Chapter 7 – Zanae
7
ZANAE
F or the first time since Luna’s death, I had a goal to work towards, and it felt empowering. But, at the same time, it felt absurd to trust these men.
Tonight, I had another mission with my father, this time at a restaurant on the outskirts of the city.
He needed me for a meeting with a man I didn’t know yet. A future ally for the Lebanese family, he told me, but no details were added.
He usually gives me a brief overview of the situation, explaining what he expects me to uncover as if I were a soldier getting ready for a battle.
This time he didn’t.
Silently accepting the stares and inappropriate advances of his associates was something I had grown accustomed to. But it was always the same, and I felt powerless to change it.
I loathed these missions.
The thought of dressing up just to be an object in front of those men repulsed me. I had to maintain an image of innocence and sweetness, even though they knew that I was there to study them and that if I decided they were lying, then they were dead.
Sometimes I wondered—what if I were to lash out, to slit their throats open, and watch as they fell dead on the table, their blood staining the white marble crimson? What’s the worst that could possibly happen?
If I wanted to, I could end them all. I had a wealth of information on each of them, enough to make their lives a living hell. But for now, I had to play it smart, keep a low profile. I couldn’t let my father suspect that I was striving for independence, even if it meant betraying him in his eyes.
Not when I still lived under his roof.
I prepared myself and arrived at the rendezvous. The sky was magnificent. There was no sunset; it was late, with only the deep blue sky illuminated by a few stars and the large, shining moon. Luna…
I loved the sky in all its forms and colors. I was fascinated by it. The stars have always been my favorite companions, never leaving me; constantly in my life, whispering kind words to me as long as I gazed upon them.
And tonight, I needed some kindness.
Handing over my car keys to the valet, I made my way into the venue. As expected, I was escorted to my father’s usual table at the back of the restaurant. He greeted me with a fake smile, standing up to kiss my cheek in a display of false affection. “My beautiful daughter, let me introduce you to one of my future associates, Zaidan,” he said, gesturing toward the man sitting in front of him.
Turning to face Zaidan, I observed his tall frame, tattoos adorning his neck, and a noticeable scar stretching from his jaw to the base of his neck.
But something was off about his eyes.
They looked devilish, but not scary kind of devilish, something more vicious, even sinister. I could sense it, the way he glanced at my father and then at me, the subtle twitch of his lips when his name was mentioned. There was something he was hiding, and I didn’t like it one bit.
He rose to greet me and kissed my hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Zanae. You’re even more beautiful than your father described.”
“Thank you,” I replied coldly.
“Order yourself a drink, Habibti ,” my father chimed in. He was so talented at hiding his true nature.
I hated the fake mask he put on in public. That fa?ade of the good father grated on my nerves. But I saw through it all too well. The sweet nicknames, the false concern— I could still feel the sting of his hand and the bruises if I didn’t give him enough information on our meetings. Or the way he would just throw a glass at me or anything that could cause pain if I was too tired to accompany him to some kind of event.
My father was never my dad. He was brutal, demanding, and aggressive. And I grew up tragically thinking that it was the way everyone lived their childhood, without care. But it wasn’t.
I reached for my glass of whiskey, needing to stop my brain from overthinking again.
This time, there were no sexist remarks from my father’s guest. Instead, Zaidan smiled, “Good choice, shows you have taste.”
Who was this Zaidan? I had never heard of him before tonight. He was trying too hard to come across as charming. But then his eyes lingered on my cleavage before meeting mine again.
There he was, I knew my father couldn’t just have a meeting with a respectable man.
The Emir, Elias Dellé had to show off, talking about his achievements and me. He loved to remind people that his daughter knows how to catch a lie just by looking at their eyes. “As I was telling Zaidan, you studied criminology, specializing in profiling. You’ve been a major help on several projects of mine,” my father boasted.
Major help ? I did most of the fucking work.
Zaidan smiled coldly but with interest, “Ah, so that’s why I get those intense looks from you? You’re studying me? I thought I had charmed you.”
Rolling my eyes, I retorted, “I observe because I don’t know you, and it’s always interesting to see how people behave and what it reveals about them.”
My father chuckled, “Watch out, Zaidan, this one bites.”
The comment made my skin crawl.
Breathe Z, breathe.
Zaidan’s foot touched mine, and I couldn’t determine if it was accidental. I hoped for his sake that it was, but his smug smirk suggested otherwise. “No problem, it doesn’t bother me,” he remarked.
“I don’t think that’s the point. My father only brings me along when he needs someone to read beyond the words of the people he’s dealing with. I catch liars, traitors, and anyone too stupid to hide things from me.”
