Chapter 15
Zioh
Past
“Seriously, you look like a psycho every time you do that,” Zeraiah muttered beside me, sipping the Pepsi he’d fished from the cooler box.
This afternoon was stifling hot, and as usual, whenever the chance arose, our family, along with Sophie and Tsabinu, would end up playing golf. It was Mum’s favourite sport; more importantly, Dad always used it to build and strengthen his relationships.
But every time I went to play this sport, something always made me wish I’d stayed at home, mostly because, while playing, Dad would endlessly brag about Zaeem and me to anyone he played with.
He would laugh and parade our names around as though we were paintings deliberately carried to an exhibition, displayed to be admired.
I didn’t know about Zaeem. But as for me, I wanted to stab their eyes with my pencil and throw my eraser into their big mouths to stop their grotesque laughter.
I never once conveyed the impression Dad tried so hard to project. I’d usually only join the game briefly to keep Sophie company, then slip away, sit down, and take out my pencil and sketchbook. I would draw until they were done.
Besides Mum’s persuasion, the only real reason I had agreed to come was that Sophie genuinely enjoyed it.
We’d invited her and Tsabinu a few years ago, and she’d ended up so enthusiastic that she never wanted to miss it again.
I had even decided to buy her a set of golf attire, and she looked absolutely radiant in it.
Sophie. She carried a kind of light with her. Even when it was cloudy, you wouldn’t notice the darkness that surrounded you when she was by your side.
I loved the way she smiled. She had the kind of smile that could eclipse everything else, her chubby cheeks lifting until her dimples shone, like the first ray of the rising sun.
And now she was playing golf with her twin and my dad. The entire field before me seemed to glow, whether the weather or just her. I couldn’t stop smiling as her soft laughter rang across the green and into my ears.
It was infectious. Everything about her was.
When she was happy or sad, it spilt over to me.
That was why I loved making her happy. It was like creating my own happiness.
Sophie had me wrapped around her finger, and I didn’t mind in the slightest. In fact, I hoped she’d never let me go.
I hoped she would never leave me.
I needed her here.
With me.
But that beautiful sight was shattered when my brother came chirping beside me. I lifted my gaze, “What?” I muttered, then returned to sketching the beauty before me.
Zeraiah hummed, snatched my sketchbook, filled to the brim, and started flipping through the pages, whistling as though he intended to bother me.
He dragged a chair over and sat beside me, determined to pester.
“Staring at people like that from afar,” he tossed out the words, “and drawing them. Both are creepy, so pick one.”
Letting out a breath, I smirked and carried on shading. “Talk to yourself,” I murmured. “I’d rather draw them than talk about them.”
My eyes drifted back to Sophie, laughing with her twin and my dad, as she tried to catch a dragonfly on the field.
“Wait—did you just call me a gossiper?” Zeraiah snapped, affronted. “I only ever talk facts when it’s about people, and—BLOODY HELL, MAN, THAT’S GOOD!”
His voice boomed before he could finish his defence. He’d caught sight of what I was drawing—Sophie on the course, with the lake as her backdrop.
Leaning closer, he gawked with exaggerated awe. “Damn, I always knew you were good, but this one’s something else.”
I knew.
I was aware.
I glanced at him, and Zeraiah was still staring, dumbstruck, when his voice broke out again in disbelief. “You even brought bloody crayons? To the golf course? You seriously thought about packing coloured pencils?”
“Always comes in one set,” I replied without looking at him, still focused on Sophie as I drew. “Every sketchbook I bring has coloured pencils in the kit.”
“Really?” He was quiet for a moment as if he were studying me. “Then why don’t you ever use them? Wait—actually, I think I’ve figured it out.”
I stopped shading.
“Did you just add colour to a drawing of Tshabina?” he pressed, and I looked at him, and his eyes narrowed.
My sketches were always in black and white. I used pencil and paper only when drawing people. But with Sophie, I always slipped in colour, gradients, and light.
Only for her.
It was different whenever I drew Sophie.
My hands seemed to move on their own, shading her with more life, more brilliance.
Because Sophie wasn’t like anyone else, every time I looked at her, my heart raced at the beauty she radiated, and I couldn’t stand the thought of letting that beauty pass without sealing it onto the page.
It would be unbearable if I couldn’t capture her true light.
The result was always beautiful.
Not because of my drawing, but because of her.
What I put on paper was beautiful because Sophie herself was beautiful.
Stillness wrapped around me. I didn’t answer because I didn’t know how to explain it to him.
I drew a slow breath and tried to ignore him, my pencil hovering above the page. Zeraiah sighed, clicking his tongue, but didn’t push. Instead, he murmured, “You should show them to her, though,” he added, his voice deep. “I mean, your drawings. I know you never show her any of those.”
My hand stilled again. “She always sees my draw—”
“Your drawings of her,” he cut in. “The only sketches you ever let her see are of other people, buildings, scenery—anything but her. And every time you draw her, you tear it out of your book.” His finger jabbed towards the sketchpad riddled with dozens, maybe hundreds, of torn pages.
His brows knotted. “Why?”
Why.
My gaze slipped back to Sophie, running and laughing in the sun.
I didn’t even understand it myself. Perhaps it was an uneasy feeling that she’d find it strange and look at me differently, just like him.
My heart pounded as I turned back to Zeraiah. “Do you think—”
My question was cut short. Sophie and Tsabinu were racing towards us, breathless, and Dad was trailing behind with his usual genial smile.
Snapping my sketchbook shut, I slid it into my satchel and got to my feet, trying to appear casual. But I knew Zeraiah watched me in silence, noting every move.
