Mira sat on her bed, her baggy t-shirt draping loosely over her frame, and a pair of shorts barely covering her legs. Her phone rested beside her, the silence of the room comforting, if only for a moment. She stared out the window, watching as the light filtered through the curtains, casting shadows on the floor. The stillness of the afternoon was suddenly interrupted by the sharp ring of her phone. It startled her, pulling her out of her thoughts.
She glanced at the screen, recognizing Zack's number. A small, hopeful smile played on her lips as she picked up the phone, pressing it to her ear.
"Hello?" Her voice was soft, filled with the warmth she reserved only for Zack.
"Mira, it's Zack." His familiar voice brought immediate comfort, a sense of safety she hadn't realized she craved. "I've been worried. I haven't seen you for three days. I tried knocking on your door, even calling out your name. I had to reach out to a friend and got your number from the secretary. I hope that's okay."
Mira's face softened further, her lips curving into a more genuine smile. "It's fine, Zack. I don't mind at all. How have you been?"
"I'm doing well, Mira," he replied, his voice carrying that gentle concern that always reassured her. "I just wanted to check in since I haven't seen you around."
Before she could respond, a sudden loud bang on the door shattered the moment. Her entire body tensed as the sound echoed through her large room. She quickly hung up the call, her fingers trembling slightly as she looked up, her heart beginning to race.
Standing in the doorway was Zamian, his presence commanding the room. It wasn't just his intimidating confidence, something unsettlingly familiar; it was the way his cold, unwavering eyes locked onto hers. Her body froze under his gaze, her breath catching in her throat, a storm of shock and anger swirling within her, leaving her speechless. What was he doing here? The man she had encountered in the forest—the one who wanted to kill her—was her husband-to-be, if not already her husband.
His face remained impassive, emotionless, which somehow made his presence even more unsettling. As he crossed the room, he lowered himself into a chair opposite her, crossing his legs with a practiced ease that only intensified the oppressive air between them. Mira remained seated on the bed, her body stiff, every muscle tight with a mixture of fear and defiance.
Zamian's gaze never wavered, his voice as cold as his eyes. "Now tell me," he said, his tone detached, like he was merely fulfilling a duty. "Why have you refused to eat your food?"
Had he forgotten her? She wished he had, but it was clear he hadn't. He remembered—he simply didn't care.
His question, devoid of any real concern, struck her like a slap. It wasn't a genuine inquiry; it was a command, a demand for explanation. His indifference sent her anger simmering beneath the surface, but she forced herself to remain calm, even as her body trembled.
She stared back at him, defiant, but her voice was soft when she finally responded. "Why should I? I choose what I want to do with my body."
Her words were like a shield, though thin, and she could see that they had no effect on him. He remained as still as ever, his gaze icy, calculating. She stood up, grabbing her phone, her mind racing with the urge to call Zack back, to escape this suffocating confrontation.
As she turned, a firm hand grasped her arm—not painfully, but firmly enough to stop her in her tracks. She froze, the touch of his hand making her skin prickle with anger and something she could not quite grasp. Her breath hitched as she turned her head slightly, her hair falling over her face, obscuring her expression.
"Let me go," she whispered, her voice soft but unwavering.
Zamian did not move. His grip remained steady, his gaze now locked onto her with an intensity that made her heart pound louder in her chest.
"I said, let me go," she repeated, more forcefully this time.
But he still held her, his silence louder than any words he could have spoken. Her body was trembling now, not out of fear, but anger, a deep-seated rage that she had kept buried for so long. The control he exerted over her—over her life, her choices—was suffocating, and in this moment, she felt herself on the edge of snapping.
"And mark this, Mr. CEO," she said, her voice growing colder, harder, "I wouldn't give you an heir. I won't ever do that. If you're trying to control me against my will, you'll never get what you want from me. Mark my words."
For a brief moment, she saw something flicker in his eyes—surprise, maybe? But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by the same emotionless mask he always wore.
His voice, when he finally spoke, was as cold as ever. "All you need to do is give me the heir. Once you've done that, you can return to your life as you wish. Fulfill this requirement, and you're free to leave."
Mira's eyes bore into his, a mix of determination and resignation swirling within her gaze. Could she do this? Could she sacrifice her own life for this heir he demanded? Her heart ached with the weight of the decision.
"So," she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper, "if I give you this heir, you'll let me go?"
He nodded, almost imperceptibly, his expression still unreadable, though his eyes hinted at anticipation.
Mira took a deep breath, feeling her resolve harden. "Then it's a deal," she said, her voice steady despite the storm raging inside her. "I'll provide the heir. After that, we'll proceed with the divorce. Is that agreed upon?"
Zamian regarded her for a long moment, his silence stretching out until it felt like the walls of the room were closing in on her.
"A contract will be necessary," she added, her voice resolute.
He paused, his gaze narrowing slightly, before nodding again. "A contract it is. But there will be specific terms you must adhere to."
Mira nodded back, her jaw clenched in determination. "And I'll continue my job."
For the first time, she saw a flicker of acknowledgment cross his face. "You will," he confirmed, his tone slightly less cold, though still far from warm.
The room felt heavy with unspoken tension as the agreement hung between them, solidifying their fate. Mira knew what she had just agreed to—what it would cost her. But she would face it head-on, on her terms.
"I'll send the maid to prepare your food. Eat it," Zamian said, his voice returning to its usual, detached tone.
Mira gave a short nod. "I'll move to your room today," she added, her voice steady but carrying the weight of the decision she had made.
Zamian paused at the doorway, his back to her. For a moment, she thought she saw his shoulders stiffen slightly, but his voice was as cold as ever when he responded.
"Do what you want."
With that, he left, the door closing behind him with a finality that left Mira standing in the middle of the room, her heart heavy with the choices she had made.