Zayd, Zayd, where's Zayd? 

Well, here he is, lol. 

random note about Zayd's existence: Back in the previous version, the character of Zayd had kinda immediately sprung upon the storyline, and that too in the third book with no prior mention of him. Back then, I introduced him out of nowhere because I felt Rico and Belle's story was going too smoothly, and there was no conflict. 

Because let's admit it, Rico was such a goody-goody compared to Areston. Actually, they're no match. That's why I've kept saying from beginning of the story, Areston is not Riccardo. Riccardo was compassionate, empath, and understanding—qualities we look for in men that exist in real life. Areston is everything we shouldn't look for in real life, lol. Someone rightly labeled him in yesterday's update 'a black flag'. I agree. He's not even a red, but BLACKEST OF BLACK flag. But that's what makes this a dark romance, right? He's the morally grey, anti-hero, and I suppose just like me, you're also in love with him for who he is. So, coming back to the point, because of who Areston is and Riccardo wasn't, this version has been full of conflicts from start till now, but previous one wasn't because Riccardo could never be as overbearing and toxic as Areston. 

Which is why I needed RicoBelle to have some conflict. I was watching Sex and The City 2 movie, and I saw Aiden-Carrie's meet scene in Abu Dhabhi that caused a conflict between Big and Carrie. I got suddenly inspired by it and that's how Zayd's existence came into being. 

I remember how controversial Zayd-Juliette meet turned out to be, lol. In this version, however, I wanted him involved right from the start because not only he's one of the leading spin-off characters of The Scent Universe, but he's the ONLY real competition to Areston. The ONLY character that can trigger him because he's the only person who can make Areston feel threatened and insecure. I wanted the Zayd-Juliette meeting to be more authentic. I'll leave you to read and give me your thoughts. 

again a long update, but it was important and I hope you enjoy! 

💗💗💗

Demons residing in your head never leave. 

They remain buried in the depths until stirred awake—anything and everything is a likely trigger. You never know. 

There's no way to obliterate those demons, so what you do is fight them, subdue them, cage them, and make them too weak to fight and survive against your will.

That's what my husband says, and we're on the same page about that fact.

The said demon in my head has woken up and is clawing at the periphery of my mind, inundating my head with darkness so rampant it's pressing against my skull. 

Every breath is a tussle, the force of it crushing my chest as if something grotesque, deeply repulsive, and heavy has parked itself there, feeding off my despair.

The silence around me only amplifies the noise in my head—the writhing, snarling kind that doesn't let me rest. 

It's a darkness that I am unable to escape, burgeoning with every heartbeat, swamping me whole from the inside out.

I stand by the edge of the pool, absentmindedly staring at the glistening blue water, lit up by all the lights dancing on its surface. 

It appears too calm—tormentingly calm—while my insides feel like an invisible pair of hands are squeezing them.

The feeling is similar to that awfully familiar feeling from the time I'd tried to drown myself in the pool at The Rothschild Mansion during one of my unsuccessful suicide attempts.

No, this not only feels similar to drowning, it is drowning.

The only difference is that the water isn't lodged in my throat this time; instead, it's wrapped around my heart, constricting and squashing with every passing second.

Do you know the difference between you and me, wife? I will always be all in, while you'll keep coming up with ways to suffocate yourself when things don't go your way and pin the blame on me. It's classic you. I never expected it to change because leopards can't change their spots. I was counting on this to happen sooner than later. Needing things your way regardless of how wrong they are and then feeling smothered when it doesn't happen and blaming it on me is fundamentally deep-rooted in your nature. It's impossible to alter. Doesn't matter if a decade passes or a lifetime. It's who you are, just what your mother molded you to me, no matter how hard you work to prove me otherwise.

How dare he?

Every step I've taken, everything I've done, and every wall I've torn to let him believe me means nothing to him.

How many times have I convinced myself that he's just taking time to trust me, but he will eventually? That he's starting to realize it, feeling it in the way I give myself to him without hesitation and complaints? 

I have bared myself—my soul, my everything—and still, somehow, that isn't enough for him.

In his eyes, I'll never change. 

Nothing I do, nothing I give up, would ever erase the version of me he remembers from the past. I can feel its weight sinking into my bones. 

I cannot believe he has been confidently waiting for something like this to happen. He has been counting on it. 

To him, I am still the girl who left him once and could leave him again. He has been waiting for me the moment I'd inevitably fail him again.

While I've been slogging so hard to regain his trust and making sure to do everything so that I wouldn't lose him again, that's how little he thinks of me. 

Maybe it'll never change. 

It's almost laughable how I'd hoped that if I gave him enough, his distrust in me would fade away. But no. I'm still as untrustworthy as I was the night we met on the street after eleven years.