“Zioh!! Zer!!” Sophie called out with a wide smile, her voice lighting up the air. “Uncle Bakti is amazing at this game! No wonder he prefers playing with Mas Bibu, they’re both so good!”
Her chatter made us all laugh. Mum rose to hand Sophie a cold drink, gently wiping her damp face with a tissue. “Here, darling. Your face will break out if it stays dirty.”
Sophie’s beautiful smile widened again. “Thank you, Mama Nadine.”
Tsabinu ruffled her hair before joining us with his own drink. I stepped closer to Sophie, brushing her damp cheek. “Isn’t he?” I asked, making her lift those warm hazel eyes to me. I smiled, teasing, “But you’ve got me. I’m better than them.”
She raised her brow, her smile curved toward me. “Cih~ arrogant,” she huffed, chuckling. Her laughter was so melodious, so soothing. I couldn’t help but laugh with her.
I reached for her hand. “C’mon, I wanna show—”
But before I could take Sophie to the edge of the lake, Zeraiah swooped in, slinging his arm around Sophie’s shoulders and dragging her away from me.
He glanced back with a sly grin, one of those many moments when I wanted nothing more than to punch my little brother.
He did this often, and it drove me mad.
“And you’ve got me,” Zeraiah crowed, brimming with energy. “I even beat Mas Zaeem last month!”
“Really?!” Sophie gasped, her eyes sparkling. “Then we get our revenge next month!”
The two of them laughed, heading towards the lake.
A sharp wave of discomfort seized me the instant my eyes landed on the way he’d stolen her hand as though she were some private toy of his.
“Fucking star boy…” I muttered under my breath.
When I glanced at Tsabinu, he was watching too, but his eyes were thoughtful, penetrating, as though he’d seen right through me.
And I knew. He had.
He always did.
? ── * ── ?
Present
When I stepped out of my car, I spotted the McLaren I’d seen earlier on my phone. I stopped, staring at it for a second, and Natasha, who got out from the other side, followed my gaze.
Her face shifted, a flicker of recognition followed by evident irritation. I couldn’t help the small snort that escaped me; those two had never gotten along and never would.
We headed to the lift, Natasha trailing behind me, and soon enough we stepped out onto the third floor, where my room was. I let out a heavy sigh a few paces from the lift.
Because there he was.
That familiar figure, sprawled on the sofa in the common lounge, his feet propped on the coffee table.
Typical. He was dripping with style as always, today going for something edgy: a plain white T-shirt, a black leather jacket, and light-blue jeans slung low on his hips.
He looked straight at me, with that maddening wolfish grin on his face.
It hadn’t been long since I’d last seen him, yet somehow I’d missed the infuriating sight. The bloody blond hair and emerald eyes were so reminiscent of Mum’s.
Zeraiah.
His smirk deepened the moment he caught my eye. Rising to his feet, he took in the room, whistling low as though wandering through some nostalgic memory lane after a decade away.
His gaze landed on the line of my drawings, buildings and scenery, displayed on the wall. He brushed his fingers over one of them, then glanced at me with a smile curling on his lip.
I sighed again and dropped onto the sofa, rubbing my temples. The riot in my veins I’d been carrying still hadn’t settled. “That old man said you’d be here this weekend,” I muttered.
Zeraiah shrugged, unbothered. “Life’s boring without surprises, brother.” His eyes slid to Natasha, and that grin widened into mischief. “And hello, Anderson? Long time no see, miss me?”
Natasha rolled her eyes with all the disdain in the world and sank onto the sofa beside me, dumping the files she’d been carrying onto the coffee table. Of the three of us, she only had the nerve to treat Zeraiah that way, perhaps because her loathing had long reached its peak.
Zeraiah huffed a laugh. “Sassy as ever. I like that.”
I ignored them. Let them carry on their silent war. Turning to him, I asked. “So what’s the reason? I know it’s not for that old man. Or for work. So why are you here, Zer?”
He stilled, watching me. Then another casual shrug.
“Same reason you’re here, innit? Mas Zaeem’s got his trick on us.
” He sneered, eyes glinting with disdain.
“He’s the one who asked me to come, and I fucking found out he was conveniently on an assignment abroad only after I arrived. Clever bastard.”
I smirked despite myself. Yes, our oldest brother was indeed fucking cunning this time.
“He even bloody begged me,” Zeraiah scoffed, his voice dripping with mockery. “Do you know what he said? Dad’s old. If you never come back, you’ll only ever get to touch the soil of his grave.” He sneered. “Thing is, even if he’s buried, I won’t set foot on—”
“Not here,” I cut in before he could finish. My gaze flicked upwards. “CCTV, Zer. Left and right. If you don’t want trouble, cage those inside your mouth.”
He exhaled hard through his nose. He knew I was right. “Well, at least I did miss my brother,” he muttered. “But what the hell’s he playing at? Where is Mas Zaeem stalking that girl this time? He’s bloody obsessed. There are plenty of women he could waste his time on.”
Sighing, I headed towards my door. I didn’t have the strength for this. “Not this time, Zer. He really is abroad for work.”
“Bullshit,” he snapped, following me. “We both know it’s just an excuse. He’s chasing after—”
The ding of the lift interrupted him. Natasha’s voice greeted someone.
Zeraiah and I glanced at each other before stepping back into the lounge. My brows narrowed at the sight of who had come straight up to the third floor, where our rooms were.
Zeraiah froze, shock flashing across his face before it twisted into something unreadable. Then slowly, he smiled, but it wasn’t friendly. Not even close. He straightened, shoving his hands into his pockets.
And Tsabinu dipped his head to us.
“Well, well, look who’s here,” Zeraiah drawled, with a chilling smile playing on his lips. “Our good boy… How are you, Highness?”