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
She disappeared into her room, and moments later reemerged in her uniform, hair tied back. Focused. Distant. And yet, something about her presence made the air shift—made it impossible for him to breathe normally.
She moved with practiced steps, beginning her chores. The room was quiet save for the soft sounds of her work.
Time passed, and when Nora ascended the stairs toward the storage room, Zayan followed without thought. Something pulled him—an invisible force that shattered his self-control.
Upstairs, she found an old book coated in thick dust. Curiosity bloomed in her chest as she brushed the cover and opened it. She didn't hear the door creak behind her.
Zayan entered slowly.
She was so engrossed in the yellowing pages that she didn't notice him at first. His eyes locked on her—on the way the light framed her face, on the quiet curve of her lips as they silently formed the words she read.
He stepped closer. And closer still.
The room grew heavy with unspoken tension.
Nora finally sensed him—his presence, his warmth, the quiet power that always seemed to announce him before he spoke. She stood up quickly, clutching the book, her head bowed low.
"I'm… sorry, Master," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. She turned to leave.
But Zayan moved faster.
He was behind her in an instant, his hand gently but firmly wrapping around the back of her neck. She froze.
"Look at me," he murmured, voice low and almost threatening. But she didn't. No one ever looked him in the eye. No one dared.
Still, he couldn't help it anymore.
His lips met hers—hungry, desperate, claiming. She gasped, dropping the book as his arms pulled her closer, like he could fuse her body to his and make sense of the chaos inside him.
Her hands trembled.
Then, just as suddenly, she pushed away—shocked, wide-eyed, breathless.
She bolted.
Down the stairs, through the hall, until she disappeared from sight. Her breath came in heavy bursts, heart pounding in her ears.
Back in the room, Zayan stood still.
His fingers brushed his lips, and then he smirked.
"I'll wait."