The invisible cut marks on my wrist start clawing at me as if they're fresh, and my hand immediately shoots to touch it.

I'd wanted space from him, from his hurtful remarks, and from his overpowering presence, hadn't I?

I begged for it, even though I shouldn't have had to because it's my fundamental right. Yet I did. What for, though?

This crushing emptiness that has found its way back into me is making me feel like Areston didn't just leave me alone. 

He has confiscated the air I need to survive, rendering me gasping for it. Without even being here, he's forcing me to run back to him because while he wants me to exist for him, he simply won't distance between us. He has expertly made me so addicted to him that it's both physically and mentally impossible for me to breathe during our time apart.

I've become so comfortable with the shackles he has wrapped in me—the ones disguised as love and protection, designed to tighten every time I try to step out of our shared space—that I am finding myself craving them. 

How sick is it that even now, when the weight of him having crushed my trust is drowning me, I still crave those shackles and him? That I need him and those shackles even if they drag me to the bottom. 

I am so pathetic and weak that even now, I want him to hold me and fill this void that has reopened since his departure and only seems to be growing with every passing second. This is absolute madness.

This distance was supposed to help me breathe and gain some clarity—something that was impossible in his presence that started feeling so stifling. I was supposed to use this time to retrospect all the events from today. 

But now, as I stand by the pool with my arms wrapped tightly around my body, I realize how utterly wrong I have been to think that distance would help. It hasn't. 

When has it ever, anyway? It's hollowing me out, leaving me in the lurch in the very solitude I believed I needed.

Ten minutes, he haughtily said as if that short amount of time was supposed to sift me through all of this mess. It's not enough because here I am—more anxious and sad and hurt than before.

I don't know why, but I feel like asking for space has betrayed our relationship and broken my vow to him. I shouldn't feel that way, not after the way he has bared his brutally hurtful perception of me, but yet I do.

I vowed never to introduce the concept of space between us ever again, considering what happened eleven years ago, to always be by his side and deal with it together—no matter how difficult the situation is. And yet, I've been so desperate for it tonight that I asked for what I swore I never would.

Ever since we got back together, there has been only one such instance apart from today when I had to beg him for a distance. He surprised me by giving it to me, even if reluctantly and with severe conditions attached, just like he did today. I needed it after having learned about the nature of his involvement with Darina.

Back then, I wanted to be alone, but I couldn't bring myself to be. How could I have? For better or worse... I had vowed, and I wanted to obey it with all my heart. So, I'd ended up asking him to be with me, letting him hold my pinky finger while I processed everything. I needed him close, needed his presence to anchor me from drifting into the vast sea of my thoughts.

You are a part of me. I can't leave a significant part of my body and soul here as I process everything in solitude. I am mad, but not at you. I need distance, but not from you. Even in the most challenging moments, you are still my anchor, and I am yours. I am touching you, but not fully and just with this pinky finger, because while I need space, I need you to be by my side, grounding me, keeping me from sailing far away in the sea of my thoughts. Not that I don't trust myself, but you promised to be my anchor, and I want you to fulfill your role. I need you close as I sort through my fucked thoughts on my own.

Even now, I am unable to be alone. However, unlike last time, I do not want his presence grounding me as I contemplate in the silence and delude myself into thinking I have gained the space.

My heart is pounding in my chest.

He's the one who has betrayed my trust, crushed it to pieces, and mocked it, and yet I am the one who he deems untrustworthy?

Did I make a mistake by putting my blind faith in me while knowing he's a man who's ruthless about his pursuits and doesn't care about the collateral damage his actions leave in its wake?

The fact that I even have to ponder that very thought is like a noose choking my oxygen pipe.

How can he still be so bitter about the past? We're married, for fuck's sake.

How could he keep something so big from me—after everything we've been through? He never keeps anything from me. Why this, then? He knows I'd happily jump into fire for him and turn into ash—no questions asked, believing he'd never let me jump, let alone burn.

My faith in him feels like a mockery now, rattled by the sinking realization that he made decisions behind my back without counting me as his equal and kept me in the dark about it until I found out about it from a third person. I am not even rattled by the revelation of a hostile takeover anymore. It's the ruthless manner in which my husband has kept that information from me and how he reacted when I found out. Even when I asked him earlier, he kept me in the dark and gave me a false sense of calm. 

As though my trust, bestowed so wholly and blindly, means shit to him. He has no conscience to apologize for it. As if my feelings about it mean nothing, and I am just supposed to accept whatever he throws at me.

And if that wasn't enough, he dares to bring up our past to make me feel guilty and gaslight me into accepting his behavior when I question his double standards.

It stings—no, it guts me.

My tears fall freely, and I hate it—I hate how pathetic he has made me feel, how vulnerable and insignificant.

