Loving You

Chapter 4

Zena's POV



My heart raced like a sprinter, thumping against my ribs as if it wanted to break free. Kelly’s probing stare, Noah’s jittery countenance, and the glimmer of the ring trembling in his grip, all of it loomed large, overwhelming my senses until the entire restaurant seemed to fade into the background.

I tore my gaze from Kelly’s scrutinizing eyes, darting it to Noah, then to the ring. Words teased the edge of my tongue, forming and unforming, but none managed to form into anything coherent.

Noah’s anxious face silently pleaded with me to shatter the tense silence enveloping us. I wanted desperately to respond, to articulate the whirlwind of emotions swirling within me, but my voice remained stubbornly lodged in my throat. Fear, excitement, disbelief... it all mingled into a tangled knot I couldn’t easily unravel.

I reached for the wine glass before me, seeking refuge in its familiar, comforting embrace. With a swift, almost desperate motion, I drained its contents in a single gulp, hoping to drown the uncertainty clawing at my insides.

“Zena, come on, say something! Don’t leave my brother hanging like this,” Kelly’s voice sliced through the thick fog of my thoughts, snapping me back to the moment that had unraveled so quickly.

I met her gaze, uncertainty flickering in my eyes. Marriage, a path I’d sworn to avoid after witnessing my sister’s struggles with Keith. The image of my sister crying herself to sleep after yet another one of Keith’s betrayals still haunted me. Her dashed hopes were not just cautionary tales, they were scars etched deep into my heart, whispering doubts and fears whenever I dared to dream of a future like this.

“But isn’t it time to carve out your own destiny, to rewrite the story?” a faint voice, insistent yet distant, echoed within the tumult of my thoughts.

Exhaling slowly, I acknowledged the truth in those silent words. My life didn’t have to be a repetition of Rose's heartbreak. I could choose something different. Someone different.

Swallowing my fear, I turned my gaze back to Noah, whose anxious demeanor mirrored my own inner turmoil. His hand shook slightly, his knuckles pale from gripping the small box too tightly.

“Yes, Noah. Yes, I’ll marry you,” I finally managed to utter, my voice barely above a whisper but steady enough to carry across the small space between us.

Relief flooded Noah’s eyes. Without wasting a second, as if fearing I might change my mind, he slid the ring onto my trembling finger. Applause erupted around us, the vibrant energy of the restaurant’s patrons enveloping us in their celebration. Strangers clapped and cheered, sharing in the intimacy of the moment.

Noah pulled me into a tight hug, his lips finding mine in a fervent kiss that seemed to seal a promise between us.

“Thank you, Zena. You’ve made me the happiest man alive,” he whispered against my lips, his voice thick with emotion.

Kelly’s excited squeal filled the air as she wrapped me in a tight embrace. “This is amazing! You’ve done good, brother. We’ve got a wedding to plan!”

“You’re more than just my best friend now; you’re my sister,” Kelly declared, excitement shining in her eyes. Her happiness was infectious, a bright, dazzling thing that momentarily pushed my doubts into the corners of my mind. “So, when’s the big day? Let’s start planning, I can’t wait!”

Despite my lingering reservations, Kelly’s unwavering determination left no room for dissent. She was already rattling off ideas, venues, colors, guest lists, before I could even breathe. With a reluctant but genuine nod, I agreed, knowing that this was only the beginning of a whirlwind journey toward our shared future.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of bliss, laughter, and plans half-formed over dessert and another bottle of wine. Every laugh, every touch, every stolen glance etched itself into my memory as I savored the surreal realization that Noah was now my fiancé.

The next morning arrived with unwelcome clarity. The heady euphoria of the night before slowly dissolved as sunlight crept insistently into the room. Reality, in its quiet, demanding way, pressed against the fragile bubble of our happiness.

As I tried to free myself from the warm cocoon of slumber, Noah’s arms tightened around me, his murmured protest a gentle plea to stay just a little longer.

“Can’t we just stay here, together, all day?” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. He pressed a tender kiss against my shoulder, sending shivers down my spine.

As much as I wished to indulge in his warm embrace , I had things to do a case solve.

“I wish we could, Noah, but duty calls. There are matters at the precinct that require my attention,” I explained softly, brushing my fingers through his tousled hair.

“But you’re the boss, you can afford to take a day off,” Noah countered, his tone playful, but there was a note of earnest longing beneath it.

“If only it were that simple,” I said with a regretful chuckle. “But you know as well as I do that being chief means more work, not less.”

Before he could trap me in another embrace,and kisses, I slipped from his embrace and hurried toward the bathroom. His grumbling followed me, but so did the warmth of his gaze.

I prepared for the day ahead swiftly, donning my uniform, tying back my hair, and stealing one last kiss from my fiancé before stepping out into the crisp morning air.

At the station, I threw myself into the day’s endless demands. The parade of cases, each more heartbreaking than the last, never seemed to abate. Somewhere between the missing persons reports and the escalating gang violence, one name kept surfacing—El Fuego.

The elusive figure had terrorized our city for months, always managing to stay one step ahead. He was a ghost, a phantom who left chaos in his wake but never a trail clear enough to follow.

With grim determination, I sifted through the mountains of evidence, my mind racing, looking for patterns that others might miss.

“Where are you hiding, El Fuego?” I muttered under my breath, frustration gnawing at my resolve. I hated losing, and he was winning. Every new victim felt like a personal failure.

A sudden commotion shattered the precinct’s monotony. Ceila’s voice, urgent and breathless, cut through the clatter of keyboards and the hum of phones.

“Chief, you need to see this. Now,” Ceila insisted, practically pulling me from my chair.

I followed her, heart pounding with anticipation, curiosity mingling with dread. She led me to the interrogation room, where a figure slumped in the chair.

And there, under the harsh fluorescent light, was a face I recognized all too well.

“That’s Manuel López,” I breathed, adrenaline surging through my veins. “El Fuego’s right-hand man.”

Ceila nodded, a proud smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “We got a tip-off and managed to apprehend him at the docks. If we work fast, we might get him to talk.”

Hope, cautious but burning bright, flared within me.

“Excellent work, Ceila. This could be the breakthrough we’ve been waiting for. Let’s not waste any time,” I declared, resolve hardening like steel.

Because if Manuel López cracked, if we could get him to betray El Fuego, then maybe, just maybe, we could finally stop the terror that had gripped our city for too long.

And nothing, not even my fears, my doubts, or the new ring glittering on my finger—was going to distract me from seeing it through.