He smiled and turned towards me after glancing at my father. “Is that so?”
“Men have never had the talent women do for focusing on details,” I replied, not looking away from him.
Intellect has always been a woman’s forte, outshining the brightest men. I was convinced that women’s intelligence could break in pieces the illusion of male superiority, if they only had the courage and the protection to speak up without fear of judgment or reprisals.
I personally loved shattering men’s fragile egos with knowledge, because I had worked harder than they had to earn my place among the ranks of my own family.
Isn’t it painful to understand? I had to be the best, to be something in the eyes of my own bloodline.
Father chuckled as if I’d just told the funniest joke ever. “I don’t think it’s a talent, but since people don’t necessarily take you women seriously, you have the advantage of catching us by surprise.”
Bastard .
Zaidan contradicted him, holding his gaze on me. “I agree with her. Women have an indescribable talent for remembering details and paying attention to hidden things.”
Surprised, I widened my eyes and glanced at my father, who clenched his jaw. Feeling rejected? Oh, poor boy. “I need to freshen up; I’ll be back.”
Zaidan turned back to me, his leg still trying to enter my personal space under the table. “Zanae, a beautiful name for an incredibly beautiful woman, I must admit. Who gave you that name?”
“Honestly, I have no idea, certainly not my father, given his lack of interest in anything that concerns me.”
He laughed for a moment. “In addition to being beautiful and intelligent, you’re funny.”
I tilted my head, trying to decrypt his intentions. “Are you flirting with me?”
His gaze lingered on my lips, his tongue darting out to lick his own before returning to my eyes. “I asked your father to bring you to this little meeting.”
“Why?”
His hand grazed my arm on the cold marble surface. Though he wasn’t touching me, his skin was in contact with mine, and I didn’t feel an ounce of comfort. I hated it even.
“I heard about you, the prodigious girl who is dragged everywhere by her family, helping her father detect untrustworthy people in his inner circle, his hidden right-hand. Do you know what they say about you?”
“No, I don’t,” I lied, because Elijah had already hinted at this reputation last time in the elevator.
His fingers brushed my arm again, but he quickly grabbed his glass from the opposite side of the table to conceal his gesture. “No one has photos of you; many men describe you as a dark angel, Lilith even, with long black hair, pale skin, and a killer gaze. They say you’re the embodiment of feminine danger. But I wanted to see for myself this dangerous woman.”
He leaned in closer, just inches from my face. His breath mingled with mine, his eyes vicious, filled with something that made me want to vomit, reminding me of things I wanted to forget.
I smiled at him apologetically. “It’s so funny to me to see how weak men are in front of a woman who knows her worth. But I have a question: why ask my father to bring me to this dinner if you think I’m so dangerous? Aren’t you worried about what I could do to you?”
Turning the glass in my hand, the ice cubes clinking together, I maintained my smile.
He lowered his head, laughing darkly, and placed his hand on my arm. This time, he didn’t try to hide it; he kept it there. “I’d like to marry you.”
Excuse me? Marry me?
His hand still rested on my forearm, and I felt repulsed by his touch. The shadow of his touch felt like a visceral and cruel mockery.
It felt like a knife to my nerves.
Nausea crawled up the back of my throat, choking my breath for what felt like an eternity but was only seconds, as my memories tried to drown me again in an abyss of impotence and weakness.
But I couldn’t let them ruin my image in front of him.
I wasn’t weak; I was shattered. And you can’t break what’s already been broken, but you can use those sharp pieces to stab anyone who’s trying to play with your sanity.
Focus Z.
His gaze intensified, and his fingers began to creep upwards. I stopped him, pulling my arm away. “Marry me? What? No, of course not, I don’t even know you.”
He smiled and straightened up, glancing behind me as if he’d just spotted what he was waiting for. “I was thinking that a little alliance could be beneficial for both our families. Let’s say it would be purely for business.”
I felt a lingering gaze on me—intense, almost natural, as if I had always been shadowed by it.
Discreetly, I turned around and saw Elijah looking at me with a cold smile, but his eyes immediately returned to Zaidan, focusing on the hand that was once again clasping my arm between his fingers. Nikolai stood beside him, observing his friend, and then his gaze shifted to me, offering a smile, while Ben, the doctor from last time, waved his hand to salute me. What were they doing here? It wasn’t even a well-known restaurant. Some men, security I presume, were all around them, as if they were kings and needed to be hidden from everyone else.
Was he stalking me?
He was!
This bastard followed me here with Nikolai and Ben and his whole fucking security team.
Returning my gaze to Zaidan, I spoke again, “Listen, I don’t care about boosting my father’s business. To be completely frank, I don’t care at all about anything involving my father, and I surely won’t sacrifice my life for the sake of whatever you’re planning. And don’t ever put your filthy hand on me again if you don’t want me to skin you alive.”
