ZAYAN'S POV
The penthouse is fucking loud.
Laughter, the scent of expensive cologne, half-eaten pizza boxes on the marble coffee table—Eshan really lives like a bachelor who knows he'll never be broke. Rafaen's got his legs propped up on the couch like he owns the place, and Razmir is scrolling through his phone like he's running background checks on every girl that ever existed.
It's the first time we're all together again after the hospital discharge.
I'm leaning back, arm hooked lazily behind my neck, eyes on the skyline beyond the glass walls. The city looks peaceful. It's not.
"How you doing, bro?" Razmir finally breaks the silence.
I shrug. "Good. Now I know what an accident feels like." My voice is casual but cold. Dry as fuck. Rafaen chuckles.
"You know what we mean. What about her?" Rafaen's eyes flick toward me with a teasing edge.
My jaw clenches slightly. "I don't know. Outside she's okay. But inside? She's not." I run a hand through my hair and exhale. "She's trying too hard to be fine. That's not her."
"Then why the fuck won't you confess?" Eshan narrows his eyes. "There's that option, bro. Ever heard of it?"
I stare at him. He doesn't get it. None of them do.
"You guys don't fucking understand."
"Then make us understand." Rafaen pushes, arms crossed.
Razmir adds, "Yeah, explain it then. We're not brain dead."
I stare down at the veins bulging on my forearm. "Because if she finds out I love her… she'll never fucking look at me again."
Eshan sits forward, mouth twisted. "Why the hell not? You're not a serial killer—okay maybe close—but what the fuck does that even mean?"
I look up at them, voice low but sharp. "Because I'm a Tavarian. And she knows what that means."
Silence.
"She knows better than to let a Tavarian love her. She'd rather fucking die than live through that shit." My voice turns bitter. "If she finds out the heir of the family that wrecked half her peace is the one who's in love with her? She'll run. Fast. She'll hate me for it. She already does."
No one says anything.
They know I'm right.
"Then what the hell is your plan, genius? Sit in your mansion and sigh like a fucking lovesick idiot?" Razmir snaps.
I smirk.
"I'm going to marry her."
Water sprays.
Eshan coughs, choking. "What the actual fuck did you just say?"
"Marriage," I repeat, calm as a storm right before it hits. "I'm going to make her my wife."
"Bro, you're twenty-fucking-five!" Rafaen nearly yells. "Are you high on pain meds still? It's too damn early to get married!"
Razmir is pacing now. "You know that shit doesn't make sense, right? Do you think your family's gonna approve this? She has nothing in their eyes—no name, no bloodline, no power. You're the Tavarian heir, Zayan. You don't get to just... pick someone."
I lean forward, voice like a blade.
"She doesn't have to be everything. I'll give her everything. I don't care who disapproves."
"He's fucking gone. Bro's swimming in the deep end." Eshan runs a hand over his face. "Forget your parents—your grandfather, man. Kamal Rashid Tavarian will literally freeze hell before allowing this. I get chills just thinking about that man."
Rafaen sits up, suddenly serious. "You do know what you're saying, right? The consequences of going against the family... that's not a slap on the wrist. It's blood. It's legacy. It's everything. You're the heir."
I stand up. My voice cuts the air like thunder.
"I'll drop the fucking legacy if that's what it costs. I don't want it if it means losing her. They can keep their name, their throne, their money, their expectations. I don't want it. I just want her."
The silence that falls this time isn't awkward. It's terrifying.
"He's deadass serious." Eshan mutters, staring at me like I just dropped a bomb.
"He Skipped the whole dating era and jumped straight into holy vows and shit. Classic Tavarian." Rafaen mutters under his breath.
"When?" Razmir finally asks. "When are you planning this genius-level wedding?"
"Next week." I say it without blinking.
Rafaen wheezes. "WHAT?! What the fuck—next WEEK?!"
"I don't care." My voice is final. I start moving.
"Where the hell are you going now?!" Razmir calls.
I grab my keys off the counter, smirking.
"To meet Kamal Rashid Tavarian."
