Until It Was Real

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲-𝐓𝐰𝐨

I'm so happy and grateful for reaching 10k! Thank you so much to each and every one of you for your support, love, and encouragement.??

Get ready for some blushy-blushy moments ahead, enjoy!??

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Our last day here. The thought kept fluttering in my chest like a stubborn bird, equal parts bittersweet and thrilling.

Bittersweet because we are leaving this peaceful place, thrilling because I missed home.

That's how we ended up exactly like this, me tucked under his arm, his hand lazily tracing circles against my shoulder, and a movie glowing on the screen in front of us.

Well..."movie" was generous. It was a ridiculous rom-com I'd bullied him into watching.

Don't ask me how difficult it was to make him watch the movie, because he and movies.

..never. I could feel his disapproval radiating in the first ten minutes, the way his jaw tightened every time a character said something cheesy.

"You're sulking," I accused, tilting my head up at him.

He glanced down, arching one brow. "I'm surviving."

I smacked his chest lightly, making him huff a quiet laugh that vibrated against my cheek.

"Surviving? It's a movie, Zaigham, not a battlefield."

"Debatable," he murmured, but there was the faintest curve tugging at his lips, betraying him.

I grinned, triumphant, and nestled back against him.

At one point, when a particularly over-the-top kiss scene played, I couldn't resist. "See?" I whispered with exaggerated seriousness. "Educational material. You could learn a thing or two."

His head tilted, eyes narrowing slightly in that way that always made my stomach twist.

"Educational," he repeated, voice low. "Do you want a demonstration, Zoya?"

My heart stumbled, heat crawling up my neck. "I was joking—"

But his smirk told me he knew exactly what he was doing.

"You started it," he said softly, and his arm pulled me a little closer, a little tighter. The air shifted, playful edges softening into something heavier, quieter.

The scene on-screen blurred, forgotten, because suddenly it was just him, his eyes locked on mine, unyielding, daring me to look away.

"I don't need a script to know what to do with you," he murmured, thumb brushing my cheek like a secret only he could tell.

The breath caught in my throat, laughter fading into silence as my chest tightened with something deeper, fiercer.

"Zaigham..." I whispered, but whatever I meant to say dissolved when he leaned down, pressing his forehead to mine, stealing every thought.

The closeness lingered, heavy and delicate all at once. My breath was tangled with his when suddenly—

Tring...Tring.

The shrill sound made me flinch. He groaned, dropping his head against my shoulder in sheer annoyance before pulling back with a reluctant sigh.

"Perfect timing," he muttered dryly, eyes dark with frustration as he reached for the phone on the side table.

Without looking, he muted the TV.

I bit my lip, trying not to smile at his reaction, but my pulse was still racing from what almost was.

He glanced at the screen, and then mouthed to me as he picked up. "Mama."

"Assalamualaikum, Mama."

He put the call on speaker.

I leaned against his arm drawing small circles on his chest.

"How are you both doing?" Tayii Jan's voice rang.

"We're good," he replied, the clipped calmness of his usual answers returning, though his thumb absently brushed over my hand, still grounding me.

"So, you people are coming back tomorrow, right?" She asked.

"Yes." He replied.

"Good," she continued, her voice carrying that motherly authority, "tomorrow is the family feast, that's why I asked."

His eyes slid to mine briefly, before he asked quietly, "Another... decision to come?"

On the other end, she laughed softly.

"Yes. So you better be back on time tomorrow....before night."

After a little more talk, the call ended with his usual restraint.

Silence returned, but it wasn't the same silence as before.

I tilted my head toward him. "Decision? What did she mean?"

For a second, his gaze lingered on me, unreadable, then he gave a small shrug.

"I don't know. Maybe another decision about someone in the family."

I hummed, nodding slowly. It wasn't unusual....big things were always decided this way. Quietly, formally, with everyone gathered around the table.

The moonlight spilled lazily into the room, and I was sprawled across the bed with half a packet of chips in my lap. Zaigham sat on the couch scrolling his phone, trying to look composed while pretending he couldn't smell the masala dust I had already managed to scatter on the sheets.

"Zoya..." His voice held that warning calm that always made me bite back a smile. He didn't even look up from his phone. "Do you realize you have dropped exactly four chips crumbs on the bed?"