Before he could respond, my father returned. I quickly apologized and made my way outside, slipping through the small exit that few knew about, leading to a narrow alley opposite the parking lot.
What just happened? It felt so… insincere.
My father was trying to marry me off to another family—what an insane old man. I refuse to sacrifice the few moments I have left in this life for his empire.
And the way this Zaidan was always trying to touch me, it felt horrible. I despised feeling that way, but I couldn’t silence the voices that screamed every time a man’s touch grazed my skin.
I hated it so much; I needed air.
I didn’t even have the time to recover from the scene when someone opened the door behind me. I turned around, quickly pulling out my knife. I almost choked when I saw that the man who just joined me was none other than Elijah Volkov.
Fuck .
Should I feel relieved or start panicking even more?
He approached me with nonchalance and confidence, his gaze steady on my eyes, one hand casually tucked in the pocket of his suit. “Put away that knife, Zanae.”
“What are you doing here?”
He took out a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it before taking a long drag. “I came to smoke. What about you?”
His tone caught me off guard; it was less threatening than I was used to with him. So, I replied politely, “I needed some fresh air.”
“Aren’t you scared to be alone with me in a dark, deserted parking lot?” he teased, the smoke curling around his words as he exhaled, enveloping us both in.
I leaned closer, our faces only inches apart, the smoke creating a veil between us. “Why should I be? Last time I was alone with you and had a knife, I spilled your blood on the ground, Volkov.”
He chuckled softly, amusement filling his eyes as he glanced at my weapon. “If you want to kill me, I think you’ll need a bigger one, Milaya. ”
I arched an eyebrow and plucked the cigarette from his lips, crushing it under my heels. “I have a whole arsenal in my room just for you, don’t worry.”
His smirk widened, his eyes trailing every inch of my being, from head to toe. “I’m looking forward to it.”
A pause.
He just tapped his fingers on his jaw ten times, never breaking his gaze from mine. I leaned against the wall behind me at the same moment. He stood tall in front of me, remarkably close, his body heat offered a strange comfort.
What’s wrong with me? And why were the voices suddenly silent?
“So, you know Zaidan?” he asked in a tone that suited him more, low, raspy, and dangerous . His green eyes bore into mine, while he slipped a new cigarette between his smiling lips as if he was challenging me to crush this fresh one on the ground again. Without breaking eye contact, he handed me his lighter, silently asking me to ignite the cigarette.
I lit his stick, the flame dancing in his eyes.
The Devil in all his glory.
“No, I didn’t know him before today,” I said, trying to keep my breathing steady even if I wanted to melt under his stare.
Why was my body not horrified from the proximity?
He smiled coldly. “Oh, my Little nightmare ... Tell me, what did he want from you?”
It was so hard to focus on his words when he was inching closer. But I managed to answer, “He wants to marry me.”
Elijah took another deep drag, exhaling the smoke in my direction, suffocating me. “He wants you to marry him.” He reached into his pocket, placing something on me. I immediately recognized the sensation, a gun.
My mind went blank as he pressed it against my chest, the metal cold on my skin. Lowering his head, he murmured against my cheek, “And what did you tell him?”
Gradually, the reality of the situation sank in. I met his gaze, trying to hide the panic and the arousal coursing through me. “I told him no.” I muttered.
His hand, still holding the weapon, slid down from my chest to my stomach, and he smiled, pride evident in his expression. “You may have just saved his life by refusing, Zanae.”
I wanted to test his boundaries even more than before, so I added, “It’s not too late. What if I say yes? What will happen, Volkov?”
His gun slid even further until it rested between my thighs, his touch firm and commanding. The pressure against my most sensitive point was surprisingly good. With his other hand, he lifted my chin, his gaze bored yet curious. Our breaths mingled, mine rapid and shallow, his slow and deliberate. A moan escaped my lips as I felt the friction between his gun and my inner thigh, my body betraying me with its response.
Why wasn’t I repulsed by this? What was happening?
His voice grew faint, the green in his eyes fading into emptiness, a dark hole pulling me in effortlessly. “Maybe, just maybe, let’s pretend you say yes, Zanae.” He pushed the gun further between my thighs. “I’ll wait for him at the end of your little meeting. I’ll kidnap him, place him in a warehouse where I’ll torture him physically and psychologically. I’ll slice him open, from head to toe, and watch as his organs spill out until there’s nothing left of him. I’ll remind him that you’re not on the market, and then I’ll dump his body somewhere to be found, ravaged by animals.”