Eshan's eyes widen. "Good fucking luck with that. Hope you don't come back as a ghost."
"If I do, make sure my tombstone says 'Married a Tavarian and lived to tell the tale.'" I say before stepping out, shutting the door behind me.
The city roars outside, but I'm calm.
I'm driving straight to the lion's den.
To the man who built an empire.
To the one man who can ruin it all—
If he says no.
But he won't.
Because for once in my damn life—
I'm not asking.
//////////////////
The estate smells like old power. Not just money—power.
That sickeningly polished wooden door, the heavy silence that follows you down the halls like a fucking ghost—it's all the same. Guards nod at me like I'm some crowned demon walking back into his ancestral cage. I don't stop. I don't even glance at them.
They know better.
My boots echo against the marble floor as I make my way through the corridors. No hesitation. I know his schedule. He'll be in the study ,same time, same day, every fucking week. That's how the old man works. Precise. Predictable. Powerful.
I push the door open without knocking.
He's sitting behind that ancient carved desk like he owns the fucking world. Leaned back in his chair, one brow raised, fingers laced over his chest like some smug monarch.
He sees me and smiles. "Well. I didn't expect my grandson here today." His voice is calm, casual, dangerous. "It's a surprise. Come. Sit, if you want."
I don't. I stay standing.
He tilts his head, eyes scanning me, reading every unspoken word written across my face. "What is it?" he asks eventually. "Do you have something to say?"
Yeah. This old man knows me too well. More than anyone ever should. I fucking hate that. Hate how he watches me like a weapon he built himself—like he's proud of what he forged and knows exactly how it'll strike.
So I say it. Just like that.
"I'm getting married."
His eyes twitch. Subtle. But I see it.
He leans forward now, resting both arms on the desk, really looking at me. "What did you say?"
I don't flinch. "I said I'm getting married."
There's a beat of silence, before he chuckles. A slow, dry sound. "You're young, Adam. You've got time for that kind of stupidity later."
I say nothing. Just stand there.
He leans back again. "Fine. Who's the bride?"
I stare into his eyes, unblinking. "The girl from the hospital."
The air shifts. He stops moving. His fingers freeze mid-tap on the table.
Then—"Why?"
"She knows who I am," I say. "And I don't want this to be public. I want to handle it myself. Quiet. Clean."
His eyes go black. That's the Tavarian blood right there. Cold and calculating.
"If it's about shutting her up," he says, voice low now, "you don't need to marry her for that. We can make her disappear, Adam. Quietly. Permanently. You know that."
My hands curl into fists. My jaw tightens.
But I don't respond. Not yet.
He takes off his glasses, sets them down gently on the desk, and leans in again.
"Adam," he says, "I'm not one of your fucking business partners. Don't insult me with lies. Tell me the truth."
I inhale. Deep. Controlled.
Then:
"Fine."
My voice is steel.
"I fucking love her."
He stares. Doesn't blink. Then slowly, the corner of his mouth curves upward. Not a smile—a test.
"And what if I don't give you my permission?"
I take a step forward. "I'm not here to ask for it."
He raises a brow. I keep going.
"I'm not a boy, and this isn't a deal. I'm not negotiating, not bending, not compromising. I'm not signing your contracts and shaking your hand. I'm telling you. She's mine. And I'm taking what already belongs to me."
He exhales a soft laugh. Dark. Impressed.
"You really think you can protect her from all this?" he says. "You think she'll survive our world? You think loving her will be enough?"
I smirk. Slow. Dangerous.
"No," I say. "But I will be enough."
He studies me for a long, heavy second. Then, with a smirk of his own, he stands. Walks around the desk until we're face to face.
"Make her a Tavarian, then." His voice is razor-sharp. "Make her bleed, break, and survive like one. But if you bring her in, Adam—there's no going back. You know that. If she becomes one of us… you better pray she's stronger than she looks. Or this world will eat her alive."
I step closer. "She already survived hell," I say. "What's the Tavarian name compared to that?"