I gasped, feigning innocence. "Four? Excuse me, they are hardly crumbs, they are tiny flavor confetti."

That finally made him glance up, brow arched, lips twitching. "Confetti? On my bed?"

"Our bed," I corrected sweetly with a grin, tossing a chip in my mouth.

In one smooth move, he set the phone aside and crossed the distance. My eyes widened as he plucked the packet straight from my lap.

"Zaigham!" I protested, scrambling up. "Give it back!"

"Not until you admit defeat." His tone was maddeningly calm as always, but there was a flicker of mischief in his eyes.

I lunged for the packet, but he lifted it effortlessly out of reach, his height working unfairly in his favor.

I jumped down from the bed standing in front of him.

"This is tyranny," I declared, standing on tiptoe, fingers brushing air. "Absolute dictatorship!"

"You're the one making a mess of state property," he shot back smoothly, holding the chips high in one hand while his other arm casually curved around my waist to steady me.

My breath hitched, traitorously, but I masked it with a glare. "I'll have you know I'm the rightful owner of this snack."

"And I'll have you know," he murmured, leaning slightly closer, "I'm very good at disarming thieves."

Before I could react, he popped one chip into his mouth with infuriating composure.

I gasped dramatically. "You didn't!"

He chewed, slow and deliberate, then smirked. "I did."

"Zaigham, give it back," I demanded, narrowing my eyes.

"Not until you admit you lost," he replied smoothly, voice low, taunting.

I tilted my head, pretending to give up.

But slowly, very slowly, I let my hand trail up his other arm, the one holding chips. His body stiffened almost instantly. His eyes flickered down at me, a silent warning written clear in their depth.

I smiled sweetly, ignoring it, and continued, fingers grazing up, up, until I cupped his face. His hold wavered for the briefest second.

That was all I needed.

Rising on tiptoe, I pressed the softest kiss just below his jaw and bit there lightly.

His breath caught, his grip faltered,and the packet slipped from his hand.

Before it could hit the ground, I caught it triumphantly, stepping back with a victorious grin.

"Gotcha, Mr. Khan."

And just to rub it in, I winked and stuck my tongue out.

The way his jaw clenched made my smile falter.

Uh-oh. Trouble.

I gulped and instinctively turned to bolt, but before I could take a step, his fingers wrapped around my wrist.

"Zaigham—"

In a swift tug, he pulled me back. My balance tipped, and the next second I was tumbling onto the bed with him above me, his weight caging me in. The chips fell from my hands this time, forgotten.

"Time for payback, love," he murmured, his voice a dangerous caress. "You cannot just trick Zaigham Khan and run away without paying the price."

My pulse thundered. "Z-Zaigham, I—uh... let go."

I tried to wiggle free, but he caught both my wrists, pinning them above my head. His eyes glinted darkly as he smirked, and then—

"Not so easily, baby."

The word baby rolled off his tongue like silk, sending a shiver straight through me. My stomach fluttered violently with those naughty butterflies.

He locked his eyes with me, looking at me intensely.

His head dipped lower, and I felt his breath fan hot across the side of my neck. My whole body went rigid beneath him.

"Zaigham..." My voice was a whisper, a plea.

He hummed lazily, like he had all the time in the world, the vibration of it grazing against my skin. "Do you have any idea," he murmured, lips brushing but not yet touching, "what you just invited on yourself?"

My chest rose and fell too quickly, betraying me. "I—I just wanted my chips..."

That earned a low chuckle from him, dark and unhurried. "Chips." His lips finally grazed the tender spot just below my ear. "You tricked me... to win a packet of chips?"

My eyes fluttered shut, and heat crawling up my cheeks. "It worked," I whispered stubbornly.

His grip tightened on my wrists, pinning them firmer against the sheets. "And now it's my turn to play, love."

Before I could respond, his lips pressed to the side of my throat, that made my breath hitch audibly.

"Zaigham..." It slipped out again, shaky this time.

He smirked against my skin, then let his teeth graze lightly before nipping just enough to make my back arch. The sharpness of it dissolved instantly into a soothing kiss, a maddening rhythm of claim and comfort.

My lips parted with a helpless sound, and his head lifted just enough for our eyes to lock. His gaze was molten, unguarded in a way that made my heart stumble.

"You think you can outsmart me, hmm?" he whispered, his nose brushing mine now, his breath filling the small, charged space between us.

