A Blade In The Contract
1225 Words
POV: Kiara Williams
I woke up alone. The sheets were cool beside me, the imprint of his body already fading. No note. No trace of warmth. Just silence.
For a moment, I stared at the ceiling, willing myself to feel nothing.
Last night wasn’t supposed to happen. It wasn’t part of the plan.
But it did happen. And somewhere between the kissing and the aching and the way his voice broke when he whispered my name, I’d started to believe… Maybe this wasn’t just a contract anymore.
Maybe Zayn Malik had a soul.
Then the phone buzzed on the nightstand.
Ava, my best friend.
> “Hey, just checking on you. I saw the photos online. You looked… tight with him.”
“You okay?”
I forced a smile she couldn’t see and replied. “Yeah. Just tired. I’ll call you later.”
I ended the call before she could ask more questions.
Dragging myself out of bed, I slipped into one of the silk robes Zayn’s staff had filled my closet with and padded barefoot to the kitchen. The penthouse was still and silent, no sign of him.
I scrambled some eggs and toast without much thought. My body moved, but my mind replayed last night on a loop. Every touch. Every word.
I set my plate on the counter and that’s when I saw it. A brown envelope was on the dining table.
It hadn’t been there before. No name on the front. No seal. Just sitting there… waiting.
A chill slid down my spine.
I told myself to leave it alone. Walk away. It wasn’t mine. But curiosity is a cruel thing.
And maybe, deep down, I already knew.
I opened it. Inside were photos. Documents. Scars.
The first image made my breath catch. A young boy, maybe twelve, filthy, bruised, and half-conscious, chained to a rusted pipe. I recognized him instantly.
Zayn.
My hands shook as I flipped through them. One after another, images of his broken past. Medical records. Handwritten notes. In the corner of one photo was my father smiling, shaking hands with a group of men who looked like they belonged in prison.
And in the middle…My father again. Standing beside a boy in rags, Little Zayn.
It was child trafficking. Forced labor. The rumors had been real. And my father had been part of it.
A small voice recorder tumbled out of the envelope and hit the table with a soft clink.
I stared at it, afraid to know more. But I pressed play.
Zayn’s voice crackled through the speaker. Calm. Calculated. Cold.
> “I’ll make Raymond Williams suffer. I’ll take everything from him, his name, his company, his daughter. Especially his daughter.”
> “She’ll be my leverage. My weapon. And when I’m done using her, I’ll make sure she knows exactly why I chose her.”
My breath caught in my throat. The air vanished from the room. I dropped the recorder like it burned me.
Everything spun.
The way he’d touched me last night. The way he’d kissed me like I meant something. It was all a performance.
A trap.
My knees hit the chair as I sat down hard, trying to make the spinning stop. Rage and humiliation warred in my chest, twisting until I couldn’t breathe.
Zayn hadn’t fallen for me. He had planned this. Every word. Every moment. Every kiss.
I stood up, heart racing. He used me. I was nothing but a pawn in a game I didn’t even know I was playing.
And just then, the front door opened.
Zayn stepped inside, looking sharp in his navy suit, jacket draped casually over his shoulder.
“Where the hell have you been?” I spat.
He froze, took in the open envelope, the scattered photos, the recorder blinking red.
Ah. So he knew.
His lips twitched not with surprise, but with… satisfaction.
“I see you found it,” he said coolly.
I trembled. “Was that the plan? Sleep with me. Make me believe it was real. Then destroy me?”
“You wanted honesty,” he said. “Now you have it.”
“Then here’s my truth.” I stepped toward him, fury crackling in every word. “I want a divorce.”
No hesitation. No begging. No attempt to stop me, Zayn reached into his briefcase and pulled out a sleek folder. “Already prepared.”
He tossed it onto the table.
My heart nearly stopped. “You… planned for this?”
“I counted on it.”
The betrayal was complete. Tears stung my eyes, but I didn’t let them fall. My hands moved on their own, snatching the pen from the folder and signing my name in long, angry strokes.
I wanted out. I wanted to be free of him.
And if I could use this to expose him publicly, legally, I definitely would.
My phone buzzed the second the ink dried.
Mr. Donahue.
> “Miss Williams, it’s urgent we meet. Right now. About your marriage contract.”
I didn’t even say goodbye to Zayn, I didn't even bother to pack any clothes ‘cos I don't want to have anything to do with him or his property anymore. Except for the clothes on my body, I left with nothing.
He didn’t stop me. Just watched, eyes cool and unreadable, like a predator who’d just fed.
---
POV Shift: Zayn Malik
I smirked as the door slammed behind her.
Everything was falling into place. She had taken the bait. Her pride wouldn’t let her stop long enough to ask questions. She believed she was reclaiming control, signing herself free.
But that contract? That clause?
It was always the noose.
“She’ll learn,” I murmured to no one. “I’m not done with her. Not even close.”
---
POV Shift: Kiara Williams
Later in the day, I met Mr. Donahue at an open Cafe, he greeted me with a grim expression and a glass of water. “You look pale,” he said.
“I just divorced my husband.”
He paused. “And did you read the contract you signed this morning?”
I blinked. “What?”
“The marriage contract. The one Zayn Malik had drawn up. Did you ever read it fully?”
“I… I skimmed it. My father’s company was collapsing. I didn’t have time—”
He slid a printed page toward me. “You should’ve made time.”
I read and the world tilted sideways.
> “In the event the undersigned spouse, Kiara Williams, initiates formal divorce proceedings before the conclusion of the one-year contractual term…”
I skipped ahead, eyes wide.
> “… full ownership and controlling interest in Williams Global Corp… shall revert to the controlling spouse, Zayn Malik…”
“No…” I whispered.
Donahue didn’t say anything.
“No, no, no this can’t be right.”
But it was. My signature at the bottom was inked in damning black.
I had just handed Zayn everything. The company. The power. My entire family’s legacy. I had walked right into his trap.
I stood too fast. The room spun. My knees gave out, and I grabbed the chair to steady myself. My vision blurred. My ears rang.
Zayn didn’t just break my heart. He stole my life.
- Writer
