WHAT WE NEVER SAID |18+

Married

Zara’s POV

The sun was barely up when I heard the loud rumble of Zayden’s sports car pulling into the driveway, followed by the buzzing swarm of reporters outside my window. I clenched my jaw, irritation bubbling up as I imagined him stepping out with that infuriating smirk, loving every second of the attention. He probably thought the whole world revolved around him.

I glanced at myself in the mirror, my wedding dress half-zipped, hair tousled as if I'd just been through a wind tunnel. Perfect, I thought sarcastically. The wedding planner was frantically adjusting the layers of tulle, but my mind was focused on the man outside, giving interviews like he was on the red carpet.

As if on cue, the door to my suite flew open. I whipped around, ready to snap at whoever it was, but the words caught in my throat when I saw him standing there—Zayden, leaning casually against the doorframe, eyes raking over me like he was sizing me up.

“Do you ever knock?” I snapped, yanking the dress zipper higher. His presence felt like an invasion, and the way he looked at me—like he knew exactly how much he was getting under my skin—made my blood boil.

He closed the door behind him, his movements slow, deliberate. “Relax, Ashford. It’s not like I haven’t seen you before.” His voice was low, a teasing edge that sent a shiver down my spine despite myself. He strolled closer, eyes glinting with amusement as they lingered on the half-done state of my dress. “Or are you nervous?”

I turned away, trying to focus on fixing my veil in the mirror, but I could feel him right behind me, close enough that I could catch the faint scent of his cologne. “You wish,” I retorted, but the waver in my voice betrayed me.

His fingers brushed the loose strap of my dress, grazing my shoulder. It was the lightest touch, but it sent a jolt through me. “You’re shaking, Zara,” he murmured, his breath hot against my ear. His voice was almost gentle, but there was an edge to it, like he was testing how far he could push me before I snapped.

I whipped around, smacking his hand away. “Don’t touch me,” I hissed, but even to my own ears, the words lacked the force I intended. He caught my wrist before I could pull back, his grip firm but not painful, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my pulse race.

“Or what?” he challenged, his voice dropping lower, almost a growl. “You’ll scream? Run to the reporters? Tell them that you’re scared of your own groom?”

I yanked my hand free, glaring up at him. “You think you can intimidate me, Drakon? You think just because you’re standing there, acting like you’ve got everything under control, that you can make me back down?” I stepped closer, refusing to let him see the effect he was having on me, the way my skin buzzed where he’d touched me. “I don’t need you to hold my hand, and I sure as hell don’t need you to stand here and pretend like you care.”

Zayden’s smirk softened, but there was a fire behind his eyes, a challenge in the way he tilted his head closer to mine. His lips were inches away from my ear as he spoke, his voice a dark whisper. “Who says I’m pretending?”

My breath hitched, and for a second, the room seemed to shrink, the space between us charged with something I couldn’t name. I could feel the heat of his body, the way his chest rose and fell with each breath, and it made my thoughts scatter in a thousand directions. His fingers ghosted over the bare skin of my arm, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

“Zayden, stop,” I said, but my voice came out softer than I intended. He leaned back slightly, enough to look into my eyes, his expression unreadable.

“Why?” he asked, his tone mocking yet curious, as if he was daring me to admit the truth—daring me to say that maybe, just maybe, this tension between us wasn’t entirely one-sided. “Because you’re afraid of what might happen if I don’t?”