He chuckles again. "You're your father's son."
"No," I correct. "I'm worse."
We stare at each other, two predators playing chess with blood.
He nods. Slowly. "Then go," he says. "Go make her a Tavarian."
I don't thank him. Don't nod back. I turn around, walk out like I walked in—without permission, without fear.
She's mine.
And I'm going to marry her.
Even if I have to burn down everything in my fucking name to do it.
ARSHILA'S POV
"What…?"
My voice isn't mine. It cracks like old glass, thin and stupid.
"Who the hell did you just say?" I ask again, my spine straightening like I've been electrocuted.
Dad doesn't even blink. His face is stiff, jaw clenched like he already fought this war in his head a hundred times. And lost.
"One more time," I demand, but my tone is weaker now. "Say it again."
His lips part like it physically hurts to repeat it. "Adam Zayan Tavarian."
I shoot up from the chair, like my legs move on instinct. "What the fuck are you talking about?! Why would I marry him?! How the hell is that even possible?!"
Mom doesn't look at me. She just stares at her hands like it's suddenly the most tragic thing in the world. Dad exhales like he's been holding it in since the day I got discharged.
"They sent a proposal."
My heart flips.
"It's the compensation… for the accident," he adds.
"Compensation?!" My voice rises. "What kind of sick fucking game are you playing?! You're giving me away like I'm some broken furniture they wrecked and now they're pretending to fix?! Is that what this is?! Some goddamn Tavarian charity project?!"
"No one's playing games," Dad says lowly, but I laugh bitterly in his face.
"Oh really? So let me get this straight—you're selling me to them because they feel guilty about the bike crash?! That's what this is?! Is this what I am now?! A bill to pay?!"
"You know they paid your hospital bills," he snaps.
"I never fucking asked to be treated in their palace!" I scream. "I didn't ask for their doctors or their drugs or their guards or their cold fucking floors!"
"Still doesn't change the fact that they did! And now there's a price!" he barks back.
"How much?" I whisper. My throat tightens. "How much is my fucking life worth?"
Dad's face turns to stone.
"More than we can ever afford," he says. "Even if we sell everything we have."
Silence. Heavy. Brutal. Like a punch to the back of my head.
I stagger back down onto the sofa, heart rattling against my ribs like it wants out.
It's not a marriage.
It's debt.
It's pity.
It's Tavarian business.
And he—Zayan—he doesn't want this either. I know that. He loves someone else. He fucking told me. This… this is one of their games. This is what they do. They get what they want, and the world just folds around them. I should've known. I should've fucking known better than to ever be near him.
"I'm not marrying him," I murmur.
Dad looks at me like I've just spat in his face.
"I don't want this."
"And what the hell do you plan to do?" Mom finally speaks, voice trembling.
"I'll pay them back," I say. "Even if it takes me a fucking lifetime, I'll pay. I don't care if it takes every damn breath I have. I'll work, I'll starve if I have to—"
Dad slams his hand against the table. I flinch.
"Are you insane?!" he shouts. "You don't even have a job! You think they'll let you get one?! You think if you work your entire life, you can pay Tavarians back?! This country belongs to them. You really think you'll get a fucking job here after rejecting their proposal?!"
"I DON'T WANT TO MARRY HIM!" I scream so hard my throat burns. "I NEVER FUCKING WILL!"
My voice ricochets off the walls. Mom chokes. Then suddenly—
"Then you should've just died back then."
I stop breathing.
My eyes snap to hers.
"What…?"
Mom's crying. Shoulders shaking. She doesn't meet my eyes. "If you were just going to bring this much destruction… then maybe you should've just died in that accident. Then none of this would've happened."
My chest caves in.
The words hit me like they were dipped in acid. My knees give out.
Silence falls, so sharp it rings in my ears.
Dad doesn't stop her. He doesn't say anything.
He just stands up, stares at me with a face I don't even recognize anymore, and mutters, "Because of you… we'll be on the streets."
Then he walks away.
And I—
I just sit there.
Hearing those words again.
"You should've just died back then."
