Chapter 12 - Zara
The scent of rich coffee pulls me from sleep before I even open my eyes. I blink awake to a call from Abram, asking me to open the door.
Surprised, I pull on a robe and head to open it, only to find him standing there with breakfast.
"Good morning, Solnyshko," he murmurs, a hint of a smile playing at his lips.
I look at him with a tilt in my head, eyebrow raised. "Uhhh—what’s going on?"
He quirks an eyebrow. "Does a man need a reason to see the girl always running through his mind?"
A thrill runs through me, in sheer disbelief at his thoughtfulness. I let him in, accepting the coffee. "You're full of surprises lately."
"You have no idea," Abram says, his voice a low rumble.
***
Later that day, I'm barely through the door of my office when my phone chimes.
Abram: Dinner tonight. I'll pick you up at 7.
It's not a question. My fingers don’t hesitate over the keys before I type back instantly: Okay.
***
The days blur together in a whirlwind of Abram's constant presence. He appears at my favorite lunch spot during work hours, sliding into the seat across from me with a wolfish grin. "Fancy meeting you here."
I laugh despite myself. "Are you following me now?"
"Always," he says, and I can't quite tell if he's joking.
That weekend, Abram whisks me away to a hidden cove for a moonlit picnic. The next, it's front-row seats at the opera. Then, a heart-pounding helicopter ride over the city.
"How do you keep coming up with these ideas?" I ask as we stroll through a night market, the air heavy with spices and sizzling meat.
Abram's hand finds the small of my back. "I have a lot of resources at my disposal. And a powerful motivation. Time with you."
His eyes burn into mine, and I feel myself falling deeper into whatever this is between us. It's exhilarating and terrifying all at once.
"You're not bored of me yet?" I tease, trying to lighten the moment.
Abram's grip tightens possessively. "Never," he growls. "You're mine now, Zara. Get used to it."
A shiver runs down my spine at his words. I should be scared, I think . But all I feel is a dizzying sense of anticipation for whatever comes next in Abram's world of danger and desire.
***
My heart races as Abram's fingers trail down my arm. "I want to give you everything, Zara," he murmurs, his voice low and intense.
I swallow hard, caught between exhilaration and unease that this all might be moving too fast. "Abram, I—"
"Shh," he says, pressing a finger to my lips. "Just feel."
And I do feel when he presses his lips against mine—everything. The heat of his body, the weight of his gaze, the intense effort he’s been putting into us. It's overwhelming, and I find myself leaning into his touch despite my better judgment.
"You're trembling," Abram observes, pulling away from me, a hint of satisfaction in his tone.
"I'm not used to… this," I admit, gesturing vaguely between us.
He smirks. "Good. I want to be the only one who makes you feel this way."
Later that night, Abram drops me off at my house. His goodbye kiss leaves me breathless and weak-kneed.
"Sweet dreams, Darling," he whispers, standing there as I close the door. “Lock up behind yourself, will you?” I hear his possessive command.
I grin and hear footsteps walking away only when the door locks shut.
I throw the keys on the dining table, still dazed from being in Abram's presence. These past few weeks, something between us has changed, though I don’t know what. He’s there by my side every morning, some afternoons, every night. I’ve hardly seen any of my friends, with Abram taking up most of my time.
And the truth is that I’m absolutely giddy with joy—so damn giddy that I’m terrified I’m not afraid. In the past, had a man showered me with such fierce attention, I would have been confused by his intentions. Perhaps bored, even.
With Abram, it feels right. Yet, how easily I accept his attention leaves me wary. After all, what’s changed to make him want to throw aside his entire other life to spend every free second with me?
So lost in my thoughts, I almost jump when my phone rings. Unknown number. Frowning, I answer.
"Hello?"
"Zara? Is that you?"
My blood runs cold. I know that voice—a voice I never thought I'd hear again when I cut her off from any and all manner of contacting me. "Aunt Sarah?" I whisper, shock paralyzing me.
"Oh, thank goodness. I wasn't sure if this was your number."
I grip the phone tighter, my mind reeling. "How did you get this number?" I demand, my voice trembling slightly.
There's a pause on the other end. "I… I asked someone, Dear. But that's not important. What matters is that I've reached you."
Dear? Since when has she started calling me dear?
I lean against the wall, suddenly feeling weak. "What do you want?"
"I was hoping we could meet," Aunt Sarah says, her tone honeyed. "It's been so long, and I've been thinking about you."
A bitter laugh escapes me. "Thinking about me? Or thinking about what you can get from me?"