I swallowed, unable to form words.

His hand slipped from my wrists, trailing slowly down my arm, over my side, mapping me like he owned every inch. My skin burned in its wake.

"Zaigham..." My voice cracked on his name.

That was when he leaned down, his lips brushing mine without sealing the kiss, taunting, hovering. "Say it again."

The command, the closeness, the tease....it all tangled until my entire body was trembling beneath his.

"Zaigham," I breathed, barely audible.

His restraint snapped. He claimed my mouth in a kiss so deep, so consuming, that I forgot about everything else. It was rough, passionate, and unrelenting, as though he had finally decided I had provoked him far enough.

When he pulled back, both of us were breathless, foreheads pressed together, his thumb stroking absently along my jaw.

He whispered, a smirk tugging at his lips. "You only make me hungrier to play longer."

I tilted my head back when his lips finally hovered over mine again, so close that I could feel the faintest brush but not the contact I craved. He lingered there, eyes locked on mine, waiting for me to break first.

I did.

A soft whimper escaped me, as his lips crashed into mine again, deeper, hungrier this time. I felt myself melting, trembling, my free hand fisting in his hair as though I could anchor myself against the storm he was pulling me into.

The moonlight shifted across the room, spilling silver shadows across us, his lips carving promises into my skin.

I felt myself dissolving, melting into him, until even time seemed to forget how to move forward.

I stood in front of the mirror, fingers fumbling with the pins of my hijab, trying to get it just right for the drive home. My reflection looked frustrated, and every time I fixed one side, the other slipped.

The sound of the shower stopped. A moment later, his voice drifted out, teasing, "You're still not ready?"

I pressed my lips together. "Some of us don't have the privilege of just throwing on a shirt and walking out."

The bathroom door opened, steam trailing behind him. His hair was wet, his towel tossed casually over one shoulder. My heart skipped, and I immediately looked away before he could catch me staring.

Zaigham leaned against the doorframe, watching me struggle with a small, knowing smile. "Can I do it?"

I blinked, caught off-guard. "You? Do what?"

He pointed to the pins in my hand. "That. Your hijab. Can I?"

I let out a disbelieving laugh. "You? Zaigham, you can't—"

But he cut me off with another smile, softer this time, almost boyish. The kind that melted every wall I thought I had.

My heart thudded at his cute smile. I sighed in defeat, shaking my head at myself more than him, before silently handing him the pins. "Fine. Don't say I didn't warn you."

He took them from my hand with an exaggerated seriousness, as though I'd just entrusted him with a national secret. That sparkle in his eyes made it impossible to stay annoyed, no matter how hard I tried.

I looked back into the mirror, waiting for him to mess up. But instead, he stood behind me, fingers surprisingly steady, gently fixing the fabric into place. His closeness sent tiny ripples of warmth down my spine.

When he finally stepped back, I touched the edges and stared. Perfect. No loose strands. No slipping. Nothing.

"Wow..." I whispered, still stunned.

He leaned down slightly, meeting my eyes through the mirror with a sly curve of his lips. "Told you. Nothing is impossible with me."

I shook my head.

I touched the fabric again, still in disbelief. "Okay, fine... this is actually perfect. How?"

Zaigham crossed his arms, smug. "Because unlike you, Mrs. Khan, I don't panic under pressure."

I scoffed. "Excuse me? I wasn't panicking."

"You were wrestling with your hijab like it was a wild animal," he deadpanned, the corner of his mouth twitching.

My jaw dropped. "I was not!"

"You were." His eyes softened, lips curving into that infuriating smile. "Cute sight, though."

I quickly turned away, muttering, "Stop teasing me."

But of course, that only made him step closer, lowering his voice. "Why would I stop... when your reactions are the best part of my mornings?"

I smiled, clutching the mirror's edge, heart hammering.

He leaned back casually, clearly pleased with himself. "Now," he said, as though nothing had happened, "I'll accept my payment for services rendered."

I raised a brow. "Payment?!"

"Yes. Hijab-pin fee."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "And what would that be, Mr. Khan?"

His smirk was slow, deliberate. "One cup of coffee. Made by you."

I burst out laughing despite myself, shaking my head.

"Come on. If you take any longer, breakfast will turn into lunch."

I grabbed my bag and followed.