Dead. Not in debt. Not in his bed. Not in this hell.
God.
My chest tightens.
And I can't cry.
Not even now.
I sit there.
Frozen. Numb. And yet, everything inside me is burning_too loud, too fast, like thunder ripping through my skull, like lightning cracking inside my ribcage. The storm outside rages harder than before, loud and wild, as if the sky itself is pissed on my behalf. As if even the clouds are screaming; what the fuck is going on?
My chest rises slowly, painfully, and for a long second, I can't feel my fingers. My mom... really said that?
"Then you should have died back then."
The words echo again and again and again, slamming against my brain like a goddamn curse I can't unhear. My heart stops. No, it crushes.
There's something sharp under my skin, curling into me, splitting my lungs open from the inside. I taste metal in my mouth. I'm still sitting on the same goddamn sofa, but I swear the floor has disappeared under me.
How could she? How the fuck could she?
I know she didn't mean it. I know it probably came from pain, from fear, from anxiety and exhaustion and the weight of everything that's happening crashing down all at once—but how can I unhear that? How can I fucking un-feel it?
They don't know what I survived.
They didn't see what happened in that goddamn ICU. They don't know what it's like to lie there for days not knowing if you're gonna make it to next morning. They didn't watch the white ceiling crack into monsters during the endless fucking therapy sessions, trying to crawl your way back into your own skin.
Four months. Four months of trauma. Of being touched by strangers in gloves and masks. Of pretending I wasn't breaking every second I opened my eyes. Of convincing myself that it was okay I couldn't remember how to smile or breathe without pain.
And now... they wish I had died?
A dry sound escapes my throat. A silent sob—too broken to make noise. My lips tremble as I clutch the edge of the sofa. I don't even realize when the tears start again. Silent, relentless. They slide down my cheeks like rain that refuses to stop, like the storm outside is bleeding into me.
And Zayan...
God. Adam Zayan Tavarian.
Of all the people on this planet—why him?
Why the fuck him?
He doesn't even want this. I know that. I know that with every fibre of my existence. He loves someone else. He loves someone else. This whole damn thing is just a Tavarian game. A cover-up. A PR strategy wrapped in gold and manipulation.
And me? I'm just the fucking collateral damage.
They don't see me. Not really. Just a middle-class girl with average marks, a fading future, and now, thanks to fate's sick sense of humour—a mountain of debt. I don't have a legacy. I don't have a bloodline. I don't have a goddamn last name that makes anyone bow their head.
And now they want me to marry him?
No. No. Fuck no.
I can't. I won't.
I stand up. Legs trembling. Shoulders shaking. But my spine is straight. There's something brutal about the way I breathe this time like I'm choosing violence just by staying alive.
No matter what they say, no matter how much they beg or blame, I'm not going to marry someone just because they want to clean up their own mess. Just because their heir happened to bleed on the wrong night. Just because the Tavarians need a sacrificial lamb to make everything look clean.
No.
Even if I have to scrub toilets until I'm eighty. Even if it takes a lifetime. I'm going to pay them back.
And I'm going to walk away from this.
I head downstairs. The air is thick and heavy, like the storm has slipped through the windows and sunk into the walls. Each step is slow, loud against the wood, like the universe is listening. I reach the hallway outside my parents' room—and then I freeze.
Their door is half open.
And I hear his voice.
Dad.
He sounds… tired. Not angry. Not even broken. Just....hollow.
"It's not about the money."
His voice cracks.
"They don't want the money. They made that clear. They want… power. Over her. That's what this is. Because she's the reason the accident happened."
He lets out a long, tired breath.
"And if the public ever finds out what really happened—that their heir got into an accident, because of a middle-class girl—they'll be questioned. Pressed. Blamed. The Tavarians don't allow that. They don't tolerate even the idea of weakness. So now, they're covering it up. This marriage isn't a proposal. It's a verdict. And it's their final decision."
Silence.
"Even if she rejects it… we don't have any other options. Just obey their rules. That's what we are now."
Something inside me just… dies.