He thinks I am overreacting on Lev's part. I am not.

It might not feel like a massive deal to him or anyone else, but to me, it is. I wouldn't have cared what he does to Lev in business if it was some other time. I know that when he said he'd save Adonis's legacy, then he would. But why would he push Lev through the painful phase, knowing it'll only drain Lev's time and attention—the time and attention his poor son needs? 

Even if Lev was the one who goaded him, it could have been out of frustration and agony when he saw my husband had left him no other option. I witnessed those emotions in his eyes on the call today. Areston knew how sensitive I am when it comes to that child. If not for Lev, he could have spared the whole deal for my sake.

But he didn't. Just like he never considered me on the same level as him or any of his male friends to know about his business deals—deals that involve my friends and deals that should include me, if not as his wife, than his personal attorney. 

He and Kaden conspired to keep that part from me and succeeded. 

I can see it all clear now. 

While I was trying to be a shield for my husband by taking the position of his private attorney, he has never wanted me as a shield because he doesn't think that highly of me. All this time, I've been the kid asking for candies, and he and his best friend have been handing them out to me by keeping important matters to themselves and taking my help on trivial matters so I don't have complaints. 

I am such a fool to have thought that my husband trusts my capabilities and intelligence as not only a criminal lawyer but a woman who's at the helm of the biggest media empire in the world and an heir to the world's largest conglomerate.

And despite all of this, I still know that if only Areston had let me in just to keep me in the loop, I might have understood.

I wouldn't have felt the kind of hurt I'm feeling right now.

He treated my feelings as something even lesser than irrelevant and sidelined my judgment as if it didn't matter—as if I didn't matter.

My heart pounds as I replay all the events of the day—the drama during FaceTime with Lev, our ride here, the revelation about Aetherwings, and my husband's cold detachment throughout it.

It isn't just my crushed trust that hurts me the most. It's the hollowness in his gaze, the intensity of cold apathy radiating off him, and the absence of any understanding or concern of how all of it had affected me. It's how he made me feel like a fool for believing he'd always let me in, consider me enough to be his equal, and involve me where it matters, just like I do. 

It's his audacity to rationalize something that has been so deeply personal and of great importance to me—as if I wouldn't see through his actions—that hurts more than the move itself. That's what makes it all feel like a knife twisting in my chest.

All that matters to him is what he thinks is right and what feeds his universe-sized ego.

How can he even look me in the eyes and not understand how I feel? 

He has always been a person who can read my precise thoughts. He's someone who can analyze my behavior and moods just by my breathing patterns. So, it's not that he doesn't understand what I'm going through—he can still see it all, read it all. 

In fact, he knows it all, but he's unwilling to acknowledge it because, according to him, my feelings with regard to this don't matter, and I'm just being unnecessarily dramatic about it. That's what hurts.

While I have been struggling hard to earn his trust while throwing away all of mine on him, I missed or perhaps deliberately ignored the fact that all he sees me as is his fragile wife, who needs his protection instead of faith.

I've been working so hard to be the wife he wants that I have forgotten who I am. I gave him my complete submission, not just in the bedroom but in almost every aspect of my life. 

I never questioned his decisions and irrational behavior. I never even paused to think how I felt about him taking complete control of me—just so that I wouldn't realize how all of it was draining me. 

The last time I retrospected our relationship was 11 years ago, and it made me make decisions I'm still paying for. I didn't want it to happen. I thought if I just be what he needed me to be, there would come a point when he'd finally start trusting me again, and he would stop treating me as his favorite object and start considering me a human.

Boy, I was wrong.

It's all pressing on my chest and making tears flow harder. I hate that I need him to hold me right now.

I hate feeling the way I am right now—so hollow, so torn, flooding with emotions crashing over me.

How did we end up here?

I let my tears run freely while feeling angry at myself at the same time for crying. Hating myself for being so raw... and fragile. That's exactly how my husband considers me to be, which fuels the blinding need in him to protect me even in situations where I don't need protection. My heart is a knot of frustration, hurt, and confusion. The more I try to make sense of this evening, the more lost I feel. My husband's overly possessiveness, the way he needs to control every outcome, his ruthlessness about his conquests, and his cold logic have all ignited an ache in my chest that I am unable to chase away.

With a shaky breath, I close my eyes in an attempt to gather myself and rub my arms as the cool desert breeze bites at my skin.

Suddenly, I feel someone walking behind me in quiet, authoritative steps.

For a split second, I think it's Areston, back to confiscate my space when it hasn't even been five minutes since he left me.

But regardless of the signature Clive Christian smell hitting my nostrils, a chill courses up my spine.

Nope. Not him.