The breakfast table was simple but warm, sunlight streamed through the wide villa windows, Zaigham sat at the head of the table, his posture straight as ever, while Zoya busied herself buttering her toast with far too much concentration.

"Are you planning to drown it?" his dry voice cut through the quiet, eyes flicking to the thick layer of butter she was spreading.

She froze, then glared. "I actually like flavors, Mr. Black-Coffee-No-Sugar."

His lips twitched. "Flavor and heart disease. A dangerous combination."

Zoya huffed and deliberately took a huge bite just to annoy him. "Mhm. Delicious. You don't know what you're missing."

Zaigham calmly sipped his coffee, unfazed. "I'll survive."

She narrowed her eyes at him, leaning forward. "One day, I'll make you try it. Just wait."

That earned her a slow, amused glance. "I don't give in that easily."

Zoya leaned back in her chair, triumphant. "Everyone does eventually."

For a moment, his gaze lingered on her, unreadable yet sharp in that way that always unsettled her stomach. Then, with deliberate calm, he reached across the table, plucked her toast from her hand, and took a small bite.

Her jaw dropped. "Hawww!"

He chewed slowly, savoring the moment more than the toast itself. "Hm," he said at last, setting it down neatly on her plate again. "Not terrible."

She gaped at him, utterly betrayed. "Not terrible? Excuse me, that was a masterpiece of butter-to-toast ratio."

His lips curved into that rare, almost boyish smile that made her pulse skip. "If that's a masterpiece, Miss Zoya, you have very low standards."

Her gasp turned into laughter, the sound spilling across the quiet villa. He simply watched, coffee in hand, like he could sit there forever, taking in her every expression.

Finally, unable to contain herself, she asked with a teasing grin, "For a workaholic like you, how did you learn all these things other than the context of those business files?"

Her tone was playful, but genuine curiosity laced her words.

Zaigham leaned lazily. "Observation," he replied smoothly. Then, after a pause, his lips curved into a softer smile, one that instantly stole her breath. "When it comes to you, Zoya... I notice everything. Even the smallest details."

Her fingers stilled, her heart skipping. She smiled at him.

The sun was already high, scattering molten light across the restless waves. They stood there at the edge of the shore, water brushing over their feet and retreating again, as though the sea itself couldn't quite let them go.

Zoya leaned her head lightly against his shoulder, the wind tugging at the ends of her hijab. She didn't speak at first, just breathed in the moment, the warmth of the sun, the salt in the air, and the quiet strength of the man beside her.

When her voice finally broke the silence, it was barely above the hush of the waves.

"Thank you, Zaigham... for this. For pulling me out of everything and giving me something I will never forget."

His gaze stayed on the horizon, but there was a faint curve at his lips

"You give me too much credit, Zoya." His voice was low, deliberate. "It wasn't this place. It was you who made it beautiful."

She tilted her head slightly to glance at him, surprised, her eyes glimmering with the same sunlight that played on the sea.

"Do you even realize how rare it is for you to say something like that?" she teased softly, though her chest ached at the sincerity behind his words.

He finally looked at her, eyes calm yet carrying an intensity that unsettled her in the best way.

"Maybe it's rare," he admitted, "because it's only true with you."

The breeze caught her breath before she could steady it. Zoya closed her eyes for a moment, as though committing the weight of those words to memory.

"I'll miss this," she whispered, almost to herself. "This silence. This freedom. This version of you I get when the world isn't watching."

Zaigham shifted just enough to angle toward her, his hand brushing over hers, firm and reassuring.

"You don't have to miss it," he said, softer now. "You only have to stay close enough to see it."

Before she could respond, he turned fully toward her, lifting a hand to cup her face. His thumb traced gently along her cheek, as if memorizing every curve of her expression.

His voice was a hushed murmur, rough around the edges but carrying a tenderness he rarely allowed anyone to see.

"My Zoya... my beautiful, bubbly Zoya... my innocent, stubborn, cute Zoya," he whispered, each word melting against the sound of the waves. His eyes locked on hers, unwavering, "I love you. I love you so much, Meri Jaan."

Zoya's lips curved into a trembling smile, her lashes lowering for a moment as if to steady her racing heart. She leaned in just enough for their foreheads to touch, the warmth of his breath mingling with hers.

"I love you too," she whispered back, the words slipping out like a promise sealed by her very soul.

