Chapter 13: The Fragile Threads Between Us*
The silence between them was no longer heavy. It was charged—like the air before a storm. Zayn sat on the opposite end of the long dining table, his jaw clenched, eyes unreadable. Elira's spoon trembled slightly as she stirred her soup, pretending not to notice the tension that had been brewing since the night before.
He'd brought her tea when she had trouble sleeping. No words, just quiet concern.
And now, here they were—like two strangers orbiting each other in the same universe, drawn close by a marriage contract and circumstances too complicated to untangle.
"Is it too salty?" he asked, unexpectedly.
Elira blinked. "What?"
"The soup. You're stirring it like it offended you."
A small, involuntary smile crept on her lips. "No, it's fine. Just… thinking."
Zayn leaned back, eyes on her. "About?"
She looked up. "Why you married me if you hated me so much."
Zayn froze.
She hadn't meant to ask it—at least not like that. But it had slipped past the walls she'd built. And now, it hung in the air, sharp and demanding.
"I didn't hate you," he said finally, voice low. "I hated what you reminded me of."
Elira's heart panged. "And what was that?"
"Loss. Weakness. Choices I didn't want to make."
She swallowed hard, her spoon falling silently onto the table. "I see."
A pause. Then, his voice softened.
"But now… you're not that reminder anymore."
She looked at him, surprised.
"You're something else."
"What am I now?" she whispered.
He didn't answer. He stood, quietly pushing back his chair. "We have a meeting in thirty minutes. Be ready."
And just like that, the wall returned.
***
The drive to the meeting was quiet, but different now. Zayn glanced at her once or twice. She caught him. He didn't look away.
Elira wore a navy-blue dress, simple but elegant, her hair in a soft bun. She looked composed, but her heart was restless.
As they walked into the boardroom of *Almirah Holdings*, investors and executives turned to stare—not just at Zayn, the cold and calculated CEO—but at the woman beside him.
She stood taller.
She spoke clearly.
She surprised even herself.
After the meeting, Zayn leaned close and whispered, "You handled them well."
Elira flushed. "I didn't do much."
"You did enough to make them respect you. That's more than most."
Something shifted between them again. A subtle thread, weaving tighter.
***
Later that evening, Elira found herself in the study, flipping through old photographs. She didn't even know why she kept them. A picture of her late father, another of her mother… and one of her, years ago, laughing with someone she didn't even speak to anymore.
Zayn entered, holding a glass of whiskey.
"Should I knock?"
"It's your house."
He walked in anyway.
"Those old?" he asked, nodding at the photos.
"Yeah. Memories I'm not sure I'm ready to throw away."
Zayn hesitated before sitting beside her.
"I had those too," he said. "Until I burned them."
She looked at him, startled. "Why?"
"Because it hurt too much to keep remembering."
They sat in silence again.
"I never asked you what you wanted," he said quietly.
"In what?"
"This marriage."
Elira exhaled. "Peace. A place to belong. Maybe… a chance to matter to someone."
He looked down at his glass.
"You already do," he said.
Her chest tightened. "Then why does it still feel like I'm standing outside your life?"
Zayn didn't answer. Instead, he stood again, pacing slowly.
"I never believed in love. Not really. Not after everything. But you... you make it hard to keep pretending I don't feel anything."
Elira's eyes welled up. "Then stop pretending."
He looked at her. "I'm trying."
A beat.
"But Elira…" he added, voice suddenly colder. "If you ever lie to me—if you ever betray me like others have—I won't forgive it. I can't."
Her heart stuttered. "I wouldn't…"
"I'm not accusing," he cut in. "I'm warning. I don't know how to be hurt again and survive it."
That night, she couldn't sleep.
Not because of fear.
But because she saw in Zayn something raw. Something she wanted to reach.
And something that terrified her.
***
Meanwhile, far away, in a hotel room dimly lit by a single lamp, a woman watched their pictures on her phone.
Pictures of Zayn.
And Elira.
Smiling.
Together.
Her lips curled.
"I always said he was mine first," she murmured.
Then she hit "send."
A message.
A photo.
And a secret that could burn everything down.
Elira stared at the ceiling long after Zayn left her alone in the study. Her heart was a swirl of emotions — longing, confusion, fear… and something dangerous.
Hope.
She hated hope. It had betrayed her before.
She turned off the light and headed back to the master bedroom. But sleep didn't come. Her thoughts were too loud, his words repeating in her head like a broken record.
*"You already do."*
*"I'm trying."*
And that final one: *"I won't forgive betrayal."*
It haunted her.
But what betrayal was he expecting? She hadn't done anything. Yet he spoke like he was preparing for a wound.
Or expecting one.
***
The next morning, the mansion was oddly quiet. No staff in the halls, no sound from the kitchen. Elira wrapped a robe around her and stepped out of the bedroom.
Then she heard it — muffled shouting. From Zayn's office.
She paused at the door, careful not to be seen.
"I told you to keep her away from this," Zayn growled into the phone. "Why the hell did she even show up in this city?"
A pause. Elira held her breath.
"I don't care. If she leaks anything, I swear I'll bury every deal she touches."
Another pause.
"No. Elira doesn't know. And she doesn't need to."
Elira stepped back, chest tight. Her fingers trembled.
*Who was he talking about?*
Was that the woman from the photo? The one who sent… something?
She didn't want to listen anymore.
She turned and walked back, forcing herself to act normal. But the warmth from the night before — the rare tenderness Zayn had shown — felt like a trap now.
***
Later that day, Zayn drove them to a business event. The world only saw the polished couple: powerful CEO and beautiful wife. He placed a hand on her waist in front of cameras. He smiled when they spoke to investors.
But Elira couldn't shake the feeling that everything was performance.
Especially when she noticed a woman across the ballroom, dressed in red, staring directly at Zayn with a smirk.
Their eyes met — Zayn's and the woman's — for barely a second.
But it was enough.
Enough to make Elira's stomach drop.
***
That night, back at the mansion, Elira didn't wait for Zayn to speak first.
"Who is she?"
He blinked. "Who?"
"The woman in red. You knew her."
Zayn's expression darkened. "It's not what you think."
She crossed her arms. "Then explain it to me."
"She's no one important."
"Don't lie to me."
He walked closer, towering over her. "Why do you even care?"
"Because I'm your wife!" she snapped. "Or did you forget?"
A long silence stretched between them.
Finally, Zayn's shoulders dropped. "She's an ex. We had history. And she's not over it."
Elira's heart clenched. "Are you?"
"No."
The breath caught in her throat.
"I'm not over how she used me. Lied to me. Left when I needed her most."
He stepped closer. "But I don't love her. I never did. I was just too lonely to see clearly."
Elira lowered her eyes.
"I'm not her," she whispered.
"I know," Zayn said, softer. "That's why this scares me more."
She didn't know what to say to that.
But when he brushed his fingers against her cheek and said nothing more, part of her wanted to believe him.
And the other part… feared she'd regret it.