Chapter 53
Tshabina
My stiff fingers fumbled with the car door lock, forcing myself out even as my limbs quivered. I wasn’t sure if it was from the pain or the shock, but my knees buckled as they hit the asphalt. My forehead throbbed so hard I had to grip the car door to steady myself.
Cindy stepped back a few paces, still wearing a bright smile like a child handed sweets, but twisted, a smile that sent chills down my spine.
Straightening, I forced myself to meet her eyes. She was taller, so I raised my chin with a stiff motion. But what unsettled me most wasn’t her height; it was the way she stared—not at me, but into me.
Her wide smile never faltered, her fingers combed through her hair, tugging at the ends as though she savored the moment.
I stared at her, wanting to understand what was inside her head. She hadn’t just put me, but also herself, in danger. If we hadn’t hit the brakes at the right moment, we would’ve ended up in the hospital by now.
No excuse in the world justified that.
My heart pounded. Her presence radiated something cold, sinister, and manipulative. Everything about her screamed of malice, and every instinct screamed: get away from her.
My suspicions were confirmed.
Suddenly, her expression shifted. The grotesque grin softened into a pout of regret as her gaze flicked to my forehead.
“Oh… I’m so sorry,” she cooed, her voice like the eerie lull of a horror movie.
“I didn’t mean that…” she sing-songed, pointing at my aching forehead before her smile returned, gleaming. “I’m just excited.”
I blanked. This woman had nearly killed us both, and yet she looked thrilled, her eyes lighting up at the sight of my pain.
My voice came low and steady, hiding the fury beneath. “Of course you meant it, Cindy,” I said, ignoring the sting in my head as I held her gaze. My voice dropped colder. “What do you want?”
The smile vanished. Her lips flattened into a straight line, and her eyes narrowed as the mask slipped. The devil beneath it finally surfaced.
She moved closer, twirling a few strands of my hair between her fingers, savoring them like a trophy. “You know, Tshabina, I never appreciate it…” she whispered. “When someone steals what’s mine.”
I peeled her hand away, glaring at her. I didn’t understand why—but I smiled anyway. A smile of pure contempt, stronger than hers.
I remembered the pain she’d inflicted on Zioh, the hatred on Zeraiah’s face, and the anger of Mas Zaeem.
No, he is never yours.
You are the one who hurt them.
My family.
Mine.
Her eyes narrowed at my smile. “Let’s see that, Cindy,” I shot back. “Is he really yours?” My voice came out sharp. “Or is it something broken inside your skull that makes you believe that?”
Her lips pressed together, her eyes blazing. She slammed her palms against the car, trapping me. Her face twisted as she lifted the brown file she’d been clutching all along.
My breath caught.
That file was hauntingly familiar. It was the same one that was sent to my phone from an unknown number the night I stayed at the hotel with Zioh.
So, it’d been Cindy.
She raised it higher, almost triumphant. “He’s always been mine. You’ll see—” she started, but suddenly stopped. Her expression stiffened as her eyes darted to something behind me. And then, without a word, she turned, rushing back to her car, and in seconds, the engine roared, and she was gone.
Moments later, a tall, broad-shouldered man hurried towards me. “Ma’am, are you alright?”
The moment Cindy was gone, the noise around me flooded back, along with the man’s voice before me. “Yes… I’m fine.”
I recognized him. He was the man I’d seen in the hall near Zioh that day—one of Mas Zaeem’s men.
? ── * ── ?
After that draining encounter, I made it to the office.
The man who introduced himself as Dave drove me, insisting on taking me along in my own car. He was adamant about bringing me to the ER, but I politely refused. I didn’t have time for that, so we settled for a bag of ice from a nearby shop to press against my bruised forehead.
As Dave pulled into the parking lot, I spotted a black Mercedes idling in the VIP section, the engine still running. Zioh’s car.
Why was he still here?
As we parked, Zioh stepped out and walked towards my car. He lightly tapped the driver’s window, and Dave rolled it down. Dave dipped his head to Zioh, and a flicker of shock crossed Zioh’s face. His brows furrowed as he stared at Dave, then flicked his gaze toward me. Our eyes locked.
He went rigid.
His eyes scanned me—my face, my body—until they stopped at the pack of ice pressed to my forehead. His eyes narrowed, hardening. His hand clenched on my car window, making his knuckles whiten.
Dave moved, whispering something to him, and Zioh nodded without breaking his eyes with mine.
Dave stepped out of the driver’s seat as Zioh turned and walked to the passenger side, where I sat.