The fleeting sense of comfort I was feeling for the first time in five minutes since his departure immediately abandons me in a snap.

There are only six collectors in the world who have access to that perfume. But in my circle, there's only one more person I know who uses it—the one whose presence is warm, familiar, and absolutely unwelcome.

It can't be.

Dread settles in the pit of my stomach as I recognize the person—the only other person except my husband whom I'd recognize even in the crowd of millions with my eyes closed.

The beautiful disaster.

The nightmare that came wrapped in the beautiful packaging of peaceful dreams.

No.

No.

Not him.

I don't have the strength for this.

Not now.

What on earth is he even doing here?

"It looks like I wasn't chasing a shadow after all." The effortlessly refined and unmistakable posh British accent, dripping with an air of superiority, pierces through the silence of the surroundings and stillness of my existence.

I remember the distinctive cadence—smooth, polite, but always packed with quiet condensation. Whenever he'd speak, it felt as if he was addressing the subjects unworthy of his attention. But that wasn't applicable to me because I was the sole center of his attention... or so I thought, because I was deeply mistaken.

"Hello again, whimsy."

My breath hitches.

Slowly, I turn around, and there he is, standing only a few steps away. I stare at him in stunned silence, my mind racing as memories flood back.

While my husband is an abyss—consuming, soul-crushing, unfeeling, and an endless chasm that draws people in, robbing them of their very essence, energy, and hope, erasing everything, and sparing behind only never-escapable emptiness in its wake. Chaos is what Zayd Benjelloun is—an exquisite, inexorable chaos. Unpredictable, uncontrollable, and destructive.

His very existence signals the disruption and collapse of any plan or structure. He's the type of chaos that tears through everything that comes in its path. In some inexplicable, twisted way, this chaos clashed with mine and decimated it to bring me peace and clarity in the wreckage. I desperately needed it back then—the one I'd been struggling to find for a decade. He was a force of nature that cracked my firm resolve and seeped in.

He's just as beautiful as he was, a vision of the same alpha male—the only one apart from my husband—who had once made my heart race.

The epitome of the stereotypical tall, dark, and handsome man, the kind of man who commands attention without asking for it. The type of an existence that's impossible to ignore.

He is draped in a dark tux that fills his broad shoulders and strong, ripped masculine frame that makes him appear powerful and lethal like he can destroy anyone with a snap of his fingers. And it's the truth—he's dangerous, always has been. The very air around him, as always, hummed with peril. Having him in your vicinity always makes you wonder whether he's going to spare you or kill you, and not knowing the answer is kind of thrilling and had once consumed me.

What I'd once felt for him has faded, swapped by a distant admiration of sorts. A respect for the blessing he came into my chaotic life and made me want to battle my inner demons so I could start living again instead of merely existing. Although I didn't succeed in it until I met my husband, this chaos gave me a head start.

Zayd released me from the unending cycle of my emotional maelstroms and became my calm. His presence in my life brought me warmth, like taking the first step into the light after having spent a lifetime under the darkness. I felt safe and stopped feeling like I was in a constant state of spinning out of control. He grounded me and, for the first time in a decade, made me feel like I could really breathe.

"I... I've to leave." I step back, unprepared to face him.

Not because of how things ended between us. It's just that I don't have the will to deal with him at a time when my apathetic, narcissistic husband's betrayal and his lack of conscience to apologize for it are consuming my very existence.

"Not yet." Before I can move, he steps forward, blocking my path. His hands remain buried in the pocket of his pants, his towering height and frame intimidating without even touching me. "I need to talk to you."

I blink, my jaw tightening at the idea of yet another conceited male trying to railroad me into bending to his will. "I don't want to. Shouldn't it be evident to you by now? You're blocked on my contact list and visitor list for a reason."

He doesn't answer me, but the manner in which his stormy gray eyes are fixed onto me feels like a physical force, colossal and implacable, as though it can strip me bare.

"What are you even doing here? Stalking me?" I glare at him.

"Perhaps?"

I try to step around him to move away, but he blocks me again, and this time, stripping me off all the space, making me gasp. His frame is barely away from touching mine and his face is now hovering over me... so close.

Zayd is a kind of beauty that goes beyond just his rugged good looks—beyond the chiseled jawline, the metallic gaze that always seems to be piercing through your soul, and the perfect dark hair. It's something profound, something that runs through the very core of his existence.

"This is one of my estates, whimsy." His voice is rich with mirth, his gaze gleaming as if he's enjoying having caught me at last and off guard at the same time.

"Your home? But this is Zayn's—"

"My older brother's? Yes," he finishes it off for me.

I couldn't tell. What the hell? How couldn't I tell? How occupied have I been on my mind to not put two-and-two together?

