Page 7

Valeria

I t was him. Zyon. It had to be; otherwise, I had to admit I was losing my mind.

I only opened my eyes to the sunny morning when I heard the door close.

Chester left the bedroom, and I could finally stop pretending to be asleep.

We had a huge argument last night and said some nasty things, but he never allowed me to go to bed angry.

He tried to justify his actions and explain everything, but I was at the end.

There was nothing he could do to save our marriage.

In our situation, filing for divorce was only a formality.

Releasing a deep, shaky breath, I turned to my right side. The weird moment from two nights ago didn't stop hunting me. I was one hundred percent sure I saw Zyon Zhumagulov under my balcony. But what was he doing there?

It was hard to admit I couldn't stop thinking about him. Never in my entire life had I felt such a strong attraction toward someone I had only met once.

When I met Chester, I was charmed by his intelligence and ability to talk himself out of anything. He was totally out of my league, and his interest flattered me. He took me to expensive restaurants, bought me gifts, and granted my every wish.

He was like a genie, and I was too young to see behind the curtain.

He tied me to him with all the presents and promises, and six months after our first date, I found out I was pregnant.

I was ecstatic about the prospect of a family, and when he proposed, I didn't hesitate for a second and accepted a massive diamond ring that felt like a heavy metal anchor right now.

He sold me a fairy tale, and I bought it with everything like the naive little girl I was.

But our story turned into a nightmare, and I wasn't willing to continue in the charade. Our daughter deserved better. I deserved better. It had to end.

Listening to the sounds behind the wall, I knew Chester was making breakfast, and Zara was in the bathroom, preparing for school.

He was playing the perfect, caring, loving husband.

He knew he fucked up, and for the next few days, he would be the best version of himself.

I knew the drill. If I cooperated, we would be a fairytale family.

It was the same scenario over and over again, but I was tired—so fucking tired of everything.

I lost my spark, the will to live. I was just surviving, and I hated it. I wanted to enjoy life, its ups and downs. I craved an ordinary family with a man who cared for us, not the one who would change us for a pack of cards if it was an option.

Zara and I were better off without him. She was scared of his constant yelling.

She was much calmer when he wasn't at home.

She even peed herself a few times in fear around him, and instead of being a supportive father, he scolded and humiliated her.

And when I tried to protect her, he accused me of being a horrible mother.

It pained me that the man I once loved could say that to me, but what hurt me the most was his ignorance toward his child.

It was outrageous, and I couldn't tolerate it anymore.

A gentle knock on the door woke me from my thoughts, and I lifted my head from the pillow. Zara stuck her cute face inside, smiling innocently.

"I'm leaving for school, Mommy," she beeped. I sat up, stretching my arms toward her. She ran to me, hugged me tightly, and I placed a kiss on top of her head.

"Be good and stay safe, okay?" I brushed her red skirt and adjusted her white top while she looked at me curiously.

"Of course, Mommy." She grinned and kissed my cheek. "Daddy made you breakfast. Have a nice day."

She waved at me and disappeared, and I sighed heavily.

She was so happy when Chester acted normal.

When he showed her affection and cared for her, she was the happiest child on the planet.

But he did it so rarely she almost forgot how it felt.

It was pathetic of him to abuse his child's love like this, and it only affirmed my decision .

After a few more rounds of thinking about how I should tell Chester we were splitting up, my mind drifted back to the dark figure hidden in the shadows.

A buzz of electricity went through my body when I imagined Zyon stalking me like a lion, patiently waiting for an opportunity to strike and catch its prey.

A gazelle wasn't aware of the danger she was in.

She didn't know about the predator watching her.

She would continue her life, blind to the peril lurking around, and when he decided to attack, he would change her life or end it altogether.

A chill ran up my spine at the comparison. As a gazelle, I was quick, elegant, teasing, and appealing to the hungry beast. And him, as a lion, strong, wild, sinister, and lethal. It was a perfect, deadly combination—one that promised adventure, thrill, and tingling in the stomach.

It was a temptation mixed with a raw fear of what would happen. It could be the love story of a lifetime, which would serve as a theme for future romance books, or it could be the disaster of the century, an example that a predator should never play with its dinner.

As I daydreamed about the tall, dark, most probably violent man surrounded by the menacing aura of something evil, my hands found my most private places, and my imagination went wild.

I pictured us in roles of hunter and prey.

He would chase me, and the things my mind showed me that he would do to me made me so aroused that I moaned out loud and trembled with carnal desire for it to happen.

I craved his rough hands around my throat, his fingers digging into my flesh.

I yearned to be trapped under him, unable to escape his punishing bites and hot kisses.

I pounded my pussy like my life depended on it. His uniquely handsome yet diabolical face danced before my eyes when I reached an orgasm. I buried my head in the pillow, staring at the ceiling, trying to catch my breath.

Instantly, as the euphoria lessened, guilt took hold of me. I was still married, and Chester was the father of my child; he didn't deserve this. In the bed he shared with me for years, I fantasized about another man fucking me senseless.

I almost started to cry because of what I had done and my foolishness.

Someone like Zyon Zhumagulov would not use me even as a holder for his bike.

Imagining him having his way with me was highly inappropriate and stupid.

It was just a fantasy that would never happen.

I didn't understand why I was so sure he was under my balcony the other day. It was impossible.

