Crippled by His Shadow

CHAPTER FOUR: ROOFTOP CONFESSION

ZARA’S POV

I won't lie, I expected something different.

I expected him to take me to his hotel. I was looking forward to it.

Shameful, I know.

The city feels alive the moment we step out of the car. Neon signs blink against the night sky, the streets below buzzing with cars and voices, but Damian doesn’t let me take it in for long. His hand is heavy on the small of my back as if he’s steering me, not giving me a choice. We are climbing stairs, then pushing through a heavy door, and suddenly I.am standing on a rooftop bar that feels too expensive for someone like me.

The music is loud, not the soft kind you can ignore, but the kind that shakes in your chest. There’s laughter, glasses clinking, people pressed close under the glow of string lights, and for a second I forget to breathe because the view is insane. The whole city stretches out below us, glittering, restless, almost mocking me with how beautiful it is.

I glance at him, and he’s already watching me. He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes hold mine longer than they should. He looks different up here, less in control, like the night air stripped something off him. His tie is loose, his shirt collar open, and for the first time I wonder if the coldness he wears every day is just another suit he puts on.

“Why here?” I ask, my voice shaky because the words are caught between curiosity and nerves.

He doesn’t answer right away. He waves to a waiter, orders something expensive without even looking at the menu, and only when the waiter walks away does he turn back to me.

“Because you don’t know how to stop pretending,” he says flatly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

I blink at him. “Pretending what?”

“That you are fine. That you can handle me. That nothing about… us”his eyes dip briefly to my lips as he says that “is eating you alive.”

The words hit harder than I want them to. My first instinct is to laugh it off, to throw back something sarcastic, but my throat feels tight. “You think you know me that well?” I finally manage, my tone sharp, but it sounds weaker than I wanted.

He leans closer across the table, his voice low, almost drowned by the music but not enough to lose its edge. “I know you better than you want me to. And it pisses me off.”

My chest twists. I don’t know if I want to slap him or kiss him. Maybe both.

“You are insane,” I mutter, gripping my glass like it’s a lifeline. “You make everything sound like a game.”

He smirks, and it’s the kind of smile that looks carved, sharp at the edges. “It is a game. You just don’t realize it yet.”

Something inside me snaps. I lean in too, my voice rising over the music. “I’m not your toy, Mr. Kush. I didn’t ask for this. You… you dragged me into this mess.”

His jaw tightens, and for a second, I see a flicker of something raw flash in his eyes, something that isn’t pride or arrogance. “You think I dragged you? You think I wanted this?”

The space between us feels too small, too dangerous. His hand is on the table now, close enough that my fingers itch to touch it, but I don’t. I can’t.

The waiter interrupts with our drinks, setting them down with a polite smile that doesn’t match the tension choking the table. I grab my glass, not even caring what it is, and take a long sip, the burn in my throat a welcome distraction.

We sit in silence for a beat, both of us staring anywhere but at each other. The city. The people dancing. The glowing lights strung above us. Anything but the truth hanging heavy between us.

Finally, he breaks it. “You drive me insane,” he mutters, so low I almost don’t catch it.

My laugh slips out, bitter and shaky. “Yeah? Join the club.”

And just like that, the air shifts again. His eyes find mine, and this time he doesn’t look away. It’s like the world slows down, the music fading into background noise, the city lights blurring, and suddenly it’s only him and me, breathing the same air, hearts beating too loud.

He moves first. His hand finds mine across the table, his fingers closing around me before I can pull away, and then he’s up, pulling me with him. I stumble, nearly knocking over my chair, but he doesn’t care. He’s walking us away from the crowd, to the far end of the rooftop where it’s darker, quieter, the city sprawled beneath us like it belongs to him.

“Mr.—” I start, but he cuts me off.

“Shut up.”

I should be angry. I should push him away. But my body betrays me, my pulse jumping at the way his voice drops, rough and low, the way his grip tightens just enough to remind me of his strength.

We stop near the edge, the glass barrier the only thing separating us from the dizzying drop below. He turns to face me, his hand still locked around my wrist, and for a moment neither of us speaks. The silence is louder than the music, heavier than the city noise.

“You keep running,” he says finally, his voice softer now, almost broken. “But you want this as much as I do.”

I open my mouth, ready to deny it, to tell him he’s wrong, but the words die on my tongue because he’s right. God, he’s right.

And then he kisses me.

It’s not careful, not gentle. It’s wild, reckless, the kind of kiss that steals the air from your lungs and makes you forget your own name. My hands are on his chest before I even realize it, not pushing him away but pulling him closer, greedy for more, terrified of what it means but too far gone to care.

The world spins. The city disappears. It’s just him. Him and me and the fire I swore I wouldn’t let burn.

But just as quickly as it starts, it ends. He pulls back, his lips still inches from mine, his breathing heavy, his jaw clenched so tight it looks painful.

“This can’t happen again,” he mutters, and the words cut deeper than I expect.

I step back, my chest aching, my lips still tingling, and I want to scream at him, hit him, beg him not to do this, but before I can find the words, his phone buzzes.

He pulls it out, glances at the screen, and answers with a clipped tone. “What is it?”

I watch his face shift, his eyes narrowing, his whole body turning rigid, and dread coils in my stomach.

Then I hear it. Just a few words, but enough to freeze my blood.

“The company’s under attack. Someone’s buying us out.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. The company’s under attack? Someone’s buying us out?

My chest tightens, my breath catching in my throat as I watch his expression shift. His jaw clenches, his eyes narrowing as he listens to the person on the other end of the call. It’s all business now, no more teasing, no more games. The shift in his demeanor is instantaneous, as if everything else has become irrelevant in that moment.

He stands a little straighter, his hand tightening around the phone. His gaze flickers briefly to me, and for a second, I almost see him as the man I’ve always known him to be. The powerful, untouchable CEO, not the one who kissed me like he couldn’t breathe without me.

I take a step back, my pulse racing. My mind is spinning with the weight of what he just said. Someone’s buying us out?

My heart pounds in my chest, each beat louder than the last. What does this mean for the company? For me? For everything that’s been building between us?

Damian’s voice is calm now, his tone sharp as he speaks into the phone. "Make sure it's handled. I don’t want any more surprises."

The line goes silent, and I can feel the tension crackling between us. Damian’s eyes are back on me now, but they’re colder, sharper. He’s not the man who kissed me on the rooftop. He’s the CEO again.

The words that slip from his lips next send a chill down my spine.

“We have a bigger problem, Zara. It seems this… will have to wait.”