CHAPTER FOUR : ZAYN
768 Words
The El-Amin mansion was quiet again, filled only with the echoes of footsteps, the soft hum of chandeliers, and the weight of unspoken things. Zayn stood by the large window in his study, overlooking the fountain garden, a glass of untouched whiskey in his hand. The amber liquid barely moved, but his thoughts ; his thoughts were a storm.
He hadn’t meant to look for her.
But lately, his eyes always found her.
It began subtly. A glance across the dining table. The way her fingers wrapped around a spoon. The way her lashes fluttered slightly when she blinked, like she was thinking of something far away. She ate quietly, never demanding attention, never trying to impress. She just… existed. Softly. Silently. Like a ghost made of sunlight.
And somehow, that haunted him more than the real ghosts that plagued him.
Zayn leaned back, the fabric of his dark shirt pulling tight against his chest as he exhaled. He knew he was hard to read ; always had been. A man carved from sharp edges and shadows. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a jawline that looked like it had been sculpted in defiance of softness. His features were angular, his stare intense ; too intense, people said. But Amara never flinched when he looked at her.
Maybe that’s what started it.
In the dining room two mornings ago, she had been sitting near the window, sunlight spilling down her shoulders like she wore it. Her hair was still damp from a shower. She looked up at him briefly, their eyes met ; just for a second ; and then she looked away.
But something inside him hadn’t moved on.
Zayn had barely tasted his food that morning.
He found himself paying attention to things he never did before. The pattern of her footsteps down the corridor. The soft sound of her laughter when she spoke to that new maid. Even the perfume she wore ; something faint, something floral. He hated florals. Or used to.
And then, the library.
He hadn’t expected to find her there.
He had gone in to escape his own mind, to drown himself in anything that wasn’t her. But there she was, curled up in the corner sofa, a book resting on her thighs, her toes slightly curled beneath the hem of her long skirt. The sight had made him freeze.
She was reading. Not just skimming, not just flipping through pages ; reading, like the world outside the book didn’t exist. Her eyes were wide and lost in thought, and her mouth twitched every so often like she was reacting to something in the story. He hadn’t seen anyone read like that in a long time.
Maybe ever.
Zayn had retreated before she noticed him. But the image stuck. Her, surrounded by silence and stories. He found himself thinking about her expressions as she read. Did she like tragic stories? Did she cry at sad endings? Did she feel deeply?
He suspected she did.
And what unnerved him more than anything was the fact that he was beginning to care about the answers.
That wasn’t supposed to happen.
Not in this arrangement. Not in this house.
Not with her.
His phone buzzed on the desk, pulling him back. A message from his assistant; something about a scheduled board meeting. He didn’t open it. Not yet.
Instead, his thoughts drifted again ; to that night he had stood by her door, watching her sleep, drawn by something he couldn’t explain. She had looked peaceful, so unlike the chaos he carried. She didn’t know what kind of man he was. She didn’t know what had brought her into this house, into his life.
And yet, she was here.
Soft. Gentle. Quiet.
He noticed how she swam now, too. Gracefully, almost like she belonged in water. Just like him. That part still unsettled him; how they moved alike. It reminded him of someone. It reminded him of her.
But this wasn’t the time for memories. This wasn’t the time for ghosts.
This was now.
And now… Amara was in his house, under his roof, part of his world. And no matter how much he told himself she was just a transaction, just a contract, just a lifeline for her brother ; his heart kept forgetting.
It kept watching her.
It kept wondering.
It kept noticing.
He turned away from the window, jaw clenched, chest tight.
He had to be careful. Emotions weren’t safe in this place. Not for a man like him.
But still… when he thought of her—
Zayn smiled.
A rare, fleeting, dangerous smile.
- Writer