"Zara, please. That's all in the past. I've changed; we've all changed. Can't we just—"
"No," I cut her off, memories of their treatment flooding back. The cold shoulders when I asked why the properties my parents left me had been sold off only for me to never see a dime of it, the whispered insults and silent treatments when I asked for new clothes and shoes as I outgrew them, being kept on a budget so tight that I had to work part-time since I turned fourteen, never being taken on vacations or dinners out with the rest of the family, the greedy looks when my inheritance was mentioned. "We can't."
"But—"
"I said no." My voice is firm, but inside, I'm shaking. "Don't call me again."
I end the call abruptly, sliding down the wall until I'm sitting on the floor. My chest feels tight, and I struggle to breathe normally. How dare she? After everything they put me through, how dare she try to waltz back into my life?
I stare at my phone, half expecting it to ring again. It doesn't, but the damage is done. In just a few minutes, Aunt Sarah has shattered the fragile sense of peace I've been building. And now, sitting alone on the floor in my living room, I feel more vulnerable than I have in years.
The room spins as memories crash over me like relentless waves. I'm six again, standing in a black dress at my parents' funeral, small and lost. Aunt Sarah's hand on my shoulder, her nails digging in just a little too hard when I sob too loud. Uncle Robert's eyes are cold and calculating as he discusses my "future" with the family lawyer. Demanding that they get the rights to handle my assets and successfully go to court to gain access when my parents' lawyer said no.
I gulp for air, trying to shake off the past. But it clings to me, a sticky residue I can't wipe away. The loneliness of those years stretches out before me—endless days of tiptoeing around my relatives' moods, nights spent crying silently into my pillow.
"No one will ever truly care about you," Aunt Sarah had hissed once, thinking I was asleep. "You're just a meal ticket."
I wrap my arms around myself, rocking slightly. It's been so long since I've let anyone close. Suddenly, Abram's face flashes in my mind—his intense gaze, the gentleness of his touch. He's different, isn't he? He feels like the care I always craved.
My phone buzzes, startling me. Speak of the devil. Abram's name flashes on the screen. I hesitate, still reeling from pain, but instinctively know his voice will make me feel better, and so, I answer.
"Zara?" His voice is low, urgent. "I can’t sleep. I wanted to wait, but I can’t anymore. I need to talk to you. There's something I want to ask, and I'm… I'm certain of what I’m asking, honestly. It’s not based on impulse. So please, just hear me out?"
I take a shaky breath, curious beyond belief and yet so calm in my soul. Something tells me that what I’m about to hear could forever change my life. It’s a rare moment, one that comes only a few times in life, and I brace myself for it, stiller than a windless night to take in this moment. "Okay."
"I can't stop thinking about you," he begins, words tumbling out in a rush. "Every moment we're apart feels wrong. I know it's fast, but I've never been more certain of anything in my life. Zara, I want you to move in with me."
My heart pounds. I knew he would ask something life-changing.
And still, is this real?
A small smile comes to my lips.
"I want to wake up to your smile every morning," Abram continues, his voice thick with emotion. "I want to make you coffee and argue over what to watch on Netflix. I want to create a home with you, Zara. What do you say?"
My breath catches in my throat. A swirl of emotions floods through me—joy, fear, hope, uncertainty. Abram's words echo in my mind, a stark contrast to the ghosts of my past that still linger.
"Zara?" Abram's voice is soft, tentative. "Are you still there?"
I close my eyes, picturing his face—the warmth in his eyes, the curve of his smile. A smile meant only for me.
"I'm here," I whisper, my voice trembling.
"If it's too soon, I understand," he says quickly. "I just… I needed you to know how I feel."
In that moment, something shifts inside me. The walls I've built for so long start to crumble. For far too long, I’ve let the trauma my relatives cast my way hold me back from opening up to others who could offer me so much more.
By denying myself what I want out of fear of uncertain future pain, I only let them win. And I’m done losing to my aunt and uncle.
"No," I say, surprising myself with the strength in my voice. "It's not too soon."
"What are you saying?" Abram asks, a note of hope in his tone.
I take a deep breath, feeling lighter than I have in years. "I'm saying yes, Abram. Yes, I'll move in with you."
His joyous laugh fills the line, and I can't help but join in. For the first time in forever, I'm choosing happiness. I'm choosing to trust. I'm choosing Abram.
"You've made me the happiest man alive," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "When can I come get you?"
I giggle, caught up in the moment. "How about tomorrow morning?"