It's a fact that you can't help who you fall in love with. And for Rosaline Davenport and him, it definitely shouldn't have been each other.
Because, sometimes, love stories have blood on them.
[warning: this is the mother of all slow-burns]
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【 09.
Nine
Aagh aur Baraf 】
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[ Aagh aur Baraf • Fire and Ice ]
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ZACHARY LETS GO of his hold on her—on Rosaline—like he’s just touched burning metal, and has to swallow a breath of air to fully register the fact that he has really just found himself in this situation.
All too soon though, he catches the awkward footing of the woman, the wince of her eyes—and then she loses her balance, almost like she has trouble keeping her ankles straight and steady—and on pure instinct, his arm reaches out to grab her yet again, his fingers wrapping all the way around her forearm, and pulling her into an upright position.
“Can you not stand straight?” He snaps, fuming at that primal instinct in him to help the damn woman even when every bit of him still loathes her mere presence and all the misfortunes she represents in his life.
Her eyes flash to his, every bit as cold as they were at the dawn of the New Year in that hospital room, shooting out icicles the same they did when she told him she wished he went down with that plane to Paris.
And then she yanks her arm out his hold, places her other hand on his chest and shoves him away, catching Zachary by surprise at the strength in that action despite her not being able to even stand completely still.
Rosaline stumbles again, but this time she’s quicker, and throws out an arm against the wall to support her weight, the heel of her palm accidentally slamming into the button that summons the elevators. And as if on cue, Zachary hears the soft melody that signals an elevator is on its way up.
He lifts an eyebrow at her as if to make a point, and she glares right back.
Out of all the hotels in this city… Zachary shakes his head to himself, wondering why his luck always happens to run out and turn sour when it comes to this particular woman.
Walk away, Zach, he tells himself. Just walk away. It doesn’t have to turn ugly. Walk away.
Zachary can maybe put a lid on his anger for now—maybe he can just turn around abruptly and walk towards his room here on the sixth floor of the hotel. He doesn’t have to deal with a confrontation with the woman—at least, not today. He can just walk aw—
“What are you even doing here?” Rosaline’s cutting voice snaps him out of his mental debate, where the side that urged him to just make his way to his room without blowing a fuse was winning.
