Side Story (1) : Chapter 1
The room was cloaked in darkness, save for the faint, cold light of a single overhead bulb that cast long shadows across the polished surface of the table. The air was thick with an almost oppressive stillness, as though the room itself was holding its breath. Raylene, her composed exterior carefully stitched together, hesitated at the threshold. Her hand lingered on the doorknob for a moment longer than it should have before she closed it softly behind her.
Her movements were deliberate, her steps light and cautious as though the floor might betray her with a creak. The space felt unreal, otherworldly, and yet too vivid to be a dream. As she approached the table in the center of the room, her gaze locked onto the figure seated across from her. His posture was relaxed, almost languid, yet there was an unmistakable authority about him, a quiet command that made the air hum with tension.
Zenith.
The name formed silently in her mind as a shiver ran down her spine. She couldn't mistake him—not the sharpness of his gaze, the effortless confidence in the way he held himself. Her villain. The character she had created. The one she thought she controlled. And yet, here he was, flesh and presence, sitting before her as if the entire situation had been orchestrated by him and not her.
Raylene's breath hitched, but she quickly swallowed it down, forcing her nerves into submission. She could feel her pulse pounding in her ears as she lowered herself into the chair across from him, her movements calculated to mask her unease. Her hands rested carefully on her lap, fingers interlocking to stop them from trembling.
Zenith tilted his head slightly, the faintest curve of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he watched her. His amber eyes gleamed like molten gold in the dim light, piercing through the quiet like a blade. He didn't speak. He didn't need to. His silence was enough to make the weight of his presence all the more unbearable.
Raylene smiled nervously, her lips twitching under the strain of composure. She wanted to say something, anything, to shatter the suffocating quiet, but the words stuck in her throat. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. She was the creator, wasn't she? She was supposed to hold the power here. And yet, sitting across from him, under the intensity of his gaze, she felt as though she was the one being scrutinized, dissected.
Zenith leaned back in his chair, one hand lazily resting on the armrest while the other tapped faintly against the table. The sound was rhythmic, deliberate, as though he was measuring the seconds until she spoke. Finally, he broke the silence, his voice low and smooth, like the purr of a predator.
"Raylene," he drawled, tasting the name as though testing its weight. "You look surprised." His smirk widened, a glint of amusement flashing in his eyes. "Didn't expect to find yourself here... with me?"
Her throat tightened as she tried to form a response. Her mind was racing, yet her body was frozen, caught in the gravity of his presence. Retreating felt like the easiest option, yet she knew she couldn't—not now. Not with him watching her so intently. Instead, she forced herself to meet his gaze, even though the intensity of it made her feel as though he was peeling back the layers she had so carefully constructed.
"I..." she began, her voice faltering. She cleared her throat, straightened her shoulders, and tried again. "I don't... understand what's happening here." It wasn't the strongest opening, but it was honest, and right now, honesty felt like all she could offer.
Zenith chuckled, the sound low and resonant, sending a shiver through her. "That makes two of us," he admitted, though his tone suggested otherwise. "But tell me, Raylene... do you think this is your doing? Or mine?"
Her lips parted, but no answer came. What could she say to that? She didn't even know how or why she was here, let alone why he was. She had created him, hadn't she? And yet, sitting across from him now, it was hard to believe he had ever been under her control.
"I... don't know," she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. Her hands clenched tighter in her lap as she forced herself to hold his gaze. "But... if this isn't my doing... then whose is it?"
Zenith leaned forward slightly, the smirk fading into something more contemplative as he studied her. "Now, that," he murmured, his voice laced with intrigue, "is a question worth answering."
Zenith's gaze bore into her, unrelenting and sharp, as if he could peel back the layers of her mind with a mere look. The silence between them was deafening, pressing in on her like a weight she couldn't shake off. His intensity wasn't hostile, but it was overwhelming—a quiet force that made her feel as though she was standing in the center of a storm, vulnerable and bare.
