The drive back to the penthouse felt like a fever dream. Rossy's hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles turned white, but her mind was elsewhere. Images of Zeath standing at the docks, his cold voice delivering threats, replayed in her head.
Who was he? The question burned in her chest. How had she missed this side of him all these years? She wanted to believe it was a misunderstanding, but the message, the conversation, the danger in his eyes—they painted a picture she couldn't ignore.
By the time she reached home, the apartment was dark except for the faint glow under the study door. Zeath was still awake.
She stood in the entryway, her coat still on, her breath shallow. Confronting him felt impossible, but pretending everything was fine felt even worse. As if on cue, the door to the study creaked open, and Zeath stepped out.
"Rossy," he said, his voice low, almost gentle. His tie was gone, and his shirt sleeves were still rolled up, exposing his strong, veined forearms. He leaned against the doorway, studying her like he always did when he thought something was wrong.
"You're up late," he remarked.
She forced a smile, even as her heart pounded in her chest. "I couldn't sleep."
Zeath nodded, stepping closer. His presence was magnetic, but tonight it felt suffocating. He reached out, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear.
"You've been restless lately," he said, his tone softer now. "Is there something on your mind?"
For a moment, she wanted to tell him everything—to ask him outright what he was hiding, to scream that she knew about the docks, the shipment, Luca. But then she saw it—the flicker in his eyes. The way he was watching her, like he was waiting for her to slip up.
"No," she whispered, stepping back. "I'm just tired."
His lips curved into a faint smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "You should rest. I'll join you soon."
Rossy nodded, retreating to the bedroom. Once the door was closed, she leaned against it, her mind racing. She needed answers, but she couldn't ask Zeath.
The only way to get the truth was to go deeper into his world—on her own.
The drive home was a blur. Rossy couldn't shake the sound of Zeath's voice, the cold edge in his tone as he threatened Luca's name at the docks. Every word had been like a dagger, carving away the illusion of the man she thought she knew.
The Zeathan she married wasn't ruthless. He was charming, loving, protective—the man who remembered her favorite flowers, who kissed her forehead each morning, who worked long hours to give them a perfect life. And yet, tonight had shattered that image into a million unrecognizable pieces.
Her fingers trembled on the steering wheel as she pulled into the parking garage beneath their building. She sat there for a moment, staring at her reflection in the rearview mirror. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with disbelief.
"Get it together," she whispered to herself. But no matter how many deep breaths she took, the sinking feeling in her stomach remained.
By the time she stepped into their penthouse, the weight of her discovery had settled firmly on her chest. The apartment was dark, save for the faint glow under the study door. Zeath was still awake.
Her heart clenched. She wasn't ready to face him—not after what she'd seen.
The click of the door behind her seemed to echo through the room, loud and accusing. She slipped off her shoes, careful to make as little noise as possible, but before she could retreat to the bedroom, the study door opened.
Zeath stepped out, his tall frame silhouetted against the light. He looked tired, the faint shadow of stubble lining his jaw. His shirt sleeves were still rolled up, his tie gone, giving him an air of casual authority that somehow made him seem even more dangerous.
"Rossy," he said, his voice low and soft.
She froze, her heart hammering in her chest. "You're still working?" she asked, her voice coming out shakier than she intended.
"I could ask you the same thing." He crossed the room slowly, his eyes scanning her with the same intensity he always used when he thought she was hiding something. "You're up late."
"I couldn't sleep," she replied, forcing a smile that felt like it might crack under the weight of his gaze.
Zeath stopped in front of her, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body. His hand reached up, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear. It was a gesture she'd always found comforting, but tonight it sent a shiver down her spine.
"You've been restless lately," he murmured, his dark eyes searching hers. "Is there something on your mind?"
Her stomach twisted. For a moment, she considered telling him everything—confronting him about the docks, the shipment, Luca. But then she saw it: the flicker of suspicion in his gaze. Zeath wasn't just asking. He was testing her.
"No," she lied, stepping back out of his reach. "I'm just tired."
His lips curved into a faint smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "You should rest. I'll join you soon."
Rossy nodded, retreating to the bedroom. She closed the door behind her, her hands trembling as she leaned against it. Her mind raced with questions, but one thing was clear: Zeath was hiding something dangerous, and if she wanted answers, she couldn't ask him.
She had to find them herself.
Later That Night
The apartment was silent, the kind of stillness that felt heavy with secrets. Isabella lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the sound of Zeath's footsteps. But they never came.
Her curiosity burned like a fire she couldn't extinguish. Slowly, she slipped out of bed, her bare feet making no sound on the cool floor. She crept toward the study, her heart pounding in her chest.
The door was slightly ajar, and she peeked inside. Zeath was gone, but his laptop sat open on the desk.
Every instinct screamed at her to turn back, but she couldn't. This was her chance.
She stepped into the room, her hands trembling as she sat at the desk. The laptop's screen was unlocked, displaying an email thread. Her eyes scanned the subject line: Shipment Compromised – Immediate Action Required.
She hesitated, her finger hovering over the touchpad. If Adrian caught her, she didn't know what he would do. But she couldn't stop herself. She clicked.
The emails painted a horrifying picture. Mentions of shipments, territory disputes, and names she didn't recognize filled the screen. And then there were the threats—coded but unmistakable. One phrase stood out, making her blood run cold: "Loose ends must be tied before the authorities get involved."
Loose ends. Was that what Zeath meant by "dealing with the leak"? Was he capable of… killing someone?
A noise behind her made her gasp. She spun around, her heart in her throat, but the doorway was empty. The apartment was still silent.
She quickly closed the laptop and hurried back to the bedroom, her mind racing. The more she learned, the clearer it became: Zeath wasn't just keeping secrets. He was living a life she had no part in—a life filled with danger, lies, and possibly violence.
As she slid back into bed, she made a decision. She couldn't confront Zeath, not yet. But she couldn't sit by and do nothing either. She had to find out the truth, even if it meant putting herself in danger.
Because one thing was certain: the man sleeping beside her wasn't who she thought he was. And she wasn't sure if she'd ever truly known him at all.