Wired to betray - between loyalty and you

CHAPTER 5

ZARA'S POV

Reaching the address Derrick sent me, I checked the time.

I was twenty minutes early.

I decided to wait in the car and catch my breath, but then I remembered I was in an unfamiliar environment.

Resting suddenly didn't seem like such a good idea.

I got out instead.

My eyes swept over the surroundings as I walked slowly, taking in every detail. The entrance. The trees. The narrow road leading back to the main street.

Routes of escape.

Places to hide.

Anything that could come in handy if things went south.

I wasn't exactly expecting an ambush.

But after everything that had happened, trusting my instincts felt safer than trusting people.

The silence was unsettling.

The kind that made every little sound seem louder than it actually was.

A bird fluttered out of a nearby tree.

I nearly jumped.

"Get a grip, Zara," I muttered under my breath.

Before I could convince myself I was overreacting, the low rumble of an engine echoed through the quiet road.

My heartbeat stumbled.

No.

Not yet.

I wasn't ready.

I'd come early so I could calm down.

To have the place to myself.

I hadn't prepared my perfect little story.

I hadn't rehearsed my perfect little lie.

I couldn't face him.

The driver's door opened before I could talk myself into leaving.

Derrick.

He stepped out, his gaze finding mine almost instantly.

For a brief second, neither of us moved.

Then he shoved his hands into his pockets and started walking toward me as though he hadn't just turned my world upside down.

"You've been here long?" he asked.

I shrugged, avoiding his eyes.

"Just got here."

The lie rolled off my tongue so easily it almost scared me.

His eyes lingered on me for a moment, like he knew better but had decided not to call me out on it.

"Come on," he said quietly, nodding toward the cabin a few yards away. "Let's head inside."

I didn't answer.

Instead, I brushed past him and headed toward the cabin, my frustration refusing to loosen its grip.

If Derrick noticed the distance I deliberately kept between us, he didn't mention it.

The silence between us stretched for several seconds as we walked toward the secluded cabin. Every step felt heavier than the last, my anger refusing to cool.

"You look like you're planning my funeral," Derrick said casually, shoving his hands into his pockets.

I shot him a glare.

"Don't flatter yourself."

"Hmm." He nodded thoughtfully. "So... definitely murder, then?"

I rolled my eyes, though a tiny part of me wanted to laugh.

"You always joke when things get serious."

"And you always get serious before I've even had breakfast."

"I am serious."

"I noticed."

Another silence settled between us.

Derrick reached the cabin door first and unlocked it before stepping aside.

"Ladies first."

"I can open my own doors."

"I know."

"Then why are you standing there?"

A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Because my mother raised me properly."

Despite myself, a quiet huff escaped me.

"There it is," he said, pointing at me triumphantly. "That almost sounded like a laugh."

"It wasn't."

"Right. Must've been the wind."

Shaking my head, I walked past him and into the cabin.

The warmth inside wrapped around me almost instantly, a sharp contrast to the cool air outside.

Derrick closed the door behind us.

When I turned, he was already watching me.

Not with his usual teasing expression.

This time...

He looked concerned.

"You're still thinking about what happened at home."

My shoulders stiffened.

"I said I didn't want to talk about it."

"I know."

"Then don't."

To my surprise, he simply nodded.

"Okay."

That wasn't the response I expected.

Instead of pressing the issue, he walked over to the small kitchen counter and reached for the kettle.

"Coffee?"

I frowned.

"That's your solution?"

"No." He glanced over his shoulder, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "But people usually make better decisions after caffeine."

"And if I don't want coffee?"

"Then I'll have to drink yours too."

"You really have an answer for everything, don't you?"

"I try."

A few minutes later, he placed a steaming mug in front of me before taking the seat across from mine.

He took a cautious sip.

His face immediately twisted into a grimace.

"Wow."

I raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"This coffee is terrible."

I looked down at my cup.

"You're the one who made it."

"I know."

"So whose fault is that?"

He stared at me for a second before sighing dramatically.

"You know, I was hoping for a little support."

"You came to the wrong person."

"Ouch."

He placed a hand over his chest as though I'd deeply wounded him.

"I don't think our friendship is going to survive this."

"We're friends?"

His mouth fell open in mock offense.

"That hurt more than the coffee."

Despite myself, I laughed.

A real laugh.

Not the forced smile I'd been wearing for days.

"There it is," he said, pointing at me with a grin.

"What?"

"That laugh."

"It wasn't that funny."

"It was to me."

I shook my head, trying to hide the smile threatening to return.

"You have very low standards."

"And yet somehow, I still managed to make you laugh."

