ARSHILA POV
I step closer without raising my hand.
Before my skin even reaches the surface—
A green light flashes above the frame.
A loud, piercing beep explodes through the corridor.
BEEP BEEP BEEP
fuck.
My entire body locks in place. For three long seconds I cannot even breathe. The sound drills into the walls, bounces off the marble, and echoes down the empty hall like it is calling witnesses.
My heart slams against my ribs so violently I am sure the security system can detect that too.
I do not wait for a second alarm.
I turn and run.
Not a graceful run. Not a calm walk. I sprint like someone who has already imagined prison bars and interrogation rooms and Zayan's unreadable face when he realizes I was somewhere I should not be.
The corridor feels longer than it did seconds ago. My bare feet slap against the polished floor.
The lights flicker on one by one as I pass, exposing me instead of protecting me. I reach the end of the hallway and turn sharply toward the main hall—
And crash straight into a solid wall of muscle.
The impact knocks the air out of me. We both fall hard onto the marble. My elbow scrapes. My hair falls over my face. For a split second I consider pretending to faint.
Then I look up.
Of course.
Izar.
He is staring down at me with the same expression he probably uses when analyzing threats through surveillance screens. Calm. Unblinking. Slightly irritated.
Perfect.
I scramble to my feet so fast I almost slip. If I move quickly enough, maybe I can pretend this never happened.
"Why were you running?" he asks, voice even, not loud, not accusing, just direct.
My brain throws random excuses at me like a broken vending machine.
"Exercise," I say, brushing invisible dust off my clothes. "Cardio is important."
He looks at me the way someone looks at a child who just claimed the sky is purple. His silence says more than any insult could. It is the kind of look that translates to: please keep your nonsense to yourself.
My face grows warm.
"Why? you don't trust me?" I ask, crossing my arms as if I am the offended one.
He steps closer. Not threatening. Just enough to invade space. "No," he says simply.
I blink. "No what?"
"No, I do not trust you."
There is no drama in his voice. No hesitation. Just fact.
"Why?" I demand, trying to sound confident instead of slightly breathless.
His gaze drifts to my forehead, then back to my eyes. "You are not sweating."
I almost choke.
"What does that even mean?"
"If you were running for exercise, your pulse would be higher and your skin would show it," he says calmly. "You look startled, not tired."
I force a laugh that sounds like it belongs in a low-budget sitcom. "This mansion has air conditioning in every inch of space. Do you expect me to melt like I am jogging in the desert?"
A slow smirk curves on his mouth. He folds his arms now, mirroring me. "You are clever."
"And you are very good at hiding secrets that are not even yours," I shoot back before I can stop myself.
His eyes flicker. Not anger. Not surprise. Something sharper.
He leans slightly closer, voice dropping just enough to make the moment heavier. "Continue your exercise," he says smoothly.
I hold his gaze for a second longer than necessary, then turn and walk away without rushing.
Walking normally takes more effort than running did. My back feels exposed. I can practically feel his eyes tracking every step.
I do not breathe properly until I reach my room.
The moment the door shuts behind me, I lock it and lean against it, pressing my palms to the wood.
My heart is still racing. I move quickly now, grabbing the journal from the balcony table and flipping it open.
I add the new corridor.
The hidden door at the end of the hallway.
I draw it carefully, marking the exact location. I sketch the small space before it. I note the green scanner above the frame. I draw a tiny symbol beside it so I remember the automatic detection.
This house is layered like a lie.
The blueprint is starting to look dangerous.
I slide the journal into the bottom drawer beneath folded scarves, then stack two random novels on top of it.
I close the drawer softly. I check the room once more to make sure nothing is out of place.
Then I turn off the lights.
I sit on the edge of the bed in the dark and slow my breathing until it sounds normal. I smooth my hair. I relax my shoulders. I rehearse a neutral expression in the mirror's faint reflection.
By the time footsteps echo faintly somewhere deeper in the mansion, I am already lying down.
Still.
Calm.
Like nothing happened.
Like I did not just trigger something that was never meant to detect me.
__________________
ZAYAN POV
Fuck, she's so fucking beautiful when she's scared.
The thought settles in my mind as I watch the footage replay on my phone screen.