So that's it.
That's what I am now.
A scandal they're scrubbing away.
A punishment dressed in white.
A chess piece on a board I didn't even know I was standing on.
They don't want their money back.
They want me. Not for love. Not for respect. Not even for pity.
Just to keep their goddamn empire clean.
I sit down on the stairs. I don't make a sound. I press my hands against my mouth to stop myself from screaming. My heart isn't breaking. It's being shattered—piece by piece, stripped of every hope I had that maybe, just maybe, there was still a choice in this.
They're not giving me a choice.
And neither is he.
Zayan Tavarian doesn't love me. Never did. Never will.
And now I'm just… a headline to bury.
I walk back to my room without a sound. The air feels colder. My legs feel heavier. My tears don't even sting anymore.
They just… fall.
Because I'm not crying for me.
I'm crying for the girl who once believed she'd marry for love.
---------________----------
I sit at the dinner table like a fucking corpse, eyes hollow, skin cold, food untouched. Their voices bounce off the walls, talking about the weather and the wedding and every other thing that doesn't fucking matter.
And then I say it.
"I'm ready for the marriage."
Just like that. Four words.
Four goddamn words that sound like I've signed my own death certificate. No tears. No drama. Just silence, and the clink of cutlery stopping midway to their mouths. I don't wait for a response. I stand, push my chair back like it's scraping bones across the floor, and walk to my room.
Didn't even fucking eat.
Because I can't. I'll choke on every bite if I try. My stomach is a pit of rot and rage. I lie in bed like a ghost. The thunder outside finally stops, but it's still storming inside me.
And when morning comes?
It's worse.
I hear them talking. Low voices. Quick footsteps. A door opens and closes. I hear my mother on the phone—her voice sugarcoated like this is some dream wedding instead of a fucking funeral march.
Next week.
The wedding is next fucking week.
Private. That's the word they use. Private wedding. No announcements. No press. No leaking the groom's name. No one gets to know who I'm marrying because the world doesn't even know who he is. The Tavarian heir is still a fucking myth, a phantom behind velvet curtains and old-money shadows. Untouched. Unseen.
And now?
I'm going to be the bride of a ghost.
A cleaner to their mess. A distraction from the truth. An ornament in their luxury hell while the world keeps spinning like nothing ever fucking happened.
They set the venue. Booked the date. Designed the dress. Chose the cake.
But no one asked me if I wanted to burn.
No one asked if I could handle loving a man who's already in love with someone else. If I could breathe in the same house where silence feels like chains. If I could survive in a world built by wolves while I'm thrown in like a lamb dressed in silk.
And now I know.
I know I'm marrying the Tavarian ghost.
A man who doesn't want me.
A man who will own every breath I take from now on.
And all I can do is walk back to my room, shut the door, and stare at the wall.
Because the moment I said yes, I stopped being me.
I became theirs.
And there's no fucking way out.
_______
ZAYAN POV
The ocean hums around us, the deck lights soft against the velvet night. Razmir's yacht rocks lazily beneath the stars, a sharp contrast to the storm brewing in my chest.
Eshan lifts his glass and grins like a jackass. "So, our baby boy is getting married next week."
Razmir laughs, feet on the table. "Fucker didn't even wait for us. No proposal, no heads-up—just boom. Marriage."
Rafaen leans back, jaw ticking. "How the fuck did your old man approve this? I thought he hated everyone."
I say nothing. Because that's all I have.
Eshan narrows his eyes at me. "He has something in his mind. I know that face. He's playing something we don't even know."
I tilt my head slightly, not bothering to deny it. "He can play. But he can't touch her. And he knows that."
Razmir raises a brow. "So what, you're saving her for yourself now?"
"No," I answer flatly.
"So you're gonna get your first kiss on the fucking marriage?" Razmir smirks, half amused, half taunting.
"No"
Rafaen barks out a laugh. "No fucking way. You're serious? No kiss? Like not even a polite little—"
"No kiss," I interrupt, voice like steel. "Not unless she gives it."
