The Whisper Behind The Veil

Chapter 10: The First Gift

Zayd waited.

Minutes stretched like hours. His hazel eyes stayed fixed on her while she sat silently, staring at her hands as if they held all the answers. The quiet was starting to gnaw at him.

Finally, he cleared his throat. "Miss Aliyana?"

Aliyana jolted, her wide eyes flying to his. "H-how do you know my name?"

Zayd froze. s**t. His mind raced, but his expression never wavered. A lie rolled off his tongue like silk.

"You told me last time."

Her brows knit together. "Did I?"

"Yes, Miss Aliyana," he replied firmly, smirk tugging at his lips to hide the slip. "I must say, your memory is short. We already met in the meeting, remember?"

Aliyana blinked rapidly, then nodded slowly as recognition clicked. "Oh… yes."

Silence pressed between them again, heavier than before.

Zayd leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing. "So… is there a problem?"

Aliyana shook her head quickly. "No."

Her short reply only deepened his intrigue. He studied her, her fingers twisting nervously in her lap, her lashes low.

"You wanted to meet me?" he asked at last, voice even, though his curiosity sharpened. For what reason are you here, little rabbit?

"Yes," she said softly, almost hesitantly. Her voice carried an odd weight, as though she was forcing herself to remember why she'd come. "I… I wanted to say thank you. Properly."

Zayd tilted his head. "Thank me?"

"Yes." She straightened slightly, determination flickering across her face. "I… I brought you—"

Her sentence trailed off as she looked down at her empty hands. Confusion crossed her features.

Zayd sighed, running a hand across his jaw. "Are you searching for that thing?"

Aliyana blinked. "What thing?"

He gestured lazily behind her. "The box. On the table."

Her head whipped around, and her eyes lit up with sudden realization. "Oh!" She jumped to her feet, hurried over, and lifted the box carefully into her hands. Turning back toward him, she held it close to her chest, cheeks pink with embarrassment.

"Yes. This… this is for you."

Zayd stared, his smirk fading into something unreadable. For me?

Not in his wildest dreams had he imagined this girl would walk into his office — into his world — carrying a gift meant for him

Zayd lifted the lid with a surgeon's patience, watching her the way a hunter studies the smallest twitch of its prey. Aliyana sat stiffly, cheeks flushed, fingers twisting—embarrassed and somehow proud all at once.

Inside the box lay a clumsy, earnest confession: a tin of homemade cookies, a small bar of chocolate wrapped in faded paper, a handful of bright candies. Tucked beneath them were two smaller boxes. He opened the first with a slow, silent hand—a cheap watch, its metal light and unpolished. The second held a tie, its fabric ordinary and the pattern far from his taste.

For a heartbeat he was speechless. The gifts were simple, almost childlike; they should have been laughable, but they landed somewhere deep and strange in him.

She swallowed, voice fragile in the hush. "I know you're… really rich. My gifts might not be to your standard." Her fingers toyed with the edge of the tin. "I didn't know what to buy. My nanny used to say—always bring something sweet when you want to say thank you. So I bought cookies. And because—" she hesitated, looking suddenly vulnerable, "—you're a man, I thought a watch and a tie might be proper. I've never bought a gift for any man before."

The confession hung in the air like a bell. Zayd's chest tightened in a way that had nothing to do with ownership and everything to do with the sudden, sharp knowledge of how small her world had been. Possession flickered across his features, soft and dangerous. He was the first. The thought struck him with a reckless kind of hunger: the first man she had ever bought a gift for.

He reached out and, without thinking, drew the tie free and smoothed it between two fingers as if testing its future against his palm. The cheap watch, the tin of cookies, the scribbled little chit that read "thank you"—they were ordinary things, but in that moment they were all he wanted to guard.

"Thank you," he said finally, voice low, and it sounded nothing like mockery. It sounded like a promise.

I'm glad you like it," Aliyana said softly, a small smile curving her lips.

Zayd's eyes lingered on her face. So pure. So unaware.

"Well, now I have to go," she said, rising from her seat.

"Why?" The question slipped out sharper than he intended.

"I have to head back to the company. I only took half a day off."

He nodded, hiding his reluctance. She waved lightly, turning toward the elevator. Zayd's gaze followed her until the silver doors closed, cutting him off from the warmth of her presence. His hand drifted over the tie, the cheap watch, the box of cookies—gifts that burned like brands in his possession.

"You got my attention," he murmured, a dangerous smirk tugging at his lips. "Now… you have to be mine."

The days that followed were marked by messages. At first light. At midnight. At random hours in between.

Friendly exchanges, harmless on the surface—yet every word from her tightened the chain he was wrapping around her.

And then, dinner. Their first date, just the two of them.

Zayd insisted on picking her up. She had barely stepped out of her office before he opened the car door for her, his eyes glinting with restrained delight.

The night was theirs. Or so he thought.

The car glided through the city streets, rain misting against the windshield. Aliyana glanced out the window, distracted by the glow of neon signs. Zayd stole glances at her profile, the faint reflection of her smile—when—

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

Gunfire tore through the air, glass shattering, metal shrieking. Zayd's instincts ignited. He jerked the wheel, sending the car swerving. "Down!" he barked, shoving Aliyana's head against his shoulder, shielding her as bullets rained.

His men's vehicles screeched behind, weapons flashing as chaos erupted on the street.

Zayd's jaw clenched. He slammed his foot on the accelerator, engine roaring. The car leapt forward, weaving through the storm of bullets. Behind them, his men retaliated, holding the attackers at bay.

Aliyana trembled against him, her breath shallow, her eyes wide with terror—until, suddenly, she went still.

"Aliyana?" He glanced down. She was limp. Fainted.

Something snapped inside him. Fury. Fear. Obsession.

Zayd didn't hesitate. He raced the car through the gates of his villa, tires screaming against the stone. Guards scrambled as he threw the door open and lifted her into his arms, her fragile weight pressing against his chest.

"Bring water. Now." His voice was a storm. A maid hurried forward, her hands trembling as Zayd carried Aliyana upstairs, straight into his room.

He laid her gently on the bed, her face pale against the silk sheets. His hand brushed her hair back from her damp forehead. For one fleeting moment, his expression softened.

Then his eyes hardened again.

He turned, storming out. The softness was gone, replaced by steel. His steps echoed down the staircase, into the dark heart of his villa—the basement office, his true domain.

The door slammed shut. His men straightened at his arrival, tension thick in the air.

"Bring them to me," he ordered, voice cold, unrecognizable. His hazel eyes burned with lethal fire. "Alive."