Zayn's POV
I can't believe this.
I still can't believe this.
Khalid Voss — the ghost of this family, the bastard our father once threw out like garbage — is back. And the first thing he did after stepping into the city?
He stole my fiancée.
No — he married her.
Three damn days. That's how long it's been since the whole engagement turned into a circus. Since Sofia became Mrs. Khalid Voss. Since the world started whispering behind my back, wondering why the golden boy got ditched at his own engagement. Why the forgotten Voss returned only to walk off with the bride.
I've replayed it all in my head a million times. That kiss they shared in front of everyone. The gasps. The stares. My mother fainting dramatically while my father stood frozen, lips tight, like he'd just seen his dead sins come back to haunt him.
I didn't even love Sofia. Hell, I barely liked her.
She was beautiful, yes. Elegant, quiet, easy to present at functions — the kind of girl that makes the perfect arm candy. But that's all she ever was. A pawn in my game. A means to an end. I was following my mother's plan: marry Sofia, please Dad, earn his trust, and make him forget all about Khalid — his one-night mistake. His bastard.
I was supposed to be the chosen one. The heir. The perfect son.
And now?
Now I'm the joke of the family.
I was lying on the leather couch in my room when it happened. The lights were off. The curtains drawn. A bottle of whiskey sat on the table, half-empty. I wasn't drinking, though. I was just staring at the ceiling, trying to understand how my life had spiraled so fast, so deep.
There was a knock.
I didn't even move at first. But the knock came again, sharper this time. I groaned, sat up, ran a hand through my messy hair, and muttered, "Come in."
The door creaked open… and there she was.
Sabrina.
Yeah, I know. Hope you're not surprised.
Sabrina's been in my life long before Sofia. She was my comfort, my escape, my reckless pleasure when I was bored or angry or drunk or just tired of pretending. We never had anything serious — no promises, no titles. Just passion. Just secrecy.
"What are you doing here?" I asked.
She didn't answer. Instead, she stepped in, heels clicking against the marble floor, hips swaying like she owned the damn place. She wore this tight black dress that clung to her curves like sin itself. Her lipstick was blood-red, her eyes sharp like a dagger.
"I told you not to come unless I call you," I said, already irritated.
She didn't care.
She walked up to me slowly, that same smirk on her lips, and before I could react, she leaned in and kissed me.
I didn't kiss her back.
I wasn't in the mood. My head was too messed up.
I pushed her away gently. "Stop it, Sabrina. Not now."
But she just laughed, like she found me amusing. "Oh, come on, Zayn. Your brother stole your bride. You've got nothing left to lose."
That hit a nerve.
I clenched my jaw, trying not to explode.
She leaned in again, but this time, I stood and pushed her back with more force.
"I said stop."
She staggered slightly but straightened herself, brushing invisible dust off her dress like I'd offended her.
Then she folded her arms and tilted her head.
"Well then," she said, voice cold. "I guess I'll just say what I came to say."
I didn't respond. I just stared at her.
Her next words came like a bullet.
"I'm pregnant."
The room fell silent. The air froze.
I blinked. Once. Twice.
"W-What?"
"I'm pregnant, Zayn," she said again, slower this time, like I was some dumb kid who needed help understanding.
I laughed. Not because it was funny. But because I didn't know what else to do. It was the kind of laugh that ends with your throat burning.
"You're joking," I said. "Tell me you're joking."
She raised a brow. "Do I look like I'm joking?"
I stared at her belly. Flat. Slim. No signs of anything.
"How do you even know it's mine?"
She scoffed, offended. "Because I haven't been with anyone else in the last four months. And we both know your pull-out game is trash."
I ran a hand down my face.
This couldn't be happening. Not now. Not with everything else falling apart. Not when the entire city is laughing behind my back.
"You can't keep it," I said without thinking.
Her eyes widened. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me," I snapped. "You can't keep it. I'm not ready for a child. Especially not with you. This was never supposed to be anything serious. You knew that."
She took a step forward, fire blazing in her eyes now.
"And what? You think I'm just going to erase it because you're not ready? You think I came here for your permission?"
"This will ruin me, Sabrina!"
"You're already ruined!" she yelled. "Your brother married your fiancée! Your father barely looks at you! The world is already watching you fall, Zayn. What difference will a baby make?!"
That hurt.
But she wasn't wrong.
I turned away, facing the window, gripping the curtain like I wanted to tear it off.
A child.
A freaking child.
What the hell was I supposed to do with that?
I wasn't father material. I didn't even know how to love properly. I was raised in coldness and expectations. In manipulation and money. I didn't even know who I really was. Just some puppet in my parents' perfect little play.
And now Sabrina was pregnant.
"I need time," I said finally, voice low.
She didn't respond.
"I need… time to think."
She turned to leave but paused at the door. Her voice was calmer this time.
"You better start thinking fast, Zayn. Because I won't wait forever. This is happening — with or without you."
Then she left.
And I just stood there.
Alone.
My head spinning. My heart pounding.
I thought losing Sofia to Khalid was the lowest point of my life.
But this?
This was a whole new level of chaos.