WHAT WE NEVER SAID |18+

Honeymoon suite

Zara's POV

The silence in the car is heavy as we drive toward our honeymoon suite. I’m sitting beside him—my husband, of all things. It still doesn’t feel real. I feel like I’m watching someone else’s life unfold, like I’ve stepped into a role I never auditioned for. I mean, I’m actually married to Zayden, the one person I absolutely cannot stand. This can’t be my life. It feels like a nightmare, and I’m waiting for someone to snap their fingers and pull me out of it.

I slump back into the seat, staring out the window, trying to ignore him, but the exhaustion is settling into my bones. I’m tired—mentally, emotionally, and physically. I don’t know if I have the energy to keep up this act, to pretend like this arrangement means anything more than what it is: a practical joke from the universe.

Suddenly, the car comes to a stop, jarring me from my thoughts. I glance outside and see where we’ve arrived: the country’s most luxurious resort. Tall pillars, grand chandeliers, and a sprawling entryway that screams wealth and status. The driver comes around and opens my door, and I step out, feeling like I’m stepping onto a stage in a play I want no part of.

I’m just trying to ground myself, to take in the reality of this moment, when I feel a warm hand clasp mine. Startled, I look down, and there’s Zayden, holding my hand as if we’re the picture-perfect couple. My first instinct is to yank my hand back and give him an earful, but before I can react, he tilts his head slightly, his eyes motioning to the right. Confused, I follow his gaze—and there they are. The paparazzi, cameras flashing, eyes glued to us, feeding off every single expression, every move we make. Of course. They’re probably waiting to see if we’ll act like a real couple or if there’s trouble in paradise already. Can they not give us one moment of peace? Do they need to capture every second, even now?

With a resigned sigh, I let Zayden lead me inside, deciding to put on a show for the cameras, at least for a few moments. We make our way through the grand lobby, finally escaping the prying eyes, and enter our suite. The door closes behind us, shutting out the noise and the expectations, leaving just the two of us and a heavy silence.

The moment we’re alone, I drop the act entirely. I slip off my shoes, peel off the lacy gloves that have been itching at my wrists, and pull back the heavy veil draped over my shoulders. I collapse onto the edge of the bed, my head spinning, and take a deep breath, letting the exhaustion sink in. I’m supposed to be an actress, someone who lives for the spotlight, but even I have my limits. Right now, I just feel drained, like all the energy has been sucked out of me. Am I even cut out for this? Being in front of a camera is one thing, but playing this real-life role, pretending to be married to the person I can barely tolerate, is a whole different game.

Zayden glanced at me with that familiar, annoyingly smug smirk. "Getting a bit too desperate to sleep with me, aren’t you?" he teased, his eyes sparkling with a mischievous glint that only made my irritation spike.

I shot him a hard look, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Please. I’d rather sleep on the floor than even think about sharing a bed with you."

He chuckled, clearly amused by my reaction. "Good choice," he said smoothly, tossing two pillows in my direction. "Enjoy yourself down there, then. Good night."

I just stared at him, my mouth dropping open slightly in disbelief. Was he actually serious right now? Part of me had expected him to keep pushing, maybe even try to bargain or compromise—but nope, he was perfectly happy to let me take the floor without a second thought. Before I could muster a sharp comeback, he continued, looking all too pleased with himself.

"After all, you’re Zara Ashford—the girl who never backs down, even from her own stubborn words. So go ahead, make yourself comfortable on the floor or wherever you like. Just not the bed…unless," he added with a smirk, "you’re actually tempted to have a little fun."