Zoey had barely slept after the gala.
Her body was exhausted, but her mind… her mind refused to quiet down.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Zayn's hand sliding against the small of her back, his mouth dipping close enough that she could feel his breath on her cheek, his voice low and commanding as he said "She's mine".
It shouldn't have affected her the way it did. It was supposed to be fake, A performance.
Yet her heart had pounded in a way no performance had the right to.
Now, lying in bed with dawn light creeping through her blinds, she groaned and rolled over.
This is insane, I cannot be fantasizing about a man who can make grown men coward with one look.
And yet… she was.
Her phone buzzed, slicing through her thoughts. The name flashing across the screen made her stomach twist.
Zayn.
She debated ignoring it, but curiosity and maybe something reckless won out.
"Hello?" she answered, voice husky from sleep.
"You sound like you just rolled out of bed." His tone was smooth, amused. "I was hoping you'd already be awake."
"Not all of us start our mornings by plotting world domination," she muttered, sitting up.
"Cute." He paused. "Pack an overnight bag. I'm sending the car."
She blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me. Overnight Bag, Car, Ten minutes."
"I have plans," she lied.
"No, you don't. Not anymore."
The line went dead.
Zoey stared at her phone in disbelief. "Unbelievable," she whispered. And yet her feet were already hitting the floor.
The Bentley pulled up exactly nine minutes later. Zoey slipped inside, clutching a small bag.
When she arrived at the Maddox penthouse, Zayn was waiting.
Black pants,White shirt,No tie, sleeves rolled up. He looked like he had stepped straight out of a dream that was far too inappropriate for early morning.
"You made it," he said, his eyes sweeping over her.
"Against my better judgment."
He smirked, clearly pleased. "Good girl."
Two words. That's all it took for her stomach to flip violently.
She cleared her throat. "So… are you going to tell me why I'm here? Or is this a kidnapping situation?"
"You will live longer if you don't call it that," he said dryly. Then he gestured for her to follow.
His penthouse looked different in daylight. Less like a villain's apartment more like an art gallery glass, steel, and an expanse of windows overlooking the Thames. Still, it carried the same air of power.
The kind of place that warned visitors: you are in someone else's world now.
"Training," Zayn said finally, pouring himself a coffee.
She arched a brow. "Training?"
"For tonight."
"What's tonight?"
"A dinner, Private but important."
Zoey crossed her arms. "And what exactly do I need to be trained for ?
Smiling at strangers while you brood in a corner?"
His eyes flicked to her, sharp. "Control."
Her breath caught. "Control of what?"
"Your expression,your reactions, your tongue." His mouth curved at that last word, and heat shot up her neck.
He leaned against the counter, sipping his coffee leisurely, as though unaware of the chaos he was causing inside her. "You let Lucian get under your skin last night."
"Maybe because he was threatening me," she shot back.
Zayn's jaw tightened. For a moment, she thought he might argue.
Instead, he set down his cup and stepped closer.
Too close.
"You can't afford to look weak around them," he said, voice low. "They'll eat you alive. You need to learn how to mask."
"And you're going to teach me?"
His smirk was dangerous. "I can teach you a lot of things, cupcake."
Her breath hitched.
She hated that it did, hated the way heat coiled in her belly just from the suggestion in his tone.
"Fine," she said tightly. "Let's get this over with."
The "training" turned out to be a twisted game.
He sat across from her, eyes locked on hers, while he threw comments designed to provoke.
"Smile like you mean it."
"Hold my gaze without flinching."
"Don't react when I lean in like this."
And then he did lean in, until his breath fanned across her lips. She held still, nails digging curves into her palms.
"Better," he murmured, pulling back.
By the third round, she was trembling with something hotter, darker.
"This is ridiculous," she said, shoving her chair back. "You're enjoying this."
His smile was pure sin. "Of course I am."
She glared. "You're annoying"
"Yet you're still here."
"Because you ordered me here!"
He tilted his head. "Did I?"
The question sent her uneasy, because the truth was yes, he had. But she could've refused. She hadn't. And they both knew it.
By late afternoon, she was pacing the guest room he'd given her, trying to calm her racing heart.
This is insane. This is toxic. This is…
A knock at the door cut her thoughts. Before she could respond, it opened.
Zayn stepped in, now in a suit, tie perfectly knotted. He looked deadly and devastating.
"Time to go," he said.
Her pulse jumped. "And what if I'm not ready?"
His eyes raked over her deliberately. "You're ready."
The words carried weight, heat, promise.
Zoey swallowed hard.
The dinner was nothing like the gala. Smaller, more intimate.
A dozen powerful people gathered around a long oak table, each radiating wealth and menace.
Zoey sat beside Zayn, doing her best to channel the "mask" he'd drilled into her.
She smiled when expected, sipped champagne without spilling, and kept her spine straight even when questions grew sharp.
But it was Zayn she felt most keenly. The heat of his thigh brushing hers under the table.
The way his hand found her knee, resting there casually and possessive.
She should've pulled away. She didn't.
Hours later, back at the penthouse, she collapsed against the sofa, kicking off her heels.
"Was that another test?" she asked, exhausted.
"Yes." Zayn poured himself a drink. "You passed."
"Barely."
His gaze slid over her. "You did better than you think."
She laughed humorlessly. "Gold star for surviving your scary family dinner."
He moved closer, bending in front of her. The sharpness in his eyes had softened just a fraction.
"You held your ground," he said quietly. "That matters."
Her chest tightened. She wanted to say something snarky, to deflect. But the words stuck in her throat.
Instead, she whispered, "Why are you doing this?"
For a moment, silence. "Because I need you and because…" His hand brushed her cheek, knuckles grazing her skin. "Because you make me forget how dark it gets."
Her breath hitched.
The space between them crackled. His mouth was inches from hers.
"Zayn…"
He stopped. A war played across his face desire and something else.
Then he pulled back sharply, standing.
"You should rest." His voice was clipped. Controlled.
She sat frozen, heart pounding, lips tingling from a kiss that hadn't happened.
When the door clicked shut behind him, she let out a shaky breath.
This was dangerous.
But God help her and she wanted more.