Chapter 2: Afterglow
Warm light filtered through the curtains, casting soft golden lines across the room. It brushed against my skin like a whisper, gentle and coaxing, pulling me from the weight of sleep.
My eyes fluttered open slowly, the haze in my mind retreating like a fading storm. The room was unfamiliar. Clean. Expensive. The sheets beneath me were soft, the scent of magic faint in the air—not mine.
I sat up too quickly. My head pounded, and memories came in fragments.
Blood in the hallway. A hand dragging me into the room. Lips against mine.
Him.
A voice—cool and smooth, like glass over fire—cut through the silence. "Oh, you're awake."
I turned my head.
A man stood across the room, freshly out of the shower, his white hair damp and tousled, a towel slung low on his hips. He looked too comfortable, too amused.
Those eyes—piercing gray, steady, unreadable—watched me with the kind of focus that made my skin crawl.
I yanked the blanket tighter around me on instinct. "Where are my clothes?"
He didn't answer immediately. Just tilted his head and pointed casually to the floor. I followed his gaze. I stared at the pile of torn fabric on the floor, my mouth tightening into a thin line. My gear—destroyed. Damn it.
He spoke again, unbothered. "Relax. I already had my assistant bring you fresh clothes. They'll arrive shortly."
I didn't thank him. "Who are you?"
He arched a brow. "You know, it's usually polite to introduce yourself first."
I stared, unblinking.
He raised his hands in mock surrender, a faint smirk playing at his lips. "Zevren Lancaster."
That name… it tugged at something in the back of my mind. Familiar. Distant. Where had I heard it before?
Before I could grasp the memory, he tilted his head, voice rich with amusement. "And you? What's your name, little lady?"
Little lady? I blinked at him, unimpressed. My glare could've sliced through iron. "Did you just call me little lady?"
He only chuckled, as if I were entertaining.
I straightened my spine, despite the ache in my head and body. "Zaira Pembroke."
"Zaira," he repeated softly, like he was tasting the name on his tongue. Then he added, far too casually, "That's a cute name."
I opened my mouth, ready to snap back, but a knock interrupted.
Zevren turned and opened the door without a word. A man, early thirties, stood there holding neatly folded clothes in his arms.
"Sir, here are the clothes you requested."
Zevren took them with a nod, about to close the door when the man added, "Also, sir—your grandmother insisted you attend dinner tonight with the Pembroke family. She says it's time to officially announce your engagement to their only daughter."
I froze.
The name Pembroke rang in my ears like a warning bell.
My name.
I stayed silent, hidden behind the edge of the wall, but my mind spun. That's why his name had sounded so damn familiar.
And in that moment, two truths hit me hard:
One—I had been drugged when I let my guard down last night.
Two—I had just woken up in the room of the man who would soon become my husband.
Zevren Lancaster.
The fiancé I had never met—until now.
The door clicked shut.
I stepped out from behind the wall, arms crossed tightly over the blanket wrapped around me. "You knew."
Zevren didn't flinch. He just set the clothes down on a nearby chair, calm as ever. "Knew what, exactly?"
"Don't play dumb with me." My voice was sharp, cold. "You knew who I was. You knew exactly who I was."
His gaze lifted, steady and unreadable. "I had a suspicion when I first awoke this morning. It only became clearer when you introduced your name"
Zevren's calm admission only made the heat in my chest rise.
"A suspicion?" I echoed bitterly. "So you thought, oh, maybe I'm about to sleep with the daughter of the family I'm being forced to marry—better double check after?"
He shrugged, unbothered. "Would it have changed anything?"
I clenched my jaw. "Yes. I wouldn't have let you touch me."
He stepped closer, slow and deliberate. "But you did."
I took a step back. "You're unbelievable."
"And you're still here," he murmured, voice low. "Wrapped in my sheets. Wearing nothing but your pride and that blanket."
My hand twitched at my side, aching to reach for a blade that wasn't there. "This doesn't mean anything."
"Maybe not to you," he said with a quiet edge. "But our families will see it differently. They planned this union for politics. Power. And now, we've handed them the perfect story: a scandal turned engagement."
I looked away, biting the inside of my cheek.
What he said was true, because I got drugged last night this happened. Maybe I should just be glad he's the one I had slept with. Of course I am not going to admit to that.
Zevren didn't stop me as I grabbed the clothes and stormed into the bathroom.
I slammed the door behind me, heart pounding louder than it had any right to.
The mirror stared back at me—my reflection a mess of tangled hair, flushed cheeks, and tired eyes. I hated how vulnerable I looked. Hated even more that a part of me agreed with him. That if it had to be anyone... at least it was Zevren.
But that didn't mean I trusted him. Or wanted this.
I turned the faucet on and let cold water run through my fingers before splashing it on my face. The chill grounded me, pushed away the haze.
I dried my face, pulled on the fresh clothes, but had difficulties with the zipper.
