Chapter 9 – Cracks Beneath the Surface
Zayn hadn't come home the entire night.
Elira didn't ask where he went. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing she noticed. But her heart ached. The kind of ache that hums under your ribs when the silence grows too loud.
The next morning, the house was too quiet. Lyra had gone back to campus, and the staff moved silently, sensing the tension. Elira sat alone at the kitchen island, stirring her tea long after it had gone cold.
Her phone buzzed.
*Zayn:* *We have dinner at the Bennetts' tonight. Be ready by 6.*
No explanation. No apology. Just cold, commanding Zayn.
Elira typed a reply—*Okay*—then deleted it. She didn't want to seem too eager. But she also didn't want to fight again. So she left the message blank and simply showed up at 6:00, wearing a fitted emerald green dress that clung to her in the right places and spoke volumes in silence.
Zayn was already waiting in the car.
His jaw clenched as she stepped in, but his eyes gave her a second glance. Just a flicker of surprise. Or approval. She couldn't tell.
They drove in silence again, but this time, the tension felt different. Thicker. Like something unspoken hovered between them, waiting to be acknowledged.
At the Bennetts', everything looked polished—smiles, laughter, music—but Elira knew how these people worked. Behind the smiles were whispers, and behind every glass of champagne, someone was plotting.
As they stepped into the room, Zayn's hand rested on her lower back, firm and possessive. He leaned toward her, voice low. "Tonight, we're the perfect couple. Smile."
"I always do," she replied sweetly, turning toward a group of guests.
They moved through the room like seasoned actors, exchanging pleasantries, laughing at the right times. And for a moment, Elira allowed herself to pretend. Pretend that Zayn wasn't cold. That this marriage wasn't built on resentment and forced vows.
"You're glowing tonight," one of the older women complimented her.
Zayn looked down at Elira. "She always does," he said, tone unreadable.
But something shifted in his eyes.
Later in the evening, while Zayn was locked in a conversation with a board member, Elira stepped out onto the balcony for air. The city lights below sparkled like broken glass. She leaned on the railing, letting the night breeze cool her heated cheeks.
"You hate these things too, huh?"
The voice startled her. Turning, she saw Nathan—Zayn's childhood friend and one of the few genuinely kind souls in their circle.
"Desperately," she admitted.
Nathan offered her a warm smile. "You're braver than I thought, marrying Zayn. He's not the easiest man to love."
Elira gave a small laugh, laced with something bitter. "Who said I love him?"
Nathan's brows lifted, but he didn't press. "He wasn't always like this, you know."
Elira looked away. "Maybe he was. Some people just hide it better."
She heard footsteps behind her—measured, slow.
Zayn.
"Am I interrupting?" His voice was calm, but his eyes weren't. They were locked on Nathan with something sharp.
"Not at all," Nathan said, nodding politely. "We were just catching up."
Zayn didn't reply. He held Elira's gaze for a moment too long before saying, "We're leaving."
She followed him back to the car, heart pounding. The silence this time wasn't just heavy—it was dangerous.
Halfway home, Zayn spoke.
"You looked comfortable with him."
Elira blinked. "Nathan? He's your friend."
"I saw the way he looked at you."
She scoffed. "Oh, please. Don't project your own coldness onto him."
His jaw tightened. "So now I'm cold?"
"Yes," she said, her voice rising. "You treat me like I'm an inconvenience. Like you regret every second of this marriage."
Zayn pulled the car over to the side of the road. The tires screeched slightly, but he didn't seem to care.
He turned to her, eyes burning. "You think I wanted this? That I chose to marry someone I barely knew because I had *feelings*?"
"Then why did you?" she snapped. "Why did you marry me, Zayn?"
His hands tightened on the steering wheel. "Because my father gave me a choice—marry you or lose the company. And I chose the company. Is that what you wanted to hear?"
Elira stared at him, feeling the words slice through her. But she didn't cry.
She only nodded. "Thanks for the honesty."
Zayn's anger faltered for a moment. His mouth opened as if to say something, but he stopped.
"Elira—"
"Don't," she whispered. "Just drive."
They didn't speak for the rest of the way. When they reached the house, Elira walked straight to the guest bedroom. She slammed the door shut and leaned against it, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.
She didn't know how long she stood there, but she finally slid down to the floor, hugging her knees to her chest.
The next day, Zayn wasn't in the house. Again.
Elira spent most of her time in the study, working on a project she'd long abandoned before the marriage. It was a small charity plan she'd once dreamed of launching—educational workshops for girls from underfunded schools.
She buried herself in the research, ignoring the dull ache in her heart.
That evening, while she was organizing old files, she found an envelope. Inside it was a photo—faded but familiar.
Zayn and his mother. He looked younger, happier. The woman beside him had warm eyes and a soft smile.
She turned the photo over.
*"For Zayn. Never forget who you are. Love, Mom."*
Elira's fingers trembled.
The door creaked open behind her.
She quickly tucked the photo back into the envelope and looked up to see Zayn standing in the doorway.
He looked exhausted. His tie hung loose, and his expression was unreadable.
"I didn't know you were home," she said quietly.
"I came back early," he replied. "Saw your car in the drive."
Elira stood, unsure what to say.
Zayn's eyes fell on the desk. "What's that?"
She hesitated, then handed him the envelope. "I found it in your drawer."
He opened it, and when he saw the photo, his expression cracked. Just a little.
"I forgot I even had this," he murmured.
"She looked kind," Elira said softly.
"She was," he replied, voice distant. "She was the only one who believed I could be more than just a businessman's son."
There was a silence between them. Not cold this time—just fragile.
"I'm sorry," she said. "About what I said yesterday."
Zayn looked at her, and something in his eyes shifted.
"I meant what I said. I didn't marry you for love."
"I know," she said. "But maybe we could still find something… human in this. Respect. Understanding."
He didn't reply right away. Then he nodded. "Maybe."
It wasn't a promise. But it was something.
***
Later that night, Elira couldn't sleep.
She stood by the window, watching the rain tap softly against the glass.
A knock came at her door.
She turned, startled. "Yes?"
Zayn stepped inside. "Can we talk?"
She nodded slowly. "Of course."
He walked over, keeping a respectful distance. "I don't know how to be a husband. Not a real one."
"I don't know how to be a wife either," she admitted.
"But maybe… we could start small," he offered.
Elira tilted her head. "Like what?"
"Breakfast," he said. "Tomorrow. With no arguments."
She smiled—genuine, small. "Okay. Breakfast."
Zayn turned to leave, but before he reached the door, he paused.
"Elira?"
"Yeah?"
"I never hated you."
And with that, he left, leaving Elira standing there with her heart quietly breaking open in a whole new way.