There are only two Moroccan princes, aren't there? I knew Zayd already, and I met Zayn today, so I should have figured out they're brothers. Zayd often told me he'd love to introduce me to his brother. I blame everything that has been going on today since Lev's call. I've been too drained to think of such trivial matters. Both brothers are equally handsome, but there's no trace of similarity between the two, so that's another reason I couldn't figure it out earlier. And because they're brothers, that means Zayd is...

"You're Areston's best friend?" My eyes go wide as a realization dawns upon me.

His shoulder rises and falls in a nonchalant shrug. "We don't put a label on it, but sure if it fits."

"He's my husband." I don't know why I supply it as if that news is important right now when I don't even want to talk to him.

"Chase mentioned a couple of days back. Imagine my surprise when I found out that the only woman I've ever chased and was still chasing has married my best friend."

Was still chasing?

I swallow. Does Areston know about us? I don't think so. I don't care.

"Good. I have zero desire to continue this forced chit-chat with you, so you'll have to excuse me," I huff.

He moves so fast, gently catching me by the upper arm, thwarting my escape, that I crash against him.

"What do you think you are doing?" A shocked gasp leaves me as my body tenses at the contact. 

The last thing I need right now is this. Him crowding me.

"Trying to get you to talk."

"I don't want to. Why are you here? Is this something you schemed with your brother?"

"He doesn't know about us. When he mentioned he was hosting Res and his wife over for dinner, I flew down on purpose, considering you've blocked all other attempts of mine to get in touch with you. I could've shown up at your house unannounced, but I did not wish to subject you to any discomfort."

"Should I be grateful?"

"No. I am just saying this evening felt like the best opportunity to seize. I needed to see you again... to talk to you, whimsy. But first, tell me, why have you been crying?" His gray eyes scan my face with an intensity that makes my skin crawl.

"Stop calling me that. Why do you care anyway?" I don't bother masking bitterness in my voice as I yank my arm away, and he lets me.

"I have always cared."

"Oh, have you now?" My heart is racing as anger rises in my chest, and I take a calculative step backward, rubbing the elbow where he touched me.

"Yes, I have. That's why I've been trying to get a hold of you by any means while you've kept blocking me out."

"And that surprises you after what the way you crushed me? Who do you think you are?"

He steps closer, his eyes softening. "Explain how I crushed you."

I shake my head in disgust. "I cannot believe I was falling for someone like you, Zayd. You're one conceited asshole. My goodness! You repulse me. Where do you even get the audacity to face me and pretend you did nothing after the way you left me."

"I left you? You left me."

"So, we're blaming me now? Classic male thing. Good. Go ahead, if that helps your big ego, then go ahead. Do whatever you want and see if I care."

He blocks me again as I try to move, this time without touching. "What are you even talking about? Explain."

The condescending tone, similar to my husband's, as he towers over me, making me feel like a lamb in front of a giant, manages to push me off the edge.

"Explain what?" I snap.

His sharp and unyielding steely gaze flickers with a lethal intensity, darkening like a storm assembling on the horizon as they pierce mine.

"Explain the part about me leaving you, Juliette Rothschild." He doesn't dial back his tone. The low, infuriatingly calm voice barely veils the condensation.

"It's Juliette De L'Aquila!"

His expression remains taut. It's maddening. "Explain."

"What's there to explain? You gave me hope only to rip it away like I was some doll incapable of feelings. I didn't want to move on from Areston, but you made me want to. You made me believe I could. You made me believe that maybe—just maybe—I deserve to be happy again. You made me want to be happy again... to live again. You made me want to be with you, Zayd. Only to realize it was all a part of your well-calculated scheme to make me fall for you so I'd finally sleep with you because, apparently, I gave you a challenge like no other. Don't you dare deny. You admitted to yourself that one time I was the only woman you had to work hard for. When you saw that night how broken I was, you gave up on me. You left my place the next morning, and I never heard from you again. You didn't even wait to try sleeping with me again because why would you? You'd gotten a firsthand experience of my fucked up state and knew how difficult it would be to bring me out of it. Do you want to deny? Go ahead. See if I care. I know all you needed from me was sex, but I believed otherwise. I am a naive fool." I cross my arms over my chest that heaves from breathlessness from having gone on a rant spree.

Deep down, a voice tells me it has more to do with my frustration stemming from my husband and less to do with my relationship... or whatever it was with Zayd.

"You're not a naive fool, and it wasn't about sex," he says, his voice low for the first time.

"Of course it was. And can I be honest? I am glad because I cannot imagine being with anyone other than my husband, and no, that's not my pettiness speaking."