He tapped my window again, making me flinch and swallow hard. I opened the door and found myself face-to-face with him—his complexion was pale and flushed.
The pain in my forehead still made me wince, and I stumbled as my foot hit the ground. Zioh’s hand shot out, gripping my shoulder, steadying my back against the car door, and his touch was ice against my skin.
He stared at me, then dipped his head closer to scrutinize me. His breath came rough as he took the melting ice pack from my hand.
Was it really that bad?
I turned to the wing mirror and winced at my reflection. “Oh… no…” My forehead was swollen, a deep purple-red, and I was sure it was going to bulge soon.
No wonder it hurt so much.
I winced again as Zioh’s fingers brushed the bruising around my brow. He guided my head back towards him, his piercing gaze locking on mine. “What happened?” he asked, his voice like a blade.
I stared at him in silence.
I didn’t know why, but I couldn’t tell him the truth. How would he react? Would he be angry? Lose control again? Be hurt again? I didn’t know. Everything I did felt so wrong to the people around me…
Shaking my head, I swallowed. “I fell, Zi, it’s okay,” I lied through my teeth.
Zioh fell silent, staring deeper. His voice dropped, colder. “What happened?” he repeated, his eyes dark enough to drown me.
I swallowed the lump in my throat, hesitating.
Zioh blew out a harsh breath before me, his jaw locked.
Closing his eyes for a moment, he blew the air out once more and looked at me again—deeply, searching.
“Tshabina, why are you hurt?” His tone was low, almost as if it wasn’t a question, as if he already knew and wanted me to speak.
To be honest with him.
But again, I shook my head, biting my lip. “I fell, Zi, by accident,” I repeated. “But it’s okay. I’m fine.”
How could I tell him? His reaction to Cindy that night had been so bad.
Zioh stayed silent at my answer, watching me long enough that I could hear my erratic heartbeat. Then he shifted his gaze, inspecting me—my face, neck, arms, body, legs, as though making sure there were no other injuries.
When he found nothing, he looked back at me, calmer now. “Then why did you come?”
“Because I’m fine,” I replied in a forced low voice.
His voice went hoarse. “Are you sure?” His questioning made me want to give up and tell the truth this time. His scrutiny felt like it stripped me bare. When I stayed silent, he asked again, in a lower voice. “Are you sure you’re fine?”
I exhaled, smiling faintly, and nodding.
Please, drop it, Zi…
And he did, as if he’d heard my unspoken plea.
He nodded, sighing. His eyes softened. “Come on inside, we’ll put a new compress on it,” he said, taking my bag and my gear bag. He slid a hand to my waist to guide me, but when I stopped, he turned, understanding instantly.
I reached for my bag, but he kept it at a distance. “Let me carry it,” he murmured.
I shook my head until he finally handed me my bag, but kept the other. “Just this one,” he said without waiting for my answer.
Zioh walked ahead, and I followed him to the lift nearby. At each stop, people stepped in, greeting him, and he shifted closer to me as more entered. We stepped out into his workspace when we reached the top floor.
“Sit down on the sofa,” he said as he pulled out his phone to type something and handed me my gear bag. I nodded and strolled to the sofa, setting my bags down. I lay back, opening my gear bag to take out my camera and tripod.
Glancing up, I found Zioh still at his phone, standing in front of the massive window behind his desk, utterly focused on sending a text, perhaps.
My gaze lingered on him. Zioh was beautiful, a kind of beauty you never grew tired of.
But something dark was creeping in, trying to dim the light, and I wanted to blow the clouds away so his sun could shine again.
Helping him defeat the villain so he could finally spread his wings once more. I want my hero back.
After a few minutes, a knock came at the door. Zioh strode over, opening it halfway as if expecting someone. I couldn’t see who it was, but he took a tote bag from them and shut the door.
He turned back and walked to me, making me watch him in silence.
When he reached me, he suddenly knelt. Startled, I edged back, gripping the leather beneath me. His hands rose to hold my legs still. “Stay still for me,” he coaxed, making me freeze.
I lowered my gaze as he unpacked the tote bag, which contained gauze, betadine, ointment, and a compress kit.
I was certain it had come from Natasha.
Zioh focused as he prepared the items. I touched his arm, urging him to his feet. “At least sit on the sofa, Zi,” I offered, tugging gently.
“You’re too short,” he said, opening the ointment.
“What?”
He gave me a quick stare. “It’s harder to treat you sitting up there,” he said with the faintest of smiles.
I opened my mouth, but no words came.
Huh…