Raylene shifted in her seat, her movements slow and calculated. She fought to maintain composure, but the way his eyes followed her every motion, like a predator stalking its prey, made her nerves prickle. Her lips curved into a strained smile, an attempt to project an air of confidence that she didn't truly feel. It was as though she was performing for him, trying to mask the tension tightening in her chest.
She raised her hand, fingers brushing her face lightly, tucking a strand of hair back over the right side of her face. The action was instinctive, a practiced movement to shield what she didn't want seen. Her bangs blended seamlessly into the rest of her long, wavy hair, cascading down her shoulders in soft, loose waves. Yet, she knew—no matter how much she tried to hide—it wouldn't matter to him. He saw her. Completely.
Her eyes, that strange mix of blue, green, and gray, seemed to shimmer in the dim light. They darted nervously, wanting to avoid his gaze but knowing that looking away would only make her vulnerability more apparent. Finally, she forced herself to meet his piercing golden eyes. The effort was monumental, as if locking eyes with him left her soul exposed, every thought and fear splayed out before him. She felt as though she was transparent, and Zenith was reading her like a book he had written himself.
Her hand moved almost mechanically, rising to her chin. It was a habit, a gesture she used when she needed to think, or at least when she wanted to give the impression of thinking. She tilted her head slightly and let her eyelids flutter closed, as though pondering his words, weighing them carefully in her mind. The truth was, she wasn't considering his words at all. She was trying to breathe, to control the trembling in her chest, to center herself.
Zenith didn't speak. He didn't need to. His silence was louder than any words, his presence filling the room like a shadow that couldn't be escaped. She could feel his gaze lingering on her, analyzing every movement, every microexpression, every flutter of her lashes. It was unnerving, but there was something about it that also anchored her. He was watching her not to judge, but to understand.
"You seem... uneasy," he finally said, his voice smooth yet cutting, the faintest hint of amusement coloring his tone. The corners of his mouth twitched upward into a knowing smirk, as if he was entertained by her efforts to appear unaffected.
Her eyes snapped open, her hand falling away from her face as she leaned back slightly in her chair. "Uneasy?" she echoed, her voice tinged with forced confidence. "I wouldn't say that." The smile on her lips was tight, her shoulders stiff as she tried to brush off his observation.
Zenith leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table. The movement was subtle, but it closed the space between them in a way that made her breath hitch. "You can hide from others, Raylene," he said softly, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "But you can't hide from me."
His words were a knife cutting through her carefully constructed facade, and for a moment, she faltered. Her composure cracked, just slightly, before she could pull herself back together. She looked away, her hand once again brushing her hair over the side of her face.
"I'm not hiding," she murmured, though the words felt hollow, even to her.
Zenith chuckled, the sound low and resonant. "Of course not," he said, his smirk widening. "After all, why would someone as composed as you have anything to hide?"
His tone was laced with mock sincerity, but there was an edge to it that made her chest tighten. He was toying with her, testing her, and she wasn't sure if she had the strength to keep up. Yet, she knew she had to. She wasn't about to let him have the upper hand, even if every fiber of her being felt like retreating.
Taking a steadying breath, she met his gaze once more, her voice quieter but firmer this time. "I'm here, aren't I?" she said. "If I was hiding, I wouldn't have come."
For a brief moment, Zenith's smirk faded, replaced by something else—something almost... curious. It was as though her words had struck a chord, one he hadn't expected. But just as quickly, the expression was gone, and his mask of quiet confidence returned.
"Fair enough," he replied, leaning back in his chair. His smirk was back, but it was softer now, less cutting. "Then let's see how long you can keep it up."
Zenith's sharp eyes followed her every move, calculating and dissecting every detail. It was impossible to ignore the way she carried herself—her steps were light, almost featherlike, as though she were treading on clouds. She moved with a softness that defied the room's oppressive tension, her presence quiet and unassuming. And that voice…
He had noticed it the moment she entered, breaking the silence with words wrapped in a childlike sweetness. Her tone carried a sense of innocence that seemed at odds with the unease flickering behind her gaze. She spoke carefully, softly, as if afraid her voice might shatter if she dared to raise it. It lacked authority, a commanding presence—but it wasn't weak. No, there was something deliberate in that softness, as though it were a veil she wore to shield herself from scrutiny.
