Chapter 7 - The Storm Behind the Eyes
The silence in the dining room was deafening.
Elira sat stiffly across from Zayn, her fork hovering above the untouched salad on her plate. The ticking of the antique clock echoed between them like a countdown to disaster. Zayn hadn't spoken a word since they sat down, his eyes fixed on his tablet, pretending to read — but Elira could feel the storm beneath his cold exterior.
"I didn't know Lyra was back," Elira said softly, breaking the silence.
Zayn's eyes slowly lifted to meet hers. Sharp, unreadable. "Neither did I," he said flatly.
Elira swallowed hard. "She's your sister. Don't you think you should—"
"I don't need you telling me how to handle my family," he cut in, his voice low but lethal.
Her heart sank, but she didn't flinch. She was getting used to that tone — the one that stripped away her courage bit by bit. "I wasn't trying to," she said. "I just… I care."
He scoffed, pushing the tablet aside. "You care? About my sister? Or about pretending to play the perfect wife?"
Elira looked down. "I never said I was perfect. I just want peace."
"Peace?" He leaned forward, his voice a sharp whisper. "Then maybe you should stop inserting yourself where you don't belong."
The words hit her like a slap.
And still, she didn't cry. Not in front of him.
She stood, gathering her plate. "I'll eat in the kitchen," she said quietly.
But before she could leave, Zayn's voice stopped her.
"Elira."
She paused.
His eyes softened—just slightly. "Did you really think I'd warm up to you just because we share a last name?"
She didn't turn. "No. But I hoped."
The air between them crackled. So much unsaid. So much pain neither of them knew how to voice.
***
Later that night, Elira sat on the edge of the bed, staring at her phone screen. There were unread messages from her best friend, her aunt, even Lyra.
But none from Zayn.
She knew he was downstairs. Knew he'd be working late in his study like always. He'd buried himself in meetings, reports, and emails — everything except this marriage.
She curled up under the covers, but sleep wouldn't come. Not with the memory of his eyes still haunting her — eyes filled with something darker than hate.
Pain.
She wanted to understand it. Wanted to help him carry it. But every time she reached out, he pushed her away like she was the enemy.
The next morning, Elira walked into the kitchen to find Lyra sipping orange juice in her pajamas.
"You look like hell," Lyra said bluntly.
Elira gave a half-smile. "Good morning to you too."
Lyra tilted her head. "He was cruel again?"
"I think he's hurting," Elira said.
Lyra snorted. "He's always hurting. And instead of healing, he hurts others. That's Zayn Kael for you."
Elira hesitated. "What happened to him, Lyra? I know it's not just me."
Lyra's eyes darkened, and for a moment, Elira saw real sadness there.
"You want to know the truth?" Lyra asked.
Elira nodded.
"Then go look in the old library upstairs," Lyra said, standing up. "You'll find the real Zayn in there."
***
The door to the old library creaked open slowly.
Dust coated the shelves, and the scent of aged paper filled the air. Elira's fingers traced the spines of books until one caught her eye — a leather journal tucked behind a photo frame.
She pulled it out carefully.
It was Zayn's handwriting.
At first, she hesitated. This felt too private. But her heart ached for answers — for any glimpse into the man who wore armor around his soul.
She flipped it open.
*"I told her I didn't believe in love. But the truth is... I did. Once."*
Page after page, she read pieces of his broken heart. His parents. Their bitter divorce. A betrayal that shattered his trust. And then… a woman. Someone he once loved deeply.
And lost.
Suddenly, Zayn's cruelty made sense. It wasn't about Elira. It was about protecting himself from feeling again.
***
That night, she waited in his study.
Zayn entered, stopping short when he saw her.
"What are you doing here?"
She held up the journal. "I read it."
His eyes narrowed. "That was private."
"I know. And I'm sorry. But Zayn…" Her voice broke. "You're not cold. You're just hurt."
He looked away.
"I'm not asking you to love me. I just want to stand beside you. You don't have to be alone."
For the first time, he didn't respond with words. Instead, his gaze met hers — not sharp, not cold. Just tired.
And maybe, just maybe… a little open.
He turned to leave but paused at the door. "Don't give up on me yet, Elira."
She smiled through the tears.
"I won't."