ARSHILA POV
By the time I reach the study, my pulse has finally slowed enough that I can breathe normally again, but the tension under my skin refuses to disappear.
I stop in front of the door for a moment, staring at the polished wood as if it might reveal something before I even step inside.
The quiet of the hallway presses around me, and I force my shoulders to relax, reminding myself that panic is the easiest way to expose everything.
If he can pretend he knows nothing, then so can I.
The thought settles firmly in my mind. Whatever game Zayan is playing, I will not give him the satisfaction of seeing fear on my face.
I smooth my expression into something neutral, almost casual, the way I always look when we cross paths in this house.
Then I open the door.
The study smells faintly of leather and expensive cologne. Zayan sits behind the desk, relaxed in his chair as if he has been waiting there for hours without a single concern in the world.
A pair of thin glasses rests on his nose while he looks down at something on the desk, his sleeves rolled slightly above his wrists and the top buttons of his shirt undone.
My brain short-circuits for a second.
He got a haircut.
The realization hits me so suddenly that I almost forget the entire situation.
His dark hair is shorter now, sharper around the sides, making his jawline look even more dangerous than usual.
It should honestly be illegal for someone to look this good while probably plotting something terrifying.
Bloody hell.
Zayan Tavarian has always been unfairly attractive, but today he looks like he stepped straight out of some luxury magazine that only rich psychopaths subscribe to.
I step inside and close the door behind me, forcing my attention back to the reason I am here.
"Why did you call me?" I ask, keeping my voice calm.
He lifts his head slowly when he hears me. His eyes settle on my face with quiet focus before he pushes the chair back and stands up.
The movement is slow, controlled, almost predatory as he walks around the desk and stops directly in front of me.
Too close.
My body immediately registers the distance between us, the heat radiating from him, the faint scent of his cologne that somehow manages to smell expensive and dangerous at the same time.
I keep my expression calm.
Inside my chest, my heart begins to beat faster again.
"There's something for you," he says casually.
Before I can respond, his hand closes around my wrist.
The touch is firm but not painful, his fingers wrapping easily around the bone as if he owns the space there.
If I had not discovered everything earlier, if I had walked into this room still believing he was just my annoyingly arrogant husband, I probably would have thought this was the beginning of some strange romantic gesture.
Now I know better.
His thumb presses lightly against the inside of my wrist.
Checking my pulse.
My stomach twists, but I force myself to stay still.
A second later his other hand lifts, his fingers sliding under my chin to tilt my face slightly upward. The movement is gentle, almost intimate, but his eyes are studying me with unsettling intensity.
"Do you want it?" he asks quietly.
I blink at him.
"What is it?"
A slow smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth, the kind of smile that always means he knows something the rest of the world doesn't.
"Come."
He doesn't explain anything else. Instead he takes my hand again and pulls me out of the study before I can argue.
We walk down the hallway and toward the private elevator that leads underground. I follow him silently, trying to keep my thoughts from spinning too wildly.
The elevator doors slide open with a soft sound, and within seconds we descend into the lower levels of the mansion.
When the doors open again, I almost laugh.
The underground garage looks less like a parking area and more like a luxury car exhibition.
The space is enormous, bright lights reflecting off polished floors and rows of vehicles that probably cost more than entire apartment buildings.
Classic vintage models sit beside modern machines that look like they belong on racetracks rather than private collections.
There are Ferraris, Aston Martins, Lamborghinis, cars I don't even recognize.
And knowing Zayan, this probably isn't even half of them.
He leads me across the floor until we stop in front of a sleek black BMW. The car looks brand new, its dark paint reflecting the lights above like liquid glass.
He gestures toward it casually.
"I think this should belong to you."
I stare at the car.
Then at him.
"A car?" I repeat slowly. "For me?"
"You don't like it?"
"That's not the point," I say, folding my arms slightly. "I already have four."
His eyebrow lifts slightly.
"Exactly," he replies calmly. "Which makes this a little excessive for someone who claims to be a very simple person."
