The moment Zaire set Raven down, I breathed a sigh of relief—only for that relief to evaporate entirely when my eyes landed on the creature approaching us. A bulldog.
Not just any bulldog, but one of those massive, jowly, stone-faced beasts with muscular shoulders and a permanent scowl that made him look like he'd eaten someone—and was ready for seconds.
"WAAAH!" I shrieked, instinct taking over as I backed away, eyes squeezing shut in pure terror. My heart raced, my fever-fogged mind convinced—this was it, I'd die from a dog bite in a billionaire's mansion.
Before I could stumble further, I felt strong arms scoop me up. My eyes flew open as I found myself—mortifyingly—cradled in Zaire's arms like some helpless damsel from a cheesy romance novel. His hands supported my back and legs in a bridal carry, his brow furrowed as he peered down at me with a mixture of amusement and confusion.
"What the hell are you doing?" he asked, his rich baritone voice laced with faint amusement.
Our eyes locked for a charged second—the tension sharp—before Raven's gleeful giggle broke the moment. I dared to glance down. The bulldog—apparently named Escanor—sat obediently beside Raven, looking far less threatening than before. Still, my pride took a brutal hit.
"Umm…" I faltered, realizing how ridiculous I looked. My cheeks burned.
Zaire's lips curled into a smirk as he gently lowered me to my feet. Without thinking, I darted behind him, clutching the hem of his tailored suit jacket like a child hiding from monsters.
"Don't be scared," he murmured, voice low near my ear. "That's Escanor. He won't bite you… unless you hurt him." His eyes sparkled with barely hidden amusement.
I remained rooted to my spot, feeling utterly humiliated as Raven burst into uncontrollable laughter.
"Raven!" I called after him as he dashed off, Escanor happily trailing behind. Great—now both the kid and the dog thought I was a joke.
Still flustered, I slipped outside—needing air—only to stop dead in my tracks at the sight beyond the mansion's wrought iron gates.
Three Lamborghinis.
Their sleek frames glistened under the sun, each car more expensive than my entire life. My jaw practically hit the floor. My phone buzzed in my pocket—the sudden ringtone nearly sending me into cardiac arrest—before I hastily answered.
"Hello?" I greeted, my voice betraying my frazzled state.
"Bre? Where the hell are you?" came Damian's voice—my childhood friend. His full name—Damian Bahari Sarmiento—but everyone called him Ian or Yan.
I hesitated. "Uh…" The problem was, I didn't know where I was—physically or mentally. My life had derailed into an arranged-marriage fever dream. Before I could answer, Zaire appeared beside me, his expression unreadable.
"You should inform the—" he began but cut himself off, eyes narrowing at my phone.
"Why are you outside?" he whispered harshly, covering his phone speaker with his hand.
"Where am I?" I whispered back, my confusion palpable.
"Bre? Who's that?" Damian's voice filtered through the speaker.
Zaire's eyes sharpened. "Who's Damian?" he demanded quietly.
Rolling my eyes, I replied, "A friend." I emphasized the word, knowing full well Zaire's possessive undertones.
Zaire's jaw clenched. "It's a guy, obviously…" he muttered, irritation etched into his features. Without another word, he turned, retreating toward one of the Lamborghinis—his Lamborghini.
"Zaire! You arrogant—" I growled after him.
He rolled down the car window, poking his head out with infuriating calm. "This is our private property," he stated. "You can call our driver to take you out… or Nicole."
With that, he vanished down the long driveway, his car roaring to life.
"Nicole?" I echoed dumbly. Who the hell was Nicole?
Frustrated, I told Damian, "Meet me at Eglinton Park," before hanging up.
Determined, I stormed back inside the estate, passing the vast fields and manicured lawns. The second building—clearly the main house—loomed before me, grand and imposing. As I entered, marble floors gleamed beneath crystal chandeliers. Escanor bounded toward me, tail wagging—I expertly sidestepped him. Exploring the halls, I stumbled upon a stunning woman—impossibly elegant, her beauty intimidating.
"Excuse me," I approached cautiously. "Do you… know Nicole?"
She arched a brow, crossing her arms. "Why?"
"Uh… I need a ride," I admitted.
She smiled knowingly. "You must be Aubrey." Her voice held effortless confidence. "I'm Nicole Cromwell—the one Zaire mentioned."
Relief flooded me, despite her intimidating presence. Minutes later, we slid into her yellow Lamborghini, engines purring like a satisfied predator.
"What's your relationship with Zaire?" I blurted, curiosity overpowering politeness.
She chuckled. "We've been friends since we were fourteen." Her voice held no jealousy—only fondness.
"Huh. And yet… I'm his wife," I muttered, disgust curling my lip.
Nicole laughed. "You're beautiful, Bre. Don't sound so horrified."
"Beautiful or not, being his wife is nauseating," I scoffed, earning another laugh.
We cruised past sprawling mansions—the area dripping with old money.
"You own this car?" I asked, eyeing the luxury interior.
"And three more Lamborghinis… plus Porsches," she revealed casually. "Want one?"
I gaped. "You're rich… Uh, no1 You're expensive!" I muttered, awed.
"We both are now," she winked.
A lingering question gnawed at me. "Zaire's son… how am I his first wife?"
Nicole sobered slightly. "He had Raven young. It's private. But… as far as I know, you're his first real… love."
Her words left a heavy silence.
Eglinton Park soon came into view—my safe haven of cheap pastries and tattered novels—a sanctuary amidst chaos. Nicole parked, her eyes wide at the quaint charm. We stepped out, drawing stares—Lamborghinis weren't common here.
"It's more reading area than library," I explained as we entered—low music floating through the space.
Damian spotted me immediately, raising a hand—his eyes narrowing at Nicole.
"Let's eat," I smiled, masking the tangled storm of questions still brewing inside me… about Zaire's secrets, his son, and… my own bewildering future.