His face clenches with bitter indignation. "You don't understand—"

"No, you don't understand, Zayd!" My voice cracks from emotional exhaustion and agony. "Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to try to move on from Areston? I tried for you. You asked me to take that leap of faith with you, and I did, but what good did it do? I felt utterly devastated. I'd never even been naked in front of anyone before you except Areston. You knew that. I did it for you. Because I couldn't get myself to give sex, I kept pushing myself beyond my limits just for your sake. Do you have any idea how difficult it was for me to sleep naked next to you every night? Or make out? No, you don't. Someone like you who has always had an active sex life might not understand, but that's how it was for me—a profound struggle. I did it all for you so I could show you how dedicated I was to moving on with you from my miserable past. The whole month and more we spent together dating was just you trying to peel my layers, and you almost succeeded. Had it not been for my insecurities, you'd have gotten what you'd slogged hard for and left with a jackpot and a story of Juliette Rothschild's conquest to share with your friends over drinks."

Zayd's hand shoots in my direction, reaching for my back this time, and he crashes me against him before I can even protest. He's so close the heat of his body perforates into me. It's too overwhelming.

"Whimsy, listen to me, for fuck's sake. Just once."

I shake my head, weary from all the arguments with my husband and the emotional toll of Zayd's appearance. "Why should I? You know what happened after you ghosted me that night? I was so depressed and sick of myself, I stood atop the roof of a mansion and contemplated my existence."

He notably finches. Well, not really—it's not everyone can notice. He has a tell. A brief, barely noticeable tightening around his eyes. The fact that I still remember these details about him is revolting.

"You thought about suicide again?"

I try to push him away, but his grip on me doesn't loosen. "Yes. I felt broken... I mean, I had always known I was broken. But that night, I felt broken beyond repair. That void I kept telling you about had started making me feel its presence again. It was too much. I'd vowed to myself never to contemplate suicide again, and yet I couldn't help myself. The temptation to die felt sweeter than the bitter acknowledgment of the fact that I may never be able to move on in the future with anyone ever again. I felt crushed. You shouldn't have dated me and tried to be a part of my life if you wanted to leave me, Zayd. I was surviving just fine. You had no right to make me feel miserable and dejected. Had it not been for that creepy guy who made me realize my mistake... I wouldn't even be here talking to you right now. I'd probably be dead. I don't know."

"I—" Pain and regret lace his face. And horror. For the first time in a kaleidoscope of emotions.

"Save it. I don't need your apology or pity or whatever it is. You made me feel like damaged goods. Well, I'd always felt like that, but I had buried that feeling somewhere in the back of my mind. You wrenched it out from the dark pit of my mind and made me reel through it. Your abrupt departure from my life became a trigger for me. But, of course, why would you care? I already knew it was always about sex. I'm a hopeless idiot, but you felt otherwise." I feel weak in my knees and feel like I might end up falling if he lets go of his hold on me.

"You have to trust me, whimsy. I said it before, and I'll say it again, it was never about sex with you. Hell, I haven't touched a woman, let alone slept with anyone since you."

"I don't..." Believe you, is what I want to say, but the startling discovery makes my voice trail off and sends my mind spinning. I can't process it.

"Believe me? Well, believe it," he asserts with a tender yet dominant tone. "I left that morning without seeing you because I needed to head back to London. I knew if I woke you up and kissed you, I'd cancel my plans. The meeting was important, so I couldn't skip or postpone it, which is why I left quietly. But I left a note for you asking you to call me before you head for your morning run. When you didn't, I called you several times as soon as I boarded my plane, but you didn't answer any of those. It was Lev who did."

"I saw no note. And Lev did?"

He sighs. "Yes, he informed me you were occupied with something and that he'd have you call me back once you were available. I was livid at you for having allowed another man to relay the message, let alone answer your phone. However, just for your sake, I decided to keep my temper aside. I did not want to suffocate you, whimsy."

"You didn't want to suffocate me," I repeat like a robot.

"Yes, I didn't want to. What I felt for you... it was something I had never felt before. Nothing ever came close to what I had with you, and for that reason alone, I wanted us to work. I knew you cared deeply about Lev, so I wasn't prepared to react in any manner that might have suffocated you and pushed you away from me."

His last words tug at my heart, more like the desperation of those. On our first official date, he had asked me and I told him why my ex and I started having problems if I was still so attached to him even after a decade-long separation. I cannot believe he remembered it and was avoiding making me feel that way.

I remember the morning he left me. It was the weekend. Lev was in Paris and had showed up to drag me to a brunch date. He knew about Zayd and I. Actually, everyone who knew did at that point in time. We were inseparable, and everyone, including my absent father, who met him once, thought Zayd was the one. I was upset, and since I was incapable of shedding tears in front of anyone, I ended up ranting my heart out to Lev about what had happened the night before.