After the incident in the casino, I researched him and his family, and I was shocked by what I found. And when Alice added her point of view into the mix, the dread bubbling in my stomach only grew.

But with it, the excitement of the unknown appeared. Zyon was like a pot of honey to me, if I was a bee. The more things, good or bad, I learned about him, the more I was captivated by him. I knew I would probably never meet him again, but I still hoped to witness his effect on people around him.

I sighed at myself when I replayed our meeting in Adam's office.

I was petrified of what he might do to me or others if he didn't get what he wanted, but I was also totally fascinated by him.

He settled in my head like an annoying bug, stealing all my attention for himself.

I should be thinking about finding myself a new job, apartment, and a divorce lawyer, but all I could think about was our horrible first meeting and the impression I made.

How pathetic it was to dream he would ever come under my balcony in the middle of the night just because he wanted to see me.

Groaning at my stupidity, I lifted myself and dragged my still slightly trembling body into the shower.

The hot water washed away the remains of my morning secret adventure into dreamland, and when I got out, I pushed all thoughts of Zyon to the side.

I had more pressing matters to care for than a hot mafia boss who cost me my job and salary.

I wrapped my naked body while in the wardrobe and walked into the kitchen, finding Chester behind the dining table. He was chewing bread, his eyes focusing on an article in the newspaper spread in front of him.

"You were quick," I said, sitting beside him.

"Traffic was good," he replied, sipping his glass of juice. With his index finger, he tapped his phone screen when a text came through.

I glanced around the table, noticing a thick envelope next to the plate with boiled eggs. Watching my perfectly styled husband cautiously, I opened it. Inside were neatly placed hundred-dollar bills, and I raised my eyebrows.

"What's this?" I asked, expecting an immediate answer. Yesterday, we argued because he claimed we didn't have any money, and today, there was an envelope full of cash on our table. I wasn't stupid. Something shady was in the air .

"The money you asked for," he replied sweetly, finally lifting his eyes from the newspaper. "You can give Zara a birthday party, buy her a present, and pay the mortgage for a few months."

"Where did you get it?" I raised my voice, with my hands trembling. It was nice of him to handle our financial situation, but I was done playing the blind wife.

"That's not important, baby doll. Do whatever you want with it." He stood up and went to leave, but I quickly rose and followed him to the hall.

"It's important if you're doing something illegal!" I yelled, grabbing his arm. He abruptly turned to me, anger evident on his face. We often argued, and our constant shouting was getting out of control.

"You little ungrateful brat," he hissed, stepping toward me, but I refused to back away. I wasn't afraid of him or his insults. Zara wasn't home, so I could freely vent my frustration with him. "I gave you exactly what you wanted."

"You didn't give me a pinch of what I wanted," I snapped, clenching my palm into a fist. Pure fury was consuming my body as I glared into his face. "I'm done begging for crumbs."

"Yeah? What are you planning to do, doll?" he mocked, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "You have no job, money, or family to help you. You're completely alone."

"I have Zara, and that's enough," I spat, looking fiercely into his hazel eyes. He couldn't hurt me—not anymore. "We are leaving you."

"What?" he roared, and my eyes widened in shock. Pure panic washed over me when he punched his fist into the wall next to my head. I heard the cracking sound, but I didn't know if it was the wood or his bones, and he seemed to not care about the pain.

He looked as if he was possessed. He pinned me to the wall with his massive body and grabbed my neck with his bloody hand, squeezing my windpipes. I gasped for air, but he didn't care about my fight for oxygen. He was furious.

"You won't ever leave me, you fucking bitch!" he growled, watching my face redden. I could barely breathe, and he squeezed harder when I didn't confirm his words. "Do you understand ? You and my daughter stay here! ”

"Y-y-yes…" I whispered, tears of pure fright and helplessness escaping my eyes. He threw me on the floor with a disgusted groan, and I covered my sore throat with my trembling hands.

"See what you made me do?" He crouched next to me, moving the hair out of my drenched face. I shook violently, catching much-needed air into my deprived lungs while my heart almost collapsed. He was never violent, and this new version of him scared the shit out of me.

"Remember what I said, baby doll," he hissed in a low voice, his thumb caressing my cheek, but his touch was like a hot iron. It burned me, and all I could think about was getting as far away from him as possible. "You won't ever leave me."

He leaned closer, kissing my forehead while I did my best to suppress loud sobs. I was disgusted by him but too scared to push him away. Only when he left the apartment did I burst into crying.

This shocking turn of events crushed my plans to leave him in peace. I hoped for a conversation in which he would understand my reasons and let Zara and me go.

Obviously, it was only my greatest wish.

And the worst thing was that he was right.

I had no place to go. My parents died years ago.

I had no money, and his mother, despite being a helper, would not go against him and let me stay with her if I wanted to divorce him.

I was all alone, and he just turned into a complete maniac.

I didn’t know what he could do if I ran away with our daughter. And I wasn't sure I wanted to find out after what he'd just done. I was never afraid of my husband, but the last few minutes showed me he could shift into a violent monster.

The fear of leaving him was much stronger than the fear of staying with him, and eventually, I made up my mind. It was safer for me to play by his rules. Zara would live in blissful ignorance until I figured out what to do with our situation.

I was sure I would find a way to escape him with her by my side safely. I just had to be patient. The opportunity would arise, and we would be prepared.