The late afternoon sun bathed the room in a warm glow as Nora tidied up the last corner of the guest suite. A soft knock interrupted the quiet, and she turned toward the door.
"Come in," she called softly.
The door creaked open, and a small boy stepped in with bright eyes and a wide smile.
"Ash," she breathed.
Asher—affectionately called Ash—ran straight into her arms. At only eight years old, he was one of the youngest in the orphanage, but to Nora, he was so much more. She had been his caretaker, his safe place, his comfort. She lifted him into a warm hug, holding him tightly before setting him down beside her on the edge of the bed.
"I missed you," he mumbled, his voice muffled against her shoulder.
"I missed you more," Nora said, brushing back his messy curls.
He rested his head on her lap, sighing softly as she stroked his hair. The room fell into a comfortable silence—until his little voice broke it.
"Nora?"
"Yes, Ash?"
"What if something happens to me? How would you feel?"
Nora froze for a moment. She gently lifted his face, her heart thudding in her chest.
"Nothing will happen to you," she said firmly. "I'll always be here for you, okay?"
"But…" he whispered, "what if I'm not here one day?"
"Ash," she said, her voice cracking. "Why are you saying that? Don't scare me."
"I just think about it sometimes."
"Stop," she said, hugging him tightly again. "You're here. You're with me. And you're not going anywhere. I love you, Ash."
Unbeknownst to her, someone else was watching.
Thirty-five thousand feet above the ground, Zayan stared at the live feed from the mansion security cameras. On his iPad screen, Nora sat peacefully, her hands stroking Asher's hair, her soft voice barely audible through the speakers. Zayan's eyes narrowed, but not in jealousy—he saw the way she held the boy, the way she whispered comfort into his ear. There was something beautiful about it. Something painful, too.
He closed the iPad with a soft snap as the pilot announced their landing.
The black convoy of luxury cars screeched to a halt in front of the mansion. Zayan stepped out, sharp in a tailored suit, his British accent smooth and distinct.
His assistant greeted him. "Welcome home, sir. We drove as fast as possible."
"Good," Zayan muttered.
On the front steps, his mother and Nathaira were waiting. His mother smiled as he approached.
"Are you having a party, Mom?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Why yes, my dear," she replied cheerfully. "Just a few guests."
"Alright," he nodded. "I'll be down in a minute."
As he made his way inside, his eyes scanned the hallway—and then paused. His gaze locked on Nora, who was walking with Asher, the boy carrying a stack of folded towels. Her hand instinctively went to Ash's shoulder, pulling him slightly behind her as she spotted Zayan.
"Welcome back, sir," she said quietly.
He didn't answer. He only smiled faintly, eyes lingering on her longer than necessary, and continued up the stairs.
Minutes later, Nora was heading down the hall when a hand suddenly grabbed her wrist and pulled her into his room. She gasped as the door slammed behind her and she stumbled, landing on the soft surface of his bed.
"Zayan—"
He locked the door without a word and turned to her, his expression unreadable.
She sat up, flustered. "You shouldn't—"
Before she could finish, he crossed the room in two strides and kissed her. Slowly. Deeply. Possessively. His hands ran down her sides, pulling her closer.
"You think I didn't see?" he whispered against her lips.
"See what?" she breathed.
His voice was low, gravelly. "The way you care. The way you look at people like they matter. Like that boy. You protect everyone…"
She looked up at him, confused but overwhelmed.
He leaned closer, his lips brushing her ear.
"But who protects you?"
Her breath hitched.
Zayan kissed her again—longer this time—then whispered against her neck, "You're not a toy."
His hand tightened at her waist. His voice was rough and full of intent.
"You. Are. Mine. Understand?"
She didn't answer with words. She didn't have to.