Zara's POV
From the balcony, I watched Martin stroll towards the garden kitchen stall, where he was supposed to be preparing dessert. He had this magnetic pull about him, and I could see women's eyes following him as he moved through the crowd, commanding attention with every step. He was impossible not to look at.
Should I slap him when I see him next? Or just cut him off and walk away, as if I never cared? But could I really do that? What exactly was making me this angry?
Could I truly resist him when he looks at me with those eyes—the eyes that once made me believe I was the only one he truly desired? The thought alone twisted something deep inside me.
A flood of what-ifs ran through my mind.
What if I'd confronted him about us from the start instead of staying silent, letting things fester?
What if I didn't have so many debts, so many problems piling up around me?
What if my father were still here?
My jaw tightened, a dull ache spreading as my fingers pressed harder into the balcony railing. The crowd below blurred into meaningless motion. Anger simmered in my chest but refused to rise. What was the point? Getting angry wouldn't fix anything. It never did.
A light touch on my shoulder broke through my thoughts.
"Why are you up here, Zara? Shouldn't you be downstairs?" Thalia asked sweetly, positioning herself beside me.
I turned to her, seeing her gaze fall on Martin, who was showing off his cooking skills with that signature flourish of his, flames dancing as he flambéed some ruby port wine in a pan.
"I'm sure Martin's doing just fine without my help," I replied coldly.
She met my gaze, her eyes narrowing, as if peeling back every layer I'd put up to guard my feelings. A sly smile played on her lips, enough to set my blood boiling.
Thalia wasn't just looking at me; she was dissecting me, savoring each trace of anger I let slip.
Then she turned back to the crowd below, a small, knowing smirk spreading across her face, as if she had already discovered something.
"Isn't he attractive?" she murmured while glancing back at Martin.
"Enough to make women swoon over a mediocre performance." I sneered.
"Mediocre?" She smirked. "You love that mediocre man, though."
"Maybe not anymore."
"Ah, so you did see us." She probed, testing how much I'd actually witnessed.
"See? I didn't need to. The moans were loud enough to echo through the hall," I snapped.
She raised an eyebrow, smirking. "So, you heard then. But instead of barging in, you ran up here to sulk?"
How could she be so shameless? She wore her expressions like armor. Her calm tone faltered for just a second, her thumb twitching—was she worried I'd heard more than just their fun?
"Why would I? It's not my place to interrupt two people lost in the heat," I replied with a shrug.
"Is that so? So, are you saying you don't really have any right to get upset then?" she asked, her voice dripping with challenge.
"Have I ever gotten upset with you?" I asked back. History knew well how I'd put up with all her behavior over the years.
"Hmm, rarely? We're friends after all. Friends are bound to share with each other, aren't we?" she shot back, a smirk playing on her lips, provoking me.
Thalia knew her provocation would hit my nerves; I was quick to speak up when something was wrong. But our years of friendship had taught me things about her, too. She was a skilled liar, an expert at twisting things. So, if I called her out about my father, she'd find a way to downplay it, and manipulate me back into silence.
"Share? Yeah, we've always been like that, haven't we? Especially after my father left me... you've shared so much with me, I should be grateful, right?" I let out a bitter laugh, the sarcasm heavy in my voice.
I saw her face tighten, her eyes losing their edge as if her confidence slipped away the moment I mentioned my father.
"Your father?" she said, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "Yeah, it's a shame he left you like that, leaving you to carry all that weight on your shoulders."
"You're right. It's never been easy these past five years since he left me astray," I said, watching her closely, waiting for any sign that she'd slip up or reveal something she wasn't supposed to.
"But you had me, didn't you? That's how you made it through all that hell, became a reputable chef, even met a man like Martin." Her tone was smooth and smug as if my success was somehow her doing. As expected, she wouldn't bite my bait.
My jaw clenched. I wanted to slap her, rip that smug look off her face. But getting violent with someone like her would only be my loss.
"So, what you're saying is that thanks to you, I got to 'borrow' Martin, and now you want him back?" The words slipped out before I could stop them, a bitter edge I couldn't ignore. But I kept my cool.
"Oh, Zara… That's too harsh." She chuckled lightly, "Don't you know my type? Why would I want him? Like I said before, we can share that passion without—any strings attached. Hm, don't you hate commitment?"
I smiled, bitter as ever. "You really know me well, don't you?"
"That's what friends are for, Zara," she said, her eyes glinting with something cold. "I thought… since you wouldn't commit to Martin, you'd be okay with us sharing him." She reached for my hand, squeezing a bit too tight. "I'm sorry, I should've told you sooner. But he came on to me… And really, can you blame me for what happened in the heat of lust?"
I barely had time to process before she spoke again, her grip tightening, her words dripping in false sympathy. "But don't worry. It's not like I have feelings for him… like you do."
My pulse quickened, struggling to steady my ragged breaths. "Like I do? Thalia, you–"
"Shh…" Thalia cut me off, "Do you want to know who I really want?" She asked with a sweet voice, but her gaze sharp, unwavering.
Her eyes flicked toward something—or rather, someone—out in the garden. She tilted her head, a gesture that urged me to follow her gaze, and her lips curled into an excited smile, as though she couldn't wait to reveal what she'd spotted.
I followed her gaze, my eyes locking onto the scene below. There was Tom, talking with a man—Ravier. I froze, a chill creeping up my spine. My breath caught in my throat. The anger I felt before faded, overshadowed by the sudden realization. She wants who? My chest tightened. What kind of twisted coincidence is this?