ZARA (ON HOLD)

Chapter 3: Zara

I got off work early, I'd already packed everything I needed for my trip, I bought a two-story house in that town so I don't have to stay at a hotel or penthouse. I hate most hotels, there's only a handful of hotels that I book for business trips.

As my suitcase is already packed I just have to change and wait for Carl to pick me up. Now that I have appointed a new CEO and vice president I can spend as much time as I desire on this trip.

I walked into my house with an exhausted sigh, walking into the kitchen I got a bottle of water from the fridge and gulped down half the content it contained before heading straight for the stairs...

As I swung open the door to my serene master bedroom, a soothing forest green hue enveloped me. The room's tranquil ambiance was enhanced by the plush king-size bed, adorned with crisp green sheets and snowy white pillows. Two sleek bedside lamps, mounted on the wall behind the bed, cast a warm glow, while the adjacent loveseats and round tea table, nestled on a cozy rug, invited relaxation. The large sliding glass door, leading to a narrow balcony, offered a breathtaking view of the city skyline.

After freshening up in my spacious walk-in closet, I emerged wearing black skinny jeans, a vibrant red T-shirt, and white sneakers, my hair styled in a high ponytail. As I descended the stairs, the doorbell rang, and I strode towards the entrance, opening it to find a young delivery boy, no more than sixteen or seventeen years old, clutching two pizza boxes. His misty eyes and tear-stained cheeks tugged at my heartstrings, and I frowned, concerned.

A closer glance revealed whipped marks on his arms, and a surge of unknown anger coursed through my veins. How could anyone be so cruel to this innocent child? "Good afternoon, ma'am," he greeted, his voice trembling. I stepped aside, inviting him in, my protective instincts kicking in. "Come in," I said, my tone gentle, as I ushered him into the safety of my home.

My words caught him off guard, and he instinctively shook his head, but my stern glare left no room for argument. He hesitated for a moment before complying, his eyes darting around the room as if seeking an escape. I closed the door behind him, my gaze never wavering, and followed him to the living room where he placed the pizza boxes on the coffee table.

Without a word, I retrieved the first aid kit from the shelf near the TV, its contents rattling softly as I walked towards him. My movements were deliberate, my intention clear: to tend to his wounds and offer a semblance of comfort. The boy's eyes widened, a mix of fear and gratitude flickering across his face as he realized I meant to help. I stopped in front of him, the first aid kit at the ready, and gently began to examine the whipped marks on his arms.

"Sit down and lemme take a look, take off the shirt as well," I told him sitting down and setting down a stool in front of me, this time around he did as he was told hesitantly.

The sight that met my eyes had my hands tightening into fists, at first  I was angered but now I'm raging with madness. Without a word, he sat down and I began disinfecting the wounds, I applied some ointment and gave him a new shirt to put on.

"Thank you," he muttered with gratitude. I hummed in acknowledgment as I looked back at him.

As I gazed into his baby-blue eyes, a deep shade reminiscent of a clear summer sky, I asked softly, "What's your name?" It was a question that had never occurred to me before, despite our previous encounters. His eyes darted around the room, as if seeking permission to reveal his identity, before responding in a barely audible whisper, "I'm Steven, ma'am."

My raised brows prompted him to elaborate on his absence from school. "Why didn't you go to school?" I asked, my tone laced with concern. His lips pursed, and he looked away, as if the memory itself was painful. "I dropped out two months ago," he replied, his voice tinged with a grimace, a mixture of shame and resignation.