Pulling back just slightly, she held her hand out to him, her voice tender yet vulnerable.

"Promise me, Zaigham... you will never leave me."

There wasn't even the space of a heartbeat before his hand caught hers, firm, unyielding. His voice was steady, almost fierce in its certainty.

"I promise, Zoya. Never."

He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to the back of it, lingering there as though to brand the promise into her skin.

And then, he drew her into his arms, enclosing her against him.

Zoya clutched him back tightly, burying her face against his chest, as though anchoring herself to the very vow he had given.

As soon as we entered, I barely had a chance to breath before Laiba rushed forward.

"Finally!" she threw her arms around me dramatically. "Do you even remember you have a sister anymore, or was the trip so perfect that we don't exist?"

I laughed, hugging her back. "Laiba!"

But she pulled away only to glance at Zaigham smugly. "Bhai, you kidnapped her completely, didn't you?"

Zaigham raised a brow, "legally" he said that made everyone laugh harder.

Rumman Api came next, pulling me into her arms warmly. "You look so fresh, Zoya. Mashallah." Then, leaning in softly, she whispered, "Trips after marriage always work wonders."

I flushed. "Api..."

Before I could respond, Ayat and Aaliya chimed together, giggling.

"See? We told you she'd come back glowing." I swatted at them, my cheeks burning.

Then came Inaya, linking her arm with mine. "You didn't even call me once. Not fair."

Zaviyaar and Zayyan bhai appeared dramatically on the stairs, grinning ear to ear. "Look at them glowing! Clearly, married life suits you, bhabi!" they said in unison exegerating the word bhabhi.

I covered my face with my hands. "You all are so dramatic."

Zayyan Bhai stepped forward next, shaking Zaigham's hand with brotherly respect. "Good to have you back, Bhai. You look... calmer. That's rare."

Rayyan Bhai chuckled, adding, "Or maybe he just got tired of her chatter and surrendered completely."

Everyone laughed again, and I glared at them all while Zaigham stood there, perfectly composed.

Then the elders approached.

Mama cupped my face lovingly. "My daughter... Mashallah, you look so beautiful. And happy. That's all I ever wanted."

Tayii Jaan smiled knowingly. "Trips like these bring colors to a marriage. I see it on both of you."

Taya Jaan chuckled, adding lightly, "And Zaigham actually took a break from work? That's the real miracle here."

Everyone laughed softly at that.

Before the teasing could grow louder, Dada Jaan's steady voice filled the room, calm and grounding.

"Enough, enough," he said firmly, his gaze sweeping over everyone. "Let them settle in first."

We both retired to our room.

The dining table was alive.

Taya Jaan cleared his throat, silencing the chatter.

"Alhamdulillah, since Ayyan and Nouran's nikah is already done... next week we shall celebrate their wedding. Preparations start tomorrow."

The whole table lit up. Ayat shrieked, Laiba clapped her hands like a seal, and Inaya nearly toppled over her chair while exclaiming, "Finally!! Mehndi dresses, dances, madness, here we come!"

Poor Nouran Api flushed so red.

I leaned toward her, eyes gleaming mischievously. "Api, say goodbye to peace. From tomorrow, you're officially our bridal doll."

She groaned. "Zoya..."

Which of course made me burst into laughter. Mission accomplished.

Dada Jaan's calm, commanding voice turned to Zaigham. "Zaigham beta, a week from now, is that alright with you?"

All eyes flickered to him.

He simply shrugged lightly, lifted his gaze toward Dada Jaan and Taya Jaan. "Do as you please, I am okay with it."

The silence broke when Dadi raised her hands, smiling. "May Allah bless this union with joy. And may He bless us with more little ones in the house."

I choked on my water. More little ones?! My face burned hot while cousins around me howled in laughter.

Rayyan Bhai leaned over with a grin and whispered. "Zoya, I think Dadi just gave you homework."

"Bhai!!" I squeaked, nearly smacking my forehead on the table as Laiba, Ayat, and Inaya giggled uncontrollably.

The living room was alive with chatter long after the plates had been cleared. Zoya sat among Aaliya, Ayat and Laiba, laughter spilling from her lips every other second, her lighthearted chaos drawing attention the way sunlight draws open petals.

