Chapter 37

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

ZAIN

I should leave. That’s what I keep telling myself as I sit in the chair by the window, watching her sleep. But I don’t move.

It’s been hours since she fell asleep, and I’ve spent every minute of it trying to sort through the mess in my head. Everything feels off. Nothing is going the way I planned.

Nothing has gone the way I planned since the second I stepped out of the courthouse.

I’m not even sure what my plan is anymore. Everything was so simple when I was in prison. The plan I concocted for when I finally got out.

Get out of prison.

Find the girl who put me there.

Make her pay.

A plan born of hatred, revenge, and control. I knew what I wanted, and I knew how to get it. I was going to make her pay for the years I lost.

But now, everything is blurred.

I’m seeing her differently.

It all started to change the night I took her to my parents’ place. The way she put Sondra in her place, the way she stood up for herself at dinner, the way she tasted on my tongue.

I brushed all that off. I’d just come out of prison. She is a beautiful woman. I’d have had to have been dead not to take what she was offering.

But then the next afternoon happened. And that time? No, I couldn’t use the same excuse.

What happened between us that afternoon changed everything.

I shift in the chair, trying to shake off the weird mood I’ve fallen into. It’s uncomfortable, unsettling, like I’m standing on ground I no longer recognize.

She stirs in her sleep, and I hold still, waiting to see if she wakes up. But she doesn’t, she just rolls onto her side, her face turned toward me.

I rub a hand over my face, tension crawling under my skin. Somewhere along the way I’ve lost control. I should be the one holding all the cards, dictating every move, but I’m not.

The Zain who got out of prison, who forced her to marry him, that Zain has faded away. That Zain wouldn’t be sitting here, watching her sleep, feeling … whatever the fuck this is I’m feeling. Because when everything spiraled between us, it stopped being about power or revenge. It’s different now, it’s about something new … something I haven’t experienced in years.

I don’t want to think about what that might mean.

I stand up so fast, the chair slides across the floor. I glance over at her, but the noise didn’t wake her. She's still lost in whatever dreams are playing behind her closed eyelids. For a moment, I wonder if I'm in them. If I'm haunting her subconscious the way she's haunting mine.

I need to get out of here. Get some distance. Clear my head. Get away from her before I do something stupid.

But the truth is, I’m not sure if I’m walking away to protect her … or protect myself.

The light outside is starting to change, the sky slowly brightening. I walk to the door, my hand resting on the handle for longer than necessary. My gaze returns to her once more, and moves over her body curled beneath the blankets.

The Zain I was would have been planning his next move, working out a way to make her nightmares give him more control over her. He would have reveled in her fear, used it to manipulate her further.

But I’m not that Zain anymore.

The realization throws me in ways I don’t expect. I'm not the same man who walked out of that prison. I'm no longer the man consumed by hatred and revenge who spent fourteen years meticulously plotting his revenge.

It leaves me reeling, confused, shaken.

I'm not sure who I am without those driving forces.

I leave her room, and wander through the house, unable to sit still. The quiet of the early morning feels oppressive, and I stop by the window to watch the faint light creep across the sky.

My head is a mess. Every decision I've made since getting out has led me here, but none of it is going as I envisioned.

It isn’t supposed to be this complicated.

I lean my forehead against the glass, trying to clear my head, but nothing about this is clear anymore. And tonight has just made things even worse. The nightmares, her vulnerability ... it's all tangled up inside me, a knot I can't seem to unravel.

Pushing away, I head back down the hallway, drawn to her room like there’s an invisible thread pulling me. I stand outside her door for a moment, then quietly turn the handle and step back inside.

She’s still curled under the covers, the lines of tension in her face smoothed away by sleep. Vulnerable. Soft. I never thought I’d associate either word with her.

Sitting back down in the chair, I keep my distance, but I can't take my eyes off her. I’m trying to reconcile this woman with the girl in my memories, the one who testified against me, the one I blamed for years. But they don't fit together anymore. The edges are blurred, the lines redrawn.

I was wrong. About her. About my plan. About everything.

I'm about to get up and walk out again, when she starts to stir. It's slow at first. A shift in her body, a small sigh, her lashes fluttering against her cheek. She's still half-asleep when she rolls over, blinking against the light.

When her gaze lands on me, surprise covers her face, eyes widening a little, as if she isn’t expecting to find me here.

"You're still here." Her voice is a sleepy mumble. She sits up, pushing the sheets down with one hand. Her hair is a tousled mess around her face, and there's a slight crease mark from where the pillow pressed into her cheek. She lifts a hand, and pushes her hair away from her face.

Her movements are slower, unguarded, like she hasn't quite rebuilt her walls yet. Everything about her seems softer, quieter. It's a side of her I've never seen before, and it’s fascinating. It does something to me, something I'm not ready to examine too closely.

"I thought ... I didn't think you'd stay." Her voice is soft, and there's a vulnerability to her in this moment that catches me off guard. She's all tousled hair, sleepy eyes, and quiet uncertainty.

"I told you I'd stay." The words come out gruffer than I intend, but I can't seem to soften them.

"Yeah, but ..." She hesitates, her lips parting as she meets my eyes. Her fingers brush through her hair again, a nervous gesture I'm starting to recognize. "You didn't have to," she says finally, the words quiet. "You could have left."

"I know."