"Lev never mentioned." My voice trembles as my mind replays the account from that day—each as clear as if it happened only yesterday.

Now that I think of it, it all feels like a huge clusterfuck.

My fingers curl around Zayd's biceps as I try to steady myself as I reel from the burst of emotions while also trying to push myself off him."Why would he keep it from me?"

I've noticed the way he looks at you, sunshine—it's evident he adores you. I don't think he left because he doesn't care, but perhaps he isn't on the same page about needing the kind of connection that you do. He's not wrong to want physical intimacy after having dated you for quite a long, and neither are you wrong in wanting some more time.

Zayd is a good guy. It could be that he's someone who struggles with the emotional depths you seek in a relationship.

We're well aware that he's not used to dating and relationships, so if he's doing that with you, he's obviously expecting things to move another notch, at least someday. When you're unprepared for that, it will give anyone a sense of doubt and insecurity. Let alone a proud man like him. You need someone who is ready to give you time, someone who sees the efforts you make, and someone who's not afraid of waiting—someone who has patience.

"Why do you think he didn't?" As if sensing my desperate need for distance, he removes his hand from my back but continues maintaining the same intimidating proximity, and I do nothing to move back. "Isn't it obvious that he has liked you since forever? He saw me as a competition, so naturally, he'd attempt to eliminate me."

I shake my head, still unable to believe all of it. "That's... not true. He wanted me to be happy again. It was he who encouraged me to open up for you and give us a chance when I was being too overcautious and skeptical. He knew how important you were to me. He knew you were the only one who had made me feel the happiest in a long time."

My admission stuns him. "I did?"

"The fact that you even have to ask that feels like an insult, Zayd."

"I left you a couple of texts and voicemails. You answered none of it. I was worried about you, so I canceled my meetings and flew home the next day, only to find out that you'd taken off for New York. I called Selene and Claire, but both of them had blocked me from trying to get in touch with them via any means. I was that desperate, whimsy. Tell me, does it still feel like it was just sex that I wanted from you?"

"I never received any of your texts and voicemails. I'd taken off for New York with Lev because I felt shattered. I wanted to be away from Paris and the apartment where we shared so much time together." My brows furrow in a deep frown, and my shoulders sag in resignation at the realization that I've been a part of a big miscommunication or something.

Lev could not have been jealous of Zayd, could he? That's not possible. He never approached me that way.

"Wait. Why didn't you follow me to New York then?"

"I did... well, almost."

"What do you mean?"

"On my way to the airport, I ended up getting involved in a high-speed collision. It crushed my entire McLaren, but I somehow managed to survive. Someone extracted me out of it moments before fire consumed it."

My heart stops, and my mouth parts in an O from the shock.

Just like I used to chase the thrill of beating someone to a pulp with my bare hands, his brother used to be into this whole underground high-speed car race deal. Still is, despite a car accident that almost killed him. Areston's words start playing into my head.

"The severe injuries I sustained sent me to a two-week-long coma followed by a long selective amnesia. By the time I'd regained consciousness, my mind had completely wiped out memories related to you—something the psychologist said could be my subconscious deliberately blocking out. If you believe this is all a fabricated story, you can check with your husband or even Lev. They'll confirm I'm right. And if you're wondering why such a high-profile collision didn't appear in the media, then you already know the answer. My team keeps tight control on things that are reported, so while the event was reported, my identity remained anonymous for privacy purposes, of course."

My hands travel to cup his face in an impulsive reaction. "Oh, my goodness, Zayd. I am so sorry. I had no idea. I... I didn't know at all. I swear." My voice falters as disbelief crashes through me.

He wraps his fingers around my wrists. "Which I realized a while ago and that's why I am telling you. Chase didn't know about it either until a couple of days back. Even when I was declared physically fit to resume work a couple of weeks following the near-fatal accident, I never entertained any other woman because subconsciously, I was still pining for you, whimsy. After I regained my memories out of nowhere, I didn't want to see you again or talk to you or think about you either, thinking it was too late and I was livid from how things ended between us, but I couldn't help myself. I needed to see you, even if it was one last time. I wanted to confront you as to why you left like that when you were as serious about me as I was about you, whimsy. I've been trying to contact you since I regained my memories, but I had to give up after several unsuccessful attempts. I figured you might have moved on and don't want me to bother you, which, of course, you have. I just wanted to see you once and talk to you. I have no idea what part of our last time together made you feel like I left you."

"I... trusted and relied on Lev all this time." I swallow hard, all my thoughts spiraling back to my husband's warnings and suspicions. He has always said that Lev has feelings for me. So did Selene. Have I been ignorant for so long? My mind spins as I try to process everything. "I don't know what to say. I am so sorry, Zayd," I whisper, more to myself than to him. "I thought... I thought you left me. I was hurt. I wouldn't have..." left if I knew.

