Naomi's body shivered at Zylan's words. She had mistaken his obsession for allergies. Was he trying to downplay how he indulged in it? And here she was, unknowingly giving him free access back to his obsession.
"I... I had no idea," Naomi finally found her voice, though it trembled. She needed to change all her skincare and hair products immediately. Her mind raced as she wondered if everything she had used was suddenly repulsive to him or if this was just another one of his games. The thought unsettled her.
"What a naughty girl," Zylan spoke, his voice laced with amusement yet still chilling.
"Stop s-saying that... I'm a full-grown woman," she stammered, trying to reclaim some semblance of dignity, though her stutter betrayed her.
A cold, dark laugh echoed around the room, sending chills down her spine. Why was he laughing at her? What was so funny? She hadn't said anything amusing. Her brows furrowed in confusion, and a knot formed in her stomach. Every word from his lips felt like another layer of torment, designed to toy with her emotions.
Zylan's expression shifted, his voice suddenly sharp. "What if I were allergic to it? Was this your way of... killing me?"
The accusation landed like a slap, leaving Naomi frozen in place. Her eyes widened, and for a moment, she couldn't comprehend the shift in his tone. Was he being serious? She could feel the anger rising in her chest, but the disbelief was stronger.
"Not even a teenager could come up with such a dumb plan," he finished, his tone dripping with mockery.
Naomi's body stiffened, the insult cutting deeper than she expected. She shifted away from him instinctively, her emotions a tangled mess of confusion and hurt. Of course, she was used to insults from her parents and sister, but this... this was different. The man who had captivated her the night they met now seemed determined to humiliate her at every turn. It was too much.
As his hand brushed her shoulder, she trembled. Zylan quickly withdrew, something unfamiliar flickering in his eyes—was it guilt, or something darker? Naomi couldn't bring herself to meet his gaze. Her mind was too clouded, her heart too fragile.
"D-Don't y-you t-touch me," she stuttered, her voice barely above a whisper, her throat constricted by the lump forming there. It was hard to speak, hard to breathe. The tension in the air was suffocating.
But when she turned around, Zylan was no longer there. How had he disappeared so quickly? She hadn't even heard the door open or close. Was she imagining things? Had stress really gotten the better of her?
Naomi sighed, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on her. She needed a moment to herself, a moment to breathe and think. Quietly, she walked over to the small library corner in the room, where a beautifully decorated shelf held an assortment of books. One book, in particular, stood out to her—an old Bible. She picked it up, feeling a strange sense of comfort in its worn pages. Without thinking, she flipped to Psalm 23 and began to softly recite the verses, letting the familiar words wash over her and calm her racing mind.
As she read, her body gradually relaxed. The tension from the earlier confrontation melted away, and soon, she felt her eyelids grow heavy. She set the Bible down and lay back, letting the soothing words lull her into sleep.
Naomi was abruptly awakened by the sound of the door creaking open. She blinked, disoriented for a moment, before turning towards the doorway. Standing there was Rhea, her loyal attendant, with a tray in hand.
"Good morning, Ms. Naomi. It's time for breakfast. Could you please freshen up?" Rhea's voice was soft, but as she spoke, her words trailed off. Her eyes seemed to fix on Naomi's face, and she froze.
"Ms. Naomi, your eyes..." Rhea whispered, almost in awe.
Naomi's body tensed. 'Was she afraid, too?' Naomi wondered. She had seen that look too many times before—people either feared or ridiculed her for her eyes. She regretted not waking up earlier to cover them with sunglasses. But then, Rhea's next words surprised her.
"Your eyes are so beautiful. Are they your real eyes?" she asked, her voice full of genuine admiration.
Naomi blinked in surprise. Never in her life had anyone called her eyes beautiful. Not her parents, not her sister—no one. Slowly, Naomi turned to look at Rhea.
"May I see them?" Rhea asked, taking a small step forward, her curiosity evident. "Is this how you were born?"
Naomi nodded, still stunned by the compliment. "Yeah, I was born with them," she replied softly.