My mind immediately starts racing.
What is he doing?
Why give me another car now?
The timing feels too precise to be random.
"Are you serious?" I ask carefully.
He nods toward the vehicle.
"It's completely blacked out," he says casually. "Windows, interior, everything. Perfect for driving anywhere without anyone noticing."
There is something about the way he says it that makes the words feel heavier than they should.
Like he is telling me something without actually saying it.
I force a smile onto my face.
"Well… if you insist."
The moment the words leave my mouth, he moves.
One second I am standing beside the car and the next my back is pressed lightly against the door, his arm braced beside my shoulder.
The movement is so quick and smooth that it feels like I walked straight into it.
Now his face is inches from mine.
My breath catches.
"You're acting strange today," he murmurs.
I laugh lightly, hoping it sounds natural.
"Strange? How exactly?"
"You keep smiling at me," he says slowly. "Like we suddenly get along."
Damn it.
I should have been more careful.
"Maybe I decided we should try," I reply, tilting my head slightly toward him. "Getting along, I mean."
His eyes narrow just a little.
"Dangerous idea."
My gaze drops for a moment without thinking.
His collar is slightly open, revealing the sharp line of his collarbone and the thin chain resting against his skin.
For some ridiculous reason my brain decides this is the perfect moment to notice how unfairly attractive that part of him is.
God.
I lift my eyes back to his face quickly.
He notices.
The smirk that appears on his lips is slow and deeply amused.
"why you looking at me like that?" he asks.
"What? I can't?"
His body shifts closer until there is barely any space left between us. The heat from him presses against my skin, the proximity suddenly making the air feel too warm.
"No," he says quietly.
Then he leans even closer.
For one terrifying second I think he might actually kiss me.
His phone rings.
The sound slices through the moment like a knife.
Zayan's jaw tightens slightly as if the interruption personally offended him. He stares at the phone for a second like he is considering throwing it across the garage before finally stepping back.
He answers the call without saying a word.
I release a quiet breath that I didn't realize I was holding.
Whatever that moment was, it felt far too intense.
He listens to the call silently, his expression slowly returning to that cold, unreadable mask he always wears when dealing with business. Whatever the person on the other end is saying clearly isn't pleasant.
After a few seconds he ends the call.
His eyes return to me.
"So," he says calmly, as if nothing happened. "Do you like the car?"
I nod slowly.
"Yes."
"Good."
He gestures toward the elevator again.
"Let's go."
We step inside together. The mirrored walls reflect both of us standing there, the silence between us thick with something I can't quite name.
I glance up briefly and catch him watching me through the reflection.
There is something strange in his expression.
Something dark.
The moment our eyes meet in the mirror, I look away immediately.
The elevator doors slide open with a soft mechanical sound, and we step out into the mansion's main hall.
The space is vast and quiet, sunlight spilling through the high glass windows and spreading across the marble floor like pale gold.
For a moment neither of us speaks.
Zayan walks beside me with the same calm confidence he always carries, his hands casually sliding into the pockets of his trousers as if the tension that existed between us in the garage never happened.
Then he stops near the entrance.
"I'll be back," he says simply.
Before I can respond, he turns and walks toward the front doors of the mansion. The guards outside open them immediately, and within seconds he disappears beyond the entrance.
The doors close behind him.
Silence settles over the hall.
I remain standing there for a moment, watching the doors as if he might walk back inside just as suddenly as he left. Thirty seconds pass. Then another thirty.
Nothing happens.
The moment stretches long enough that I finally turn away.
My feet begin moving before I fully decide where I am going.
The hallway toward the study feels strangely empty now. The soft echo of my footsteps follows me the entire way as I reach the door and push it open carefully.
I close the door behind me and walk straight to the desk.
The drawers slide open one by one as I search through them quickly, my fingers moving through documents, files, and small objects without stopping.
Then the last drawer opens.
Inside it is a gun.
I think i should play dirty too!