Warmth. Pain. A distant ringing in her ears.
Zoya's body felt heavy, her limbs weak, yet she knew she was not alone. The room was too bright, the sterile scent thick in her nose. Voices murmured around her—urgent, hushed, almost frantic. But she couldn't focus on them.
A cry pierced through the haze.
A baby.
Her chest tightened. She tried to move, tried to lift her arms, to reach out, but her body wouldn't respond. The cry grew louder, desperate, as if pleading for her. Her heart pounded against her ribs.
Her vision blurred. Her head spun.
Then—blackness.
Cold air rushed against her skin.
The weightlessness hit first, then the violent lurch in her stomach. She was falling. The car spun wildly, headlights cutting through the darkness, the cliffside a blur as gravity pulled her down. Her hands gripped the wheel, knuckles white, but there was no control. No stopping.
A voice.
Or maybe voices.
"You ruined everything."
"Don't trust him."
"Save the child."
The words tangled, overlapping, their tones foreign and familiar all at once. She tried to focus, to recognize them, but the wind roared in her ears, drowning everything else out.
A final jolt.
The sickening crunch of metal.
The world shattered.
And just like every other night, Zoya gasped awake.
Her body jerked upright, her breath coming in ragged pants, her skin damp with sweat. The room was cold, the air thick, yet she still felt the phantom warmth of the dream clinging to her.
A slow clap echoed from the corner.
She turned, heart hammering.
The man was there, lounging in the same chair, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Ah," he mused, tilting his head. "It seems the past is knocking, after all."
Zoya exhaled sharply, running a trembling hand through her hair. "You're late."
A low chuckle. "Time is such an illusion, little one. I was never truly gone. Just… waiting."
"Waiting for what?"
"For you to be ready."
A flick of his fingers, lazy, elegant. "Now, shall we continue?"
She hesitated, chewing on her bottom lip. "Before you do, I need to know something."
He tilted his head, intrigued.
"The dreams," she whispered. "They feel too real. The car… the screaming… the fall. And the baby. My baby." She swallowed. "Are they real?"
A long pause.
Then, a smile. "All stories have their time, Zoya. Yours is unraveling piece by piece. You cannot force memory the way one forces open a locked door. Sometimes, it must seep in, uninvited."
Her fingers clenched the sheets. "That's not an answer."
"Isn't it?" His voice was drenched in mischief. "Patience, little one."
Frustration simmered beneath her skin. "Fine. Just—keep going."
His lips curled at the corners. "Where were we? Ah, yes. The boy you saved. The one with the foolish heart."
Her father was furious.
The room reeked of cigars and anger, the sharp scent of whiskey mixing with his rage. Zoya stood before him, shoulders squared, chin lifted in defiance. She had seen him angry before. But this… this was something else.
"You cost me," Razael hissed, his voice low, controlled, but vibrating with barely contained fury. "You let those emotions—those normal kids—corrupt your judgment."
Her jaw locked. "I did what was right."
His laughter was cruel. "Right? Right? You think there is right and wrong in our world, little girl?" He stepped forward, towering over her. "There is power. And there is weakness. And you, my dear, have made it painfully clear which one you are."
Her hands curled into fists, nails digging into her palms.
"So what now?" she challenged. "You want to punish me? Lock me away?"
His smirk was pure venom. "Exactly."
And just like that, Zoya's world shrank.
She was stripped of her school, of her outings. The walls of the estate became her prison. Guards watched her every move. But it didn't stop him.
Ryan came back.
Every night, he found a way. Slipping past the perimeter, climbing over the balcony. At first, she told him to leave—snapped at him, warned him of the consequences. But he never listened.
"You saved me," he told her one night, sitting cross-legged on the cold stone floor of her balcony. "Now it's my turn."
She snorted. "I'm not the one who needed saving."
Ryan held her gaze. "Aren't you?"
She had no answer to that.
And so, she let him stay.
She snuck out. She met him. She tasted the kind of life she never had. And when he asked about Razael, about Azan, she lied.
"He's my stepfather," she told him, looking away. "I don't like him."
It was safer that way.
Safer, until she learned the truth.
Zoya's fingers twitched. "Azan… he was behind Ryan's kidnapping?"
The man in the shadows chuckled. "Of course."
She swallowed hard. "Why?"
"Ah, little one. Why does the predator hunt the rabbit? Why does the storm devour the sky? Some things are simply inevitable."
She shook her head. "That's not an answer—"
"But it is," he murmured, his amusement deepening. "Azan saw something in you. He always did. But you—you were too busy looking at the boy to notice the wolf circling."
She exhaled, pressing a hand to her temple. "God."
"Speaking of distractions," he drawled. "There was another, wasn't there? A girl. A girlfriend."
Zoya frowned. "Ryan never—" She stopped.
The realization hit hard.
Ryan did have a girlfriend.
She just never knew.
She found out too late. By then, Ryan had already broken up with her. And the girl—oh, she didn't take it well.
It was at a party. A party Zoya shouldn't have been at. But Ryan had insisted, had practically dragged her there, laughing, teasing. And then, the girlfriend saw them. Heard them.
And she acted.
A picture.
A single picture of Zoya.
A whisper on the dark web.
A price on her head.
And before she knew what was happening, hands grabbed her. A cloth pressed to her mouth. The world tilted.
And then—darkness.
Zoya gripped the sheets, heart pounding. "I was kidnapped."
The man smiled. "Oh, yes. And it was glorious."
Her stomach twisted. "Ryan—"
"—was useless. So he did the only thing he could. He called him."
A pause.
"Azan."
His smile widened. "The devil always answers, little one."
Zoya's breath came shallow, her mind racing.
Her rescue. The engagement.
She closed her eyes. "No."
The man leaned forward.
"Yes," he whispered. "Your father announced your engagement to Azan that very night. And you, my dear, were never given a choice."
Zoya's eyes snapped open, her pulse roaring in her ears.
And the man, ever so amused, simply watched.
"Shall we continue?"