Lia froze.
Her back pressed to the doorframe. Her fingers trembled, like they had a mind of their own.
She knew she shouldn't be listening. But she couldn't move. She couldn't breathe right.
"I'll still marry her," Zayn said, sounding bored. "Calm down, it's a necessary arrangement."
"She's a whore using the baby to get out of the slums." Lady Elmore screamed at him.
"Mom," he countered, tilting his head, playful. "Even if it's so, my heir can't be a bastard. That's all."
All.
He doesn't love me. It's all for the baby. She looked down at her hands, resting them instinctively over her stomach. She thought about the way he'd held her close to sleep last night.
She'd thought that something was there. Between them.
That underneath his arrogance, there might be… something. She felt like an idiot now.
Her lips moved, almost whispering, almost praying, almost begging. "I—" she swallowed a sob. "I can't do this."
Her body betrayed her. She stepped back. Stumbled. Then stepped again.
She looked at the door. She knew if she walked out, she'd be lost. She knew Zayn would hunt her. She knew, she knew, she knew.
It was a bad habit, this curiosity, this need to see how much she could endure before she finally snapped.
***
By evening, Zayn noticed something was off. His eyes scanned the foyer. Lia's shoes weren't by the door.
Usually, there was music. Or the scent of that mango perfume she wore to irritate him.
"Lia? Darling, I'm home. I hope you're wearing that silk thing I bought you. I've had a day."
No answer.
He moved toward the kitchen. Her tea sat cold on the counter, a thin film forming on the surface. He touched the ceramic; it was ice. She had been gone for a while.
He walked into the bedroom. He pushed the walk-in closet door open with the toe of his shoe.
The hangers were still swaying.
Her worn denim jacket—the one he'd told her to throw away a dozen times—was gone.
She hadn't just gone for a walk. She had run.
He straightened, hair catching the light from the penthouse windows.
He tossed his keys to his secretary Anne. She stood behind, awkwardly observing.
"Hm," he said, turning to his secretary, who stood tense with a notebook in hand, "my bride has vanished."
"She might have gone to visit her sister, sir?" Anne suggested.
Zayn leaned closer, lips brushing his hand as he laughed lightly. "Anne, send the boys to find her."
His voice was soft and teasing. "Or do you want me to handle it myself? I promise, I can be very persuasive."
Anne blinked, unsure if she should take him seriously.
"I'm not angry," he continued, looking at his reflection in his wine glass, "Just… concerned. Very concerned."
Then, without another word, he moved. Ordered his team to follow at a distance.
Two hours later, Zayn stood in Martha's cramped hallway. He leaned against the frame, wearing a Derrali suit that clung to him. He looked out of place. He could feel her neighbors gawking at him.
Still he waited.
When Martha opened the door, her eyes went wide. "What the—"
"Martha! You look… stressed." He stepped past her before she could block him, his scent of vetiver filling the tiny room.
"Is that a new wrinkle? You really should try that cream Lia uses. Though, I suppose it's pricey."
"She's not here," Martha said, her voice high and defensive. She was shaking, her hands hidden behind her back.
Martha moved suddenly. Her hand grabbed a phone, ready to call the police.
He didn't move. Never rushed. Just gave a lopsided grin. "Why didn't you leave with Lia?"
"This is my f**king city, I'm not leaving," she said, eyes rolling.
"Touché," he replied, adjusting his tie.
If this is all the sisters can afford, he wouldn't let his child grow up here.
"God, Martha. How do y'all breathe in here?" He didn't even look at her. He was too busy trying to find a clean spot on her sofa to sit on.
She muttered, pissed off and slightly embarrassed. "What the f*ck?"
He raised his brow in reply. Then saw a pillow case with Lia's face on it. He snorted out a laugh.
"You're an ass yunno," Martha snapped. "Lia's an angel."
"Oh, I agree. I'm terrible," he replied, while cleaning sweat off his neck.
"But at least I'm honest about it. Unlike Sapphire."
Martha sighed. "Who?"
"Sapphire. That's Lia's stage name at my house club."
He crossed his legs bored and squinted at the carpet. A dead cockroach lay on it, he choked back his disgust. "You'd be amazed what your sister can do on a pole"
Martha blinked in disbelief. "Wait... Lia?"
Zayn laughed lightly. "Oh, don't tell me you didn't know? The 'florist' gig?"
He waved a hand dismissively. "She didn't get bruises on her thighs from planting roses."
He watched Martha's face. He saw the exact moment the "perfect sister" image vanished in Martha's mind. And he enjoyed the show.
"Funny, isn't it?" Zayn mused, tilting his head. "She judges your weekend flings while she earns six figures in a G-string."
"Damn," Martha whispered. "Last week, I came home at 4:00am. Lia told me I was wasting my life. That I had no self-respect."
"Ouch." Zayn winced, holding back a laugh.
"She always told me I'd end up in the gutter," Martha spat. "I guess we're both in the gutter now."
"Darling, Lia can't be in the gutter now that she's carrying my child."
Her eyes widened. Revulsion crossed her face.
She turned her head to Lia's graduation picture frame. "Who would have guessed?"
"She's going to live a life of luxury. While you're stuck here. Because she's an angel. Right?"
Barely looking over her shoulder at him, she said, "Hm… if I tell you where she is, would there be room for me?"
Zayn's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Room?"
He reached into his coat and pulled out stacks of crisp $100 bills.
"I could make room for anyone for the right price."
Martha swallowed hard. Her fingers twitched, hungry, grasping. "I'll tell you. But I want in."
"You sold your sister for this?" he threw the bills at her feet with a disdainful flick of his hand. "Pathetic."
She nodded absently, explaining her sister's whereabouts "But I don't know..."
"Noted. And go get your feet treated, it stinks."
He strolled out, dusting his feet. The moment the door clicked shut behind him, he turned quiet.
A nod signalled to his men to leave and he hurriedly entered his convertible.
He steadied his hands on the wheel and promised himself one thing. He wasn't going to let her run again. He'd burn the city down first if he had to.