Eshan snorts. "Tavarian's got morals now. Damn. What next? Are you gonna cry if she hugs you too?"
Before I can flip him off, the yacht's big-screen TV blares up behind us. The volume spikes suddenly—one of the crew must've leaned on the remote.
"—Star Group CEO Alexander Reed has been missing for over six months now," the anchor says, sharp and loud. "No signs, no leads. And I deeply suspect it's another case of the vigilante abductions."
Another panelist cuts in: "That mysterious man killed over five men this year. All wealthy, all powerful. All accused of assaulting women—and all dead. Gone. Like they never existed."
Rafaen squints at the screen. "Did he say 'vigilante'?"
"Yeah," Eshan grumbles, already annoyed.
The third panelist speaks, defensive. "But Alexander Reed isn't like those other millionaires. He's kind. Beloved. He treats his artists with respect. His disappearance can't be related."
Razmir groans. "Fucking hell, Eshan,Turn off the TV. It's disturbing. Fucking Reed, where the hell is he?"
Rafaen shrugs. "He's probably on a private tour with his favorite artist. And the media's just throwing a tantrum to boost ratings."
Razmir turns back to me. "So, Zayan...what's the plan after the marriage?"
"Make her hate me."
Eshan jerks upright. "Do you even hear yourself?"
"Yes."
Rafaen frowns. "Why?"
I run a hand through my hair, staring out at the dark waves. "Because if she hates me, she won't be looking for the truth."
Silence.
No one says a thing for a moment.
Then I grab my phone off the table and stand up. "I'm going."
Eshan arches a brow. "Where?"
"To see someone."
Razmir whistles. "OHHHHH—bro can't even stay still without seeing her."
I smirk.
No denial.
No confession.
I just walk off the yacht, step into the night, and get in the car.
I drive.
Fast.
Focused.
Silent.
---
The city doesn't sleep, but it bows when I arrive.
Tyres screech low over wet asphalt as my car halts outside the old warehouse wrapped in rust and secrets. My men—black-suited, heads down ,line the sides like shadows sculpted from loyalty. I don't slow. I don't nod. I pass them like air, their reverence expected. Irrelevant.
The massive steel doors groan open at my touch, and I slip inside. No security codes. No fingerprints. No hesitation. Only I know this place still breathes.
The corridor is narrow, industrial, reeking of dust and silence. I walk slow, my boots hitting metal grates beneath with dull, steady thuds. Up the stairs—each step creaking like it remembers me—and I don't pause when I reach the top floor. My fingers wrap around the brass handle of the final door.
Massive. Untouched. Forgotten by the city.
I push.
Darkness swallows everything.
No light.
No echo.
No guards here. No red alarms. No heat sensors. Just…stillness. A kind of cold that clings to your ribs.
My eyes adjust slowly.
The air is heavy. Stagnant.
I step inside. One, two, slow breaths. My voice slices through the void like a blade.
"How you doing?"
Nothing.
"Is everything alright?"
Silence answers me.
My hands are in my pockets, and I look at the pitch-black room like it's a person itself. I don't raise my voice, I don't change my stance. My tone stays calm. Steady. Dangerous.
"Did you eat?"
A faint sound—metal shifting faintly in the dark, like a chain brushing concrete. Like breathing that shouldn't exist.
I smile. Barely.
Then lean slightly forward.
"aaah," I murmur, low, smooth. "Do you want me to call your name?"
I take one step further into the dark. My voice colder now. Cruel.
"Mr. Alexander Reed!"
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Author's Note:
This chapter dragged me through fire. Writing Zayan's silence and Arshila's fury—both poisoned with betrayal and love—was like holding a knife by the blade. Nothing about them is clean. Nothing is soft. And that's what makes every touch, every word, every look between them feel like a war.
You'll also notice the world around them shifting. The vigilante whispers that started as background noise are getting louder. This isn't just their story anymore. It's a much bigger storm coming, and no one—not even the Tavarian heir—is untouchable.
Thank you for reading. Feel everything. Break with them. Burn with them.