"I know," he says as if reading the words I've left unsaid. "I never meant to hurt you, whimsy. Not for one second. I know you're with Areston now, and I would never do anything to jeopardize my friendship with him, but I just wanted to confront you for once. We were bound to run into each other again now that I've moved back to New York indefinitely and the two of you are married. I just didn't want it to be an awkward or angry confrontation, so I picked today. Call it a need for my colossal ego to get its closure," he teases softly, his lips parting into a beautiful yet sad smile for the first time since our today's encounter.

I lower my head as tears start flowing down my eyes. "I cannot believe I let a misunderstanding take control of me."

I am naive. Maybe my husband is right. How could I have not seen that Lev wanted me to see him—to consider him? There have been hints all along since we were young, but I never took them. I have always thought of Lev as my closest friend, confidante, and someone I can always lean on.

Did he really try to sabotage my relationship with Zayd? For some reason, I don't want to believe it.

Lev has never—not once—tried to drive me away from Zayd. He was the one who could encourage me to find out about this; it's devastating. 

If I haven't received any of Zayd's calls, texts, or voicemails, could he really be the reason? He is. Because he was the only one who stayed with me that whole weekend—and also the one who has always had access to my phone.

I feel sick, my stomach churning with the gravity of how naive I have been. Areston is not exaggerating whenever he's livid at me for being trusting to a fault.

"It's not your fault," Zayd's whispered words make me look up.

A thought crosses me, and for a fleeting moment, what my life would have been like if I hadn't let emotions get the better of me and left Zayd. Or if I had stayed, opened myself up to him completely, and given us a real chance instead of having a foot outside the door permanently.

Would I have been as happy?

Would I have moved on and let myself fall in love with this beautiful man who was not my beast?

The answer is no.

I could have gone on and on, trying to fool myself, and made a mockery out of Zayd's efforts because even though my husband tends to enrage me in a manner no one can and has savagely crushed me today, I am simply a hollow without him. There's no one else I can love if it's not him.

I would have never loved Zayd—never ever. There would always have been something missing, a significant part of me that I wouldn't have been able to give him because it has always belonged to my jerk of a husband.

Watching Zayd now makes me realize I never opened up to him because, deep down, I didn't want to.

Maybe that's why I bolted at the first opportunity I saw—an escape I saw, when he left that morning. I'd spent all night feeling guilty—guilty of not being able to be intimate with him, guilty of cheating on the love of my life I hadn't spoken to or seen for a decade.

That morning, I had a chance to dodge the future I didn't want to face—a future without Areston.

Subconsciously, I knew, but I didn't want to admit it until today.

Even if I hadn't wanted to reunite with Areston, the idea of starting a life with someone that's not him, of closing the door entirely on him, had terrified the living daylights out of me. I did not want to live in a world where there was no hope, no chance, of Areston returning to my life, no matter how much I'd tried to convince myself that it was for the better for both of us if we stay apart.

"I am sorry." The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.

"You have nothing to apologize for, whimsy."

I lower my hands from his face to place it on his chest—more like a well-defined muscular wall that his tux fails to hide. His own fingers remain wrapped around my wrists. "I do. I may have used your departure as a scapegoat to avoid facing the harsh reality. I am realizing it now. I used it to convince myself you didn't deserve me, but in reality, it's me who didn't deserve you. You'd been so serious about me, and had demonstrated to me time and again how much I meant to you. And while I felt the same, it was nowhere close to making me move on from Ares. You would have loved me unconditionally, but I would have never been able to love you—let alone unconditionally, and that wouldn't have been fair to you. I have been bound and tied to Areston since the beginning. It's inescapable. I would have never let you fully in, because my heart was never truly mine to give. It's pathetic. I am realizing this now after having hated you for so long."

"That's something I can understand."

"I really did want to be with you... it's just that—"

"You couldn't."

"I couldn't. I have always been in love with Areston, and even if I had pushed myself to be with you, I wouldn't have been able to. I know you'd have given me emotions... and cared about my trust." Something which my husband cannot.

"Is Res's incapability of giving those the reason you were crying here alone?"

"It cannot always be flowers, can it?" I chuckle sadly as tears overwhelm me as I think of Areston and how much I want him to hold me right now despite his high and mighty behavior, and even after having stamped all over my fragile emotions.

"No, it cannot." 

How was the chapter?

Your favorite part?

Compare the previous version of Zayd's encounter with Juliette with the current version, and tell me your thoughts. Juliette's reaction to the encounter and the plotline related to it, etc.

What's your take on Juliette's condition? 

What's your take on Zayd? Do you like the previous one or this one?

What do you think is happening next?