And yet, Zenith's piercing gaze didn't relent. He could sense the tension bubbling beneath her calm façade, the way her fingers shifted nervously, tucking her hair behind her ear in an unconscious act of self-preservation. She avoided his eyes but only briefly, like she was challenging herself to meet his gaze even though it made her feel exposed.
He rose from his seat with an unnerving fluidity, his movements calculated yet deceptively effortless. The faintest smirk tugged at his lips, though it never reached his eyes, which remained cold and analytical. Slowly, he began to close the distance between them, his footsteps soft but purposeful, like a predator circling its prey.
"You tread so lightly," he murmured, his voice low and measured, the vibrations filling the charged air between them. "You speak as though you fear the weight of your own words. Tell me—why is that?"
The question was laced with quiet authority, and as he approached, the tension in the room thickened. He stopped just short of invading her space, looming over her like a shadow. The question hung between them, heavy and deliberate, daring her to respond.
Raylene instinctively leaned back, her breath catching as her gaze flickered to the floor before snapping back to his. Her composure wavered only slightly, her carefully crafted mask betraying the unease simmering beneath the surface. She gripped the edge of the table, as if it was the only thing keeping her tethered.
He wasn't expecting an answer, not immediately. Instead, he studied her intently, his head tilting ever so slightly as though trying to unearth the secrets she worked so hard to conceal. Her vulnerability fascinated him, yes—but more than that, it was the quiet strength she kept buried beneath the surface that truly held his attention. He leaned in slightly, enough for her to feel the weight of his presence, his voice softening but losing none of its intensity.
"You wear it well—this innocence," he murmured, almost to himself. "But it doesn't fool me."
Raylene's mind raced, a chaotic storm of conflicting emotions she couldn't control. Panic clawed at her from the inside, threatening to break through the carefully constructed exterior she wore so well. She had always maintained control, only showing what she deemed necessary, only revealing what she allowed. Yet Zenith, with his calculated gaze and deliberate words, was unlike anyone she had ever faced. He was dissecting her without even trying, exposing the cracks in her composure with surgical precision.
Her heart pounded violently against her ribcage, each beat so loud it drowned out all other sounds. She felt the room closing in, Zenith's presence suffocating in its intensity. Her breath hitched, her chest tightening as though the air had been stolen from her lungs. Her eyes widened slightly, betraying the fear she desperately tried to suppress. Her lips parted, but no words came out, only a shallow gasp.
She couldn't let him see this. She couldn't let him win.
The first tear betrayed her, slipping down her cheek before she even realized it had formed. She reacted instinctively, closing her eyes tightly as though to shield herself from his piercing gaze. She hoped—prayed—he wouldn't notice. Pretending it was nothing, she forced herself to yawn, a poor excuse for a mask she clung to with desperation. It felt thin, fragile, barely holding back the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm her.
Without thinking, she rose from the chair, her movements rushed and awkward despite her best attempts to appear composed. Her sweet, soft voice returned, its usual innocence masking the turmoil beneath. "I think… I should go now," she said, the words tumbling out too quickly. She smiled—light and practiced—as she stepped toward the door, avoiding his gaze as much as possible. "It's getting late. Thank you for… for this."
Zenith watched her intently, his gaze sharp and unwavering. He didn't move to stop her, but the weight of his presence lingered, almost as if he was holding her in place without lifting a finger. His silence was deafening, more powerful than any words he could have spoken.
Raylene's fingers trembled as they reached for the doorknob, her back turned to him. She felt his eyes on her, dissecting every movement, every breath, every hesitation. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, but she refused to falter. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction. Not now. Not yet.
As she opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, she allowed herself a shaky breath. For the first time since she had entered that room, she felt like she could breathe again. But even as she walked away, she couldn't shake the feeling that she had left something behind—that Zenith, in all his quiet power, had taken a piece of her with him.