He pressed his weapon a bit further against me, the sensation felt wrong and so good at the same time.
I shouldn’t have let him do that, but he hypnotized me.
My breath grew erratic when his lips neared my ear, “Keep saying no, my Little nightmare . This is not the path I’ve reserved for you.”
“What are you doing?” I managed to whisper, breathless.
He stepped back, a grin spreading across his face as he holstered his weapon. “Having fun, Miss Dellé,” he said nonchalantly before disappearing inside, leaving me alone with my thoughts, feeling the pounding of my pulse as my body grew cold once more. What had just happened?
I re-entered the venue, my steps so small and measured. My mind was a fucking mess. It raced with the memories of Elijah all over me.
I took my seat at the table where my father and Zaidan awaited and tried to compose myself, but the air felt heavier, less breathable.
My father, noticing my return, glanced at me. “Everything’s good?”
I forced a smile, “Yes, everything’s fine.”
Zaidan’s gaze met mine, and he smiled, nodding subtly, as if he understood something. Confused but unwilling to show it, I stayed composed. I still felt the gun between my thighs, and the heat coming up from a gaze behind me. I couldn’t shake the images of what happened outside.
The meeting wrapped up, and my father addressed Zaidan, “Well, it seems like we’ve reached an understanding tonight. Thank you all for your time and cooperation, I hope good things will come our way.”
Zaidan added, looking at me, a bit more stressed than before, “Indeed, an interesting discussion.”
I felt Elijah’s gaze burning my cheeks, and I turned to look. I caught him smiling proudly, reveling in the impact he had on me. I hated him; he was so happy to see how much lack of control I had over my body’s reactions. And I knew it amused him.
“Zanae, is there anything you’d like to add or discuss? Or are we finished for tonight?” My father asked.
I shook my head, clearing my voice. “No, I think everything’s been covered.”
Zaidan’s gaze shifted, and he nodded toward a corner of the room. I followed his line of sight and saw Elijah’s eyes meeting his. His behavior became more nervous; he was scared. Before going back outside, he looked around, as if to make sure no one was looking at us. He then kissed my hand and grabbed my arm, whispering in my ear, “Call me if you want to marry me. I will satisfy every one of your fantasies. You look like you could take anything, I like it.”
His grip on my arm was so firm, that it left a red mark as he let go. I stood frozen, unable to breathe again. The voices returned, my skin burning, my eyes watering. I could hear him again, feel him again. His touch, his voice echoed in my mind—the way his fingers trailed up and down my arms, my neck, my jaw.
His words echoed in my ears, ‘I know you love it; I know you do.’
Wake up Zee!
My father’s touch on my shoulder brought me back to reality. I caught one last glimpse of Elijah’s eyes before returning to my father’s side.
He looked at me, then at my arm, then at Zaidan. That was the final image I had from tonight.
Back home, something caught my attention. On the wall above my bed, the painting of the dahlia Luna painted me.
Sometimes, hopelessness can feel like a will to live.
In my case, I couldn’t be sure about the message I got from this painting. It was hard to know if she created it for me to remember her, or to recall how it felt to be loved by someone, to find strength even in despair. Just like dahlias.
Is it good to let life run through my veins again? What if it ends up being destructive rather than good? Everything turns that way when it comes to me.
A sad smile appeared on my lips. She always told me I always reminded her of that flower in particular.
Alone in my bed, my mind went somewhere dark and cold. Guilt suffocated me. Everything that reminded me of Luna made it harder to breathe.
I can’t articulate my feelings. I have never been good at expressing anything. When she was alive, words were superfluous between us. She would just enter my room, play some music to keep my head occupied, and run her fingers through my hair until I fell asleep.
She healed so much of me, not just the physical wounds on my wrists but also my heart.
For as long as I can remember, I inflicted pain on myself, hoping it would make me feel something I was missing in life — emotions, powerful ones, not just fleeting joy or happiness, but a range beyond anger and hate.
You killed her. Don’t act sad. YOU KILLED HER.
I want the voices to stop. I need them to stop. The blades nestled in my drawer tempted me, an escape to make me feel alive. To prove to me that life was running in my veins, seeing the vibrant red that fills me, showing me that I was still here, and that I was just defective, but still breathing. What harm would one cut do? Just one ...
The sharp ache that digs a hole in your heart, discovering how your only and best friend took her own life, leaving no signs before her suicide. The agony before her death, that haunting night, and saying goodbye to her – it hurts so bad, so deep .
I fought, I tried so hard because I believed I was worthy to share a life with her.
But she abandoned me.
Abandonment is a persistent theme in my life.
Maybe I am just not deserving enough for people to stand by me?
Or maybe I’m just overthinking again.