She nudged Ayat, making a playful complaint about how she was the one stuck carrying trays, while Laiba laughed so hard she nearly dropped a glass.

Zaigham, seated at the far end with his father and Zoya's father, remained mostly silent, one arm stretched casually along the chair's backrest, his expression unreadable but his eyes softening every time they flicked to his wife.

From across the room, another presence burned.

Mahveen.

She sat with her hands folded neatly in her lap, posture perfect, smile fixed as if it had been painted there. But her eyes... her eyes betrayed her. Every small laugh Zoya gave, every teasing nudge she received, every approving glance from the elders, it all twisted like a knife inside her.

Her gaze shifted, deliberately, to Zaigham. The calm way he leaned back, the subtle way his eyes softened when they caught Zoya's, it was unbearable. The sting of rejection she had buried for years now roared back with full force, bitter and raw.

That should have been me.

He was supposed to look at me like that.

Her chest tightened, but her face never faltered. If anyone glanced at her, they would only see a polite guest, blending into the family warmth. No one noticed how tightly her nails were digging crescents into her palms beneath the table, hidden by the fall of her dupatta.

But inside, a storm was gathering.

Zoya's laugh rang out again, light and unrestrained, making Zaigham's lips twitch in the faintest ghost of a smile. That was the breaking point. Mahveen's breath grew shallow, and a thought, dark, venomous, insistent....began to take shape.

If no door opened, she would carve one herself.

And the first step... was to remove Zoya.

Her mind didn't yet know how, but the seed was there, lodged deep and refusing to budge. The details would come later. For now, it was enough to know that this so-called "perfect couple" would not last, not if she had any say in it.

She stood slowly, her chair sliding back without a sound. Her expression was composed, a faint smile still resting on her lips.

But her eyes, one last time, flicked to the pair seated across the room, Zoya glowing with laughter, Zaigham watching quietly, possessively.

And as Mahveen turned away, her thoughts hardened into resolve.

This was not over.

The hum of the city felt different after a whole week away. Our villa days had been so quiet, so intimate, that the moment we stepped into the glass-fronted building of Khan Enterprises, the noise, the clicks of heels, the echo of phones ringing, all pressed against me like a rush of reality.

It was our first morning back in the office. I settled at my usual corner desk in his cabin, sliding open the laptop and adjusting files. The familiar scent of polished wood, his cologne that clung to the room, and the oversized clock ticking on the wall, all of it made me smile.

I had missed this space. Missed watching him command it with nothing but his presence.

The soft knock came, and I looked up.

Mahveen walked in. Her heels were sharper than her smile, and the ray of documents in her hands.

For a heartbeat, my chest stilled.

Mahveen.

Here.

Inside theoffice.

Zaigham didn't even glance up from his laptop as he murmured, "Leave them here."

She placed the files down gently, her eyes flicking to me for the briefest second, curved smile that wasn't quite a smile, and then back to him. "As you asked, sir."

Sir.

The word scraped across me.

I blinked, my voice slipping out before I could stop it. "Wait... you?"

Both of them turned, Zaigham with his usual calm, unreadable gaze, and Mahveen with that restrained sweetness she always wore in public.

"She's my secretary now," Zaigham said, tone clipped, matter-of-fact. "The previous one resigned last week."

My mouth parted. Resigned? Just like that?

The realization sat heavy.

She gave me a little nod, polite, almost mocking in its subtlety. "I suppose we will be working together now, Miss. Zoya."

My fingers clenched around the edge of my desk.

Zaigham didn't elaborate. He was already back at his laptop, his voice steady,"Close the door on your way out."

Mahveen lingered a second longer before she obeyed. The door clicked shut.

Only then did I turn my wide eyes to him. "Really?"

Finally, he looked at me. As though he had already calculated every possible reaction I could give.

"You're surprised," he said, more an observation than a question.

"Of course I'm surprised! She's, she's her." I gestured vaguely, frustration knotting in my stomach. "And you didn't even think to mention it?"

One brow lifted, calm, sharp. "Would it have changed anything?"

"Yes!"

A pause. His gaze pinned me in place, steady, unreadable, but with that glimmer of something else beneath.

"You don't trust me?" he asked quietly.

My heart skipped.

It wasn't an accusation, it was a test.

"I do."

"But I don't trust her," I said in my mind.

I sighed and went back to my work.

To be Continued....

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