Rhea smiled, her admiration clear. "Wow. I'd be the happiest girl in the world if I had colored eyes like yours."
Naomi's heart tightened. 'If only she knew' she thought. I've spent my whole life wishing they were brown or black, just like everyone else's. I never thought anyone could find them beautiful.
Rhea seemed to sense Naomi's inner turmoil and gently changed the subject. "Mr. Zylan would like to have breakfast with you this morning."
Naomi's entire body froze at the mention of Zylan. Last night's events flooded back into her mind. The insults, the tension, the way he had disappeared so suddenly... It hadn't been a dream. Everything had really happened. And now she had to face him again.
Without a word, Naomi quickly got up and walked towards the bathroom, needing a moment alone to process everything. As she reached the door, Rhea spoke again.
"Oh, before I forget," Rhea said casually, "your wedding will be in three days' time."
Naomi stopped in her tracks, her hand hovering over the doorknob. She forced a weak smile and nodded, but inside, her heart was pounding. Three days. That was all the time she had left. She couldn't go through with this. She couldn't marry Zylan—she barely knew him, and the way he had treated her...
No. Today would be her last day here. She had to escape.
In the bathroom, Naomi quickly washed her body, her thoughts racing. As the warm water washed over her, she realized she needed to change her skincare products. Everything she used was grape-scented, and if Zylan truly had an obsession, she couldn't risk aggravating him further. But then, she remembered—there was no point in changing anything. Not today. She was leaving soon.
A small smile formed on her lips as she soaked in the bath. This was it—her last day here. The thought gave her a sense of freedom she hadn't felt in days.
Stepping out of the bath, she dried herself off and dressed in a light yellow maxi skirt with a matching top. Her golden-blonde hair fell freely down her back, and for the first time, she decided not to wear sunglasses or even wear contact lenses.
Rhea's compliment still echoed in her mind, and for the first time in her life, Naomi didn't feel ashamed of her eyes.
With renewed determination, she left her room and made her way downstairs to the dining table. As she approached, she could feel Zylan's presence before she even saw him. His aura was unmistakable—commanding, powerful. The chefs around him were trembling more than usual, their hands shaking as they worked.
Zylan sat at the head of the table, his expression as unreadable as ever. Naomi took a seat beside him.
"Good morning," she said softly, her voice barely audible.
Zylan barely glanced at her, giving only a curt nod in response. 'What a rude man,' Naomi thought, annoyance flaring up inside her. He can't even say a simple 'good morning.' She rolled her eyes, not realizing that Zylan had noticed the gesture.
Before she began eating, Naomi clasped her hands together and silently offered a prayer for the food. Just as she started her meal, Zylan's voice cut through the quiet.
"What did you just do?" he asked, his tone neutral, though curiosity flickered in his eyes.
Naomi hesitated for a moment, unsure if he was asking about her prayer or if he had seen her eye roll. She decided to respond to the former. "I just prayed," she answered quietly.
Zylan frowned. "What's that?" he asked, his voice betraying genuine confusion.
Naomi stared at him in disbelief. 'He doesn't know what praying is?'She spoke cautiously, "I prayed to God for the food."
Zylan's expression darkened, his eyes narrowing. "What nonsense," he muttered, his voice full of disdain.
Naomi's hands stilled, her utensils clattering against her plate. The entire room fell silent, the tension thick in the air. Rhea, standing behind Naomi, began to tremble, sensing Zylan's growing displeasure. The other chefs exchanged nervous glances, knowing that something bad was about to happen.
But Naomi didn't back down. She turned to Zylan, her eyes cold and unwavering. "I can tolerate your insults when they're directed at me," she said, her voice steady and full of conviction. Zylan looked at her, surprised by the sudden fire in her eyes. He had never seen her like this before—so bold, so defiant.
"But when it comes to God," she continued, glaring at him with unwavering intensity, "you have no right." With those final words, she stood abruptly and stormed out, her steps echoing through the room as she left him behind.