The security camera captured everything in clean high definition—the hesitation in her steps, the way her fingers hovered inches from the door, the flicker of panic when the green light flashed above the frame.
The beep was loud on the recording.
She froze exactly three seconds.
Then she ran.
A slow smirk curves across my face as I lean back against the leather seat in the back of the car.
The driver keeps his eyes forward. The mansion cameras stream smoothly through the encrypted system on my phone, every corridor under my control.
She looked small in that hallway.
Small. Alert. Sharp.
Curious.
I let out a quiet breath, something between a sigh and a restrained laugh. I am too full of something dark to call it amusement. It is hunger, maybe. Or anticipation.
She is digging.
Good.
I close the phone and slip it into my pocket just as the car rolls through the gates. The mansion lights greet me like obedient soldiers.
Inside the main hall, Izar is already waiting.
"She triggered the private office corridor sensor," he says without greeting.
"I know," I reply calmly.
His eyes narrow slightly. "You were watching."
"Of course."
He studies my face for a moment, then nods once. "I think she was near the restricted office door."
"She was," I confirm.
There is no anger in me. No irritation. Only calculation.
I glance toward the west corridor briefly before looking back at him. "I think we should give her more clues."
Izar's brows lift just slightly. "Are you sure?"
I walk past him slowly, unbuttoning the cuff of my sleeve. "Of course I am. I should make her investigation easier. More interesting. What if she gets bored and drops it halfway? I cannot afford that." My tone remains even, almost thoughtful. "I want to see her catch me."
Izar exhales through his nose. "You are both psychopaths."
A faint smirk touches my mouth. "We are married."
He rolls his eyes but says nothing more.
I leave him in the hall and walk toward my room. The corridor is quiet now, lights dimmed to night mode.
When I step inside, the space greets me with controlled darkness and clean lines.
My gaze shifts immediately to her door.
Closed.
Silent.
I place my phone and watch on the bedside table and roll my sleeves up my forearms slowly. The fabric slides back, exposing muscle beneath. I move toward her door and open it without sound.
Her room is dark.
She is lying on the bed, facing slightly toward the wall. The soft spill of light from my room outlines her profile. Her breathing is steady. Slow. Deep.
I step closer.
I do not need to test her.
I know her.
If she were pretending, her shoulders would hold tension. Her fingers would twitch slightly. Her lashes would not rest that softly against her skin.
She is asleep.
Not acting.
I crouch down beside the bed, bringing myself level with her face. A strand of hair has fallen across her cheek. I reach out and move it aside carefully, my fingers brushing her skin for only a second.
She does not stir.
Her lips are slightly parted. Her lashes cast shadows on her cheekbones. She looks nothing like the girl who sprinted down the corridor minutes ago.
Out of pure need, I lean forward and press my mouth to her forehead.
It is soft.
It is brief.
It is the first time.
My breath shifts instantly, deeper, heavier. Something tight coils low in my chest. I stay there a second too long before forcing myself upright.
Control.
I move to her dresser quietly and open the bottom drawer.
Scarves.
Books.
And beneath them—
The journal.
I take it out and flip it open, resting back against the dresser as I scan the pages.
The blueprint makes my smirk return.
She has mapped the wings accurately. The indoor garden. The tunnel. The outhouse. Even Izar's penthouse position is sketched with surprising precision.
But she is missing entire layers.
This is not even close to the real structure.
I take a pen from the desk nearby and add a door in the north wing that she has not discovered yet. I mark a concealed CCTV in the east corridor. Small adjustments. Just enough to keep her moving.
Then I flip further.
The dates.
Her neat handwriting lines up travel records and crime timelines in cold logic.
My smirk deepens.
She is closer than she realizes.
I close the journal and place it back exactly as I found it. Same angle. Same stack of books. Same fold in the scarf.
I shut her drawer and step out of her room, closing the door softly behind me.
Back in my space, I peel off my shirt and toss it aside. I walk to my wardrobe and retrieve the new passport from the inner compartment.
The one she was searching for.
I open my bedside drawer and place it inside deliberately. Not hidden too deep. Not too visible. Just enough.
She searched there once.
She will search again.
I slide the drawer shut and lean back against the headboard, staring at her closed door.
I hope you catch me soon, wife.