CHAPTER FOUR
941 Words
CHAPTER FOUR
Zariah
The knock came at exactly 7:00 a.m.
Sharp. Calm. Measured.
Not the kind of knock that asked permission—but the kind that announced authority.
I didn’t move at first. I sat still on the floor of my small flat, cross-legged in a crumpled silk robe, holding a cup of untouched tea. My nerves had simmered overnight into a dull throb behind my ribs.
I knew who it was.
No one else would dare.
I rose slowly, wrapping the robe tighter around my waist like it could shield me from him. My feet barely made a sound against the wood floor as I approached the door.
I didn’t need to check the peephole.
It was him.
Cassian Moretti didn’t need invitations. He wrote his own rules. Always had.
I took a breath. Then another.
Then opened the door.
And there he stood—six feet of ruin wrapped in a charcoal trench coat, dark hair slicked back, eyes like winter storms.
His gaze dropped to my robe, lingered for one, two seconds too long.
“No security?” he said. “Risky for someone with your history.”
I folded my arms. “What do you want?”
“To talk. Without the glass table between us.”
“Not interested.”
He stepped forward. I blocked the entrance with my body.
“Move, Cassian.”
His mouth curled into that infuriating half-smile that used to make my pulse do reckless things.
“Still stubborn,” he murmured. “I was worried time had changed you.”
“Time changes everyone.”
“Not obsessions.”
My throat tightened.
“Five minutes,” I said finally, stepping aside. “No touching. No threats. No mafia theatrics.”
He walked in like he owned the air.
---
The flat was modest—open-plan, minimal furniture, books stacked on every surface like soft barricades. The walls were a soft gray, the kind you only painted when you needed stillness more than style.
Cassian scanned the space like a predator taking inventory.
“No piano?” he asked.
“I sold it.”
“Why?”
“Too loud.”
He turned. His eyes locked onto mine with unnerving clarity. “You were never afraid of being loud.”
“Maybe I learned fear.”
Silence stretched between us. Taut. Intimate. Dangerous.
I hated how he looked in my space. Too real. Too… permanent.
He finally sat down on the edge of the couch, unbuttoning his coat. “Do you know why I’m here?”
“I assumed to deliver poetic threats and meddle in my life.”
“I want the truth, Zariah.”
“It’s been five years.”
“You owe me five years,” he snapped. “You owe me the night you left me with blood on my hands and no explanation. You owe me your side of the story.”
“I owe you nothing,” I said, fire rising. “You think obsession is the same as loyalty? You don’t get to show up now and demand pieces of me just because I once gave you one.”
His jaw clenched, but he didn’t argue.
That scared me more than yelling would have.
“I protected you that night,” he said quietly.
“You locked me in your bedroom while your men dragged a body out the back. That’s not protection, Cassian. That’s damage control.”
“I took the fall. I kept your name out of it. You were never a suspect.”
I stared at him, heart beating so loud I almost didn’t hear the rest.
“I gave up everything to keep you safe. And you left me with nothing.”
My chest tightened.
“That night…” I hesitated. “You don’t know what really happened.”
He stood. Slowly. Walked toward me like a storm gathering momentum.
“Then tell me,” he said.
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because if I do… I won’t survive it.”
---
Cassian
I saw it in her eyes—whatever truth she was guarding, it was heavier than even I imagined.
And I’d imagined everything.
Five years ago, I’d found her with blood on her hands, standing over my uncle’s dead body. She was shaking, whispering apologies I didn’t understand.
Then she disappeared.
Now she was saying she couldn’t tell me.
Which meant someone else had their hands in this. Someone I hadn’t burned to the ground yet.
“Do you trust me?” I asked, softer now.
She looked at me like I was made of broken glass.
“No,” she said. “But I used to.”
I took a step closer. She didn’t move.
“You’re in danger, Zariah. Still. You think hiding in London protects you?”
“I’ve survived this long.”
“Only because I let you.”
Her eyes flashed. “You don’t get to rewrite this story.”
I reached into my coat, pulled out a file, and placed it on the table between us.
Photos. Names. Documents. Evidence.
“You think I’ve been chasing you for five years?” I said. “No. I’ve been protecting you from the people who are still looking for the same secret you buried that night.”
She stared at the folder.
Then back at me.
“If I open that… there’s no going back, is there?”
I shook my head once.
“No.”
She didn’t move. Didn’t blink.
Then she reached out… and flipped it open.
---
Zariah
And just like that, the past began to bleed again.
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