I tugged at the zipper again, teeth gritted. Why in the world would he buy a zip-up dress? I was halfway between yanking it off and setting it on fire when I heard the door creak open behind me.
Before I could snap, warm fingers brushed against my back.
"Allow me," Zevren said, voice low—far too close.
I froze.
His hand moved slowly, deliberately, pulling the zipper up with a smooth motion that sent a chill racing down my spine. The heat of his breath brushed my ear as he leaned in, his tone a soft murmur.
"Shall I send you home, Zaira?"
A shiver rippled through me before I could stop it. Damn him.
I stepped forward quickly, putting space between us as I adjusted the hem of the dress. "I'll find my own way."
He only chuckled behind me, and I hated how it lingered in the air like smoke—warm, curling, and impossible to ignore.
As I walked out of the room, I could feel his presence behind me—calm, amused, and far too smug for someone who had drugged me by proxy. I stopped at the elevator and jabbed the button, keeping my eyes ahead.
"You know," he drawled, stepping beside me, "you should really work on your gratitude. I did save you last night."
I scoffed. "By taking advantage of me? Forgive me for not sending you a fruit basket."
His lips quirked. "Technically, I didn't take advantage of you. And technically, I'm not the one who pounced first."
Flashback of what happened last night resurfaced and I blush. But immediately composed myself.
I turned to glare at him. "I was drugged. That doesn't count."
"...Still, I'd say it was a memorable first kiss."
"I've had better," I lied smoothly.
He chuckled, the sound rich and infuriating. "Liar."
The elevator dinged, and we stepped inside. I kept my arms crossed, ignoring how my pulse skipped with each breath of his lingering scent—spiced cedar and something faintly magical.
When we reached the ground floor, he gestured to the sleek black car idling at the curb.
"I thought you said you'd find your own way," he said, opening the door for me like a damn gentleman.
"I'm not above free rides," I muttered, sliding in.
He joined me in the driver's seat, hands light on the wheel as he started the engine. "Smart girl. At least you're not completely stubborn."
I shot him a glare. "Don't get used to it."
He grinned, shifting into gear. "Wouldn't dream of it, little lady."
"Oh, I will kill you."
And with that, the car pulled away from the curb.
The car ride was silent—not the tense kind, but the kind that settled into your skin, oddly comforting. The soft hum of the engine, the occasional whisper of tires on asphalt, and the quiet between us felt…natural. Too natural, maybe.
I glanced out the window, watching the city blur past.
"Do you even know where my house is?"
"Of course I know," he replied, eyes still on the road. "I've been there a couple of times with Father. Your mother always made me eat those terrible rose-petal pastries."
I turned sharply to look at him. "You've met my mother?"
He smirked. "She said I had 'too many secrets in my eyes.' I took it as a compliment."
I rolled my eyes. "She probably meant you looked untrustworthy."
He tilted his head, grinning. "Same difference."
I shook my head and leaned back, unsure if I wanted to scream or laugh. "This is going to be a disaster."
"You say that like it hasn't already started."
As Zevren's sleek black car pulled into the long, stone-paved driveway of the Pembroke estate, the gates had already been opened—no doubt someone had spotted the familiar vehicle on the security feed. I hated that. I hated how seamlessly he fit into this world. Into my world.
The car slowed to a stop in front of the grand entrance.
I didn't move right away. Neither did he.
"You sure you don't want me to walk you to the door?" he asked, voice casual but layered with something unreadable.
I gave him a side-eye. "Why would you do that?"
I reached for the door, but his hand shot out to stop me.
"Wait a minute," he said, slipping out of his side with a smoothness that irritated me more than it should've. He walked around the car and opened my door with a practiced ease.
A gentleman. Of course.
I rolled my eyes and stepped out just as the front doors burst open.
"Oh, Zaira! My baby, why didn't you come home last night?" My mother's voice rang out, thick with concern and just the right amount of maternal guilt.
I straightened as she hurried over in her silk robe, eyes flicking between me and—
"Hello, Aunt Pembroke," Zevren said politely, dipping his head.
She blinked at him. "Zevren? What are you doing—"
Her gaze dropped to the faint, lingering mark on my neck.
Oh no.
I instinctively tugged at my collar, but it was too late. The knowing glint in my mother's eyes sharpened like a blade.
"Oh," she said, drawing out the word with unbearable delight. "Oh."
"Mother," I warned, but she was already stepping forward, linking her arm with mine as if we were about to host a royal banquet.
"This is wonderful," she practically beamed. "You two are getting along so well. I told your father there was chemistry."
I blinked. "We are not—"
But she waved me off like my protests were background noise. "Come in, come in. We must inform the others at once. They'll be thrilled!"
I shot a look at Zevren, who only shrugged with a maddeningly smug grin, hands in his pockets like this was the most amusing thing he'd seen all week.
"This is not over," I muttered under my breath.
"Oh, I certainly hope not," he murmured back, voice low and infuriating. "We've only just begun, fiancée."
.....