I rolled my eyes.

"Don't get ahead of yourself."

"I'll try."

For a while, neither of us said anything.

The silence didn't feel awkward.

It felt... easy.

He started talking about random things—the drive over, the old man who'd mistaken him for his grandson, and how he'd somehow managed to burn toast three mornings in a row.

None of it mattered.

And somehow...

That was exactly what I needed.

I found myself listening.

Responding.

Arguing over things that didn't matter.

For the first time in what felt like forever, I wasn't replaying everything that had happened.

I wasn't trying to figure out my next move.

I wasn't pretending to be stronger than I felt.

I was just...

Here.

With him.

The realization hit me harder than it should have.

What are you doing, Zara?

The smile slipped from my face.

I straightened in my chair and unconsciously put a little more distance between us.

The warmth between us vanished as quickly as it had come.

Derrick noticed.

Of course he did.

His smile faded.

"What happened?"

"Nothing."

"There it is again."

"What?"

"You let your guard down for a second..."

He tilted his head slightly.

"...and then you build the walls right back up."

I looked away.

"You imagine too much."

"No."

His voice was quiet.

"I pay attention."

Something about those three words unsettled me.

Because he was right.

And because I liked the fact that he paid attention far more than I wanted to admit.

I cleared my throat before the silence could betray me.

"Can we move to the reason you asked me to come here?"

The playfulness left his face.

He nodded once.

"Yeah."

"I guess we should."

For a long moment, he didn't speak.

Instead, he stared into his mug, absentmindedly tracing the rim with his thumb as though the right words might somehow appear if he waited long enough.

When he finally looked up, the easy smile I'd grown used to was gone.

"I've been trying to make sense of everything," he admitted quietly.

I folded my arms.

"And?"

He let out a slow breath.

"And nothing makes sense anymore."

A humorless laugh escaped him.

"It's like I'm trying to solve a puzzle with half the pieces missing."

He held my gaze.

"And somehow..."

"I keep feeling like you're one of those missing pieces."

My fingers tightened around the mug.

I didn't answer.

He seemed to take my silence as permission to continue.

"You say you're fine, but every time someone mentions home, you shut down."

I stared at him without speaking.

"You always twist the ring on your finger when you're trying not to cry."

My eyes dropped instinctively to my hand.

I hadn't even realized I was doing it.

"You stir your coffee whenever you're nervous..."

He glanced at the mug in front of me.

"...even when you don't plan on drinking it."

The spoon was still between my fingers.

I froze.

"Whenever a car passes outside, your eyes go straight to the window before you even realize you've moved."

I swallowed.

"You chose the chair facing the door."

"You've looked over your shoulder at least six times since we got here."

"And every time the cabin creaks..."

A faint smile crossed his face.

"...your shoulders tense."

I blinked.

"You noticed?"

"I notice everything."

His answer came so naturally that it caught me off guard.

He held my gaze.

"You also disappear."

I frowned.

"What?"

"You'll be sitting right in front of me, but then..."

He tapped a finger lightly against the table.

"...you're gone."

I didn't answer.

"Your eyes lose focus."

"You stop hearing what I'm saying."

"And when you come back..."

His voice softened.

"...you pretend you never left."

Silence settled between us.

"You haven't taken more than one sip of your coffee."

"You keep reaching for your necklace whenever you're overwhelmed."

"And every single time I ask if you're okay..."

He paused.

"...you lie."

The room fell silent.

I stared down at my mug.

"I didn't know you paid that much attention."

"I wasn't trying to."

"Then why did you?"

He looked away for a second.

"I don't know."

He shrugged.

"I just..."

His brows furrowed as though he was searching for an answer he couldn't quite find.

"I notice you."

The simplicity of it stole the air from my lungs.

I looked at him.

Really looked at him.

He wasn't pretending.

He wasn't manipulating me.

He genuinely had no idea.

So...

You really have no idea what you're a part of.

The thought slipped into my mind before I could stop it.

Maybe that was a good thing.

Because if you knew...

You'd never look at me the same way again.

"What is it?" Derrick asked quietly.

I blinked.

"What?"

"You've gone somewhere else again."

I forced the smallest shake of my head.

"Nothing."

"I don't believe you."

"You don't have to."

He held my gaze for another moment before sighing.

"You know... for someone who says nothing's wrong, you carry the weight of the world on your shoulders."

I swallowed hard.

If only you knew whose world it really was.

I lowered my eyes before they could betray me.

He waited.

Patiently.

Without pushing.

Without demanding answers.

For the first time in a long time...

I didn't feel cornered.

I just felt...

Seen.