The next few weeks blurred into a cycle of endless study sessions, late-night coffee runs, and the constant hum of stress that came with finals. My days were consumed by textbooks and notes, my nights spent battling sleep just to revise one more chapter.

Zavian, on the other hand, was just as busy—but in a way I couldn't quite grasp. He still left late at night, his so-called "office work" stretching until the early hours of the morning. But I didn't press. Maybe because I was too exhausted to overthink, or maybe because I trusted him enough not to pry.

We still found time for each other—small stolen moments in between. He'd drop by with my favorite snacks when I refused to leave my desk, massage my shoulders when I groaned in frustration, and, on rare nights, he'd pull me away from my books just to take a short walk with me under the stars.

And then, finally—the last exam.

I stepped out of the examination hall, inhaling the crisp evening air like it was the first breath of freedom. Relief washed over me, a weight lifting off my shoulders as I smiled to myself. It was over.

Just as I pulled out my phone to text Zavian, a familiar sleek black car pulled up to the curb. The window rolled down, revealing him—leaning against the steering wheel, sunglasses perched on his nose, lips curved into a knowing smirk.

"How'd it go, Mashal-e-Mehtaab?" he asked, voice smooth as ever.

I grinned, practically bouncing toward the car. "I think I aced it."

Zavian chuckled, reaching over to open the door for me. "Then let's celebrate, sweetheart."

I slid into the passenger seat, raising a brow. "Dinner?"

He shook his head, shifting gears as the car roared to life. "Something better."

Curiosity sparked in my chest. "Zavian..."

He simply smirked. "No questions."

I narrowed my eyes, but the thrill of the unknown had my heart racing.

Wherever he was taking me, I knew one thing for sure—with Zavian, surprises were never ever ordinary.

The car wove through the bustling streets of London, the city lights flickering past in golden hues. Zavian's grip on the steering wheel was relaxed, but the smirk on his face told me he was enjoying keeping me in suspense.

I folded my arms. "You're way too smug right now."

His smirk deepened. "Because I know you hate not knowing."

I sighed, exasperated but amused. The drive stretched on until we veered away from the city's heart, heading towards a quieter, more secluded area. My stomach fluttered with anticipation.

Minutes later, Zavian finally pulled the car to a stop. I frowned, looking around. We were at the London Eye. But it wasn't just the usual tourist crowd—it looked... different.

I turned to him. "Zavian, what—"

He cut me off by stepping out of the car and walking around to open my door. With a teasing bow, he extended his hand. "Mrs. Zavian, if you'll follow me."

Suspicious but intrigued, I let him lead me toward the iconic Ferris wheel. But as we approached, my breath caught.

The entire London Eye was shut down for the public. Only a handful of staff stood around, and the capsules gleamed under the soft glow of private lighting.

"You... rented out the entire London Eye?" I gasped.

Zavian chuckled, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "For the night. Only for us."

I stared at him, speechless. "Zavian, this is insane."

His fingers laced with mine as he pulled me toward one of the private capsules. "You deserve insane, Mashal-e-Mehtaab."

As soon as we stepped inside, the doors slid shut, and the capsule began its smooth ascent. I turned in awe, taking in the breathtaking view of London sprawled beneath us, the Thames reflecting the shimmering city lights like a dream.

A table was set in the middle of the capsule, draped in white linen with a candle flickering between two elegantly plated dishes.

I turned back to Zavian, my heart swelling with something fierce, something deep. "I don't even have words for this."

He simply pulled me into his arms, his lips brushing against my forehead. "Good. That means I did it right."

The night stretched into laughter, soft conversations, and stolen kisses beneath the vast London skyline. And as I gazed at the man before me, the city glowing behind him, I realized—

Zavian wasn't just my love. He was my greatest adventure.

_

The next few days, Zavian was barely home. When he did come, it was always late—long past midnight—his shoulders tense, his face shadowed with exhaustion. He looked... different. Not just tired, but worn, as if something heavy sat on his chest, dragging him down.

I didn't push him.

Instead, I let him be, greeting him softly when he arrived, leaving warm food on the table even though he barely touched it. When he slid into bed beside me, his arms would wrap around me instinctively, holding on tighter than usual, as if I was the only anchor keeping him grounded.

One night, I woke up to find him sitting at the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor.

"Zavian?" My voice was thick with sleep, but concern laced through it.

He didn't turn immediately, just exhaled slowly before rubbing a hand down his face. "Did I wake you?"

I shook my head and scooted closer, resting a hand on his back. His muscles tensed beneath my touch.

"You're barely home," I murmured. "You barely talk. I know you don't want to tell me everything, but... at least tell me if you're okay."

For a long moment, he didn't speak. Then, finally, he looked at me, his eyes darker than I'd ever seen them.

"I will be," he said. But it didn't sound convincing.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and slid my arms around his waist, pressing my cheek to his back. He stiffened for a second before sighing and leaning into me, his fingers coming up to rest over mine.

I didn't ask anything more. I just held him.

And for now, that had to be enough.

_

The next few days blurred into a routine of fleeting glances and quiet spaces. Zavian came home late—later than before—and when he did, it felt like he wasn't really there. His greetings became shorter, his touch more distant. Some nights, he barely even made it to bed, choosing instead to sleep in his study.

I didn't press him.

Maybe it was because I was busy too. With my next year starting, university consumed most of my time. Research, assignments, and long hours at the library kept me occupied. At first, it was easy to brush it off—we were both drowning in our own schedules. But then, the distance became something else.

A void.

Zavian wasn't just tired anymore. He was pulling away.

It was in the way he avoided my eyes, the way his once-effortless touches had become absent-minded, almost obligatory. The way he started leaving before I even woke up, not bothering to wake me with a teasing remark or a lingering kiss like he used to.

One evening, I came home exhausted, hoping to at least share a meal with him. But the house was quiet—too quiet. His plate was untouched on the dining table, and his jacket, usually draped over the couch, was missing.

I exhaled sharply, rubbing my temples.

Something wasn't right.

And I was going to find out what it was.

I ate my dinner in silence, the quiet of the house pressing in on me. The clatter of my fork against the plate was the only sound, echoing in the emptiness. My thoughts were restless, circling around Zavian like a storm I couldn't ignore anymore.

Something was off. And if he wasn't going to tell me, I would find out myself.

Setting my plate aside, I pushed back my chair and stood, my gaze drifting toward the hallway where his study sat behind a heavy wooden door. Zavian never explicitly told me not to enter—but it was understood. That room belonged to his secrets.

Tonight, I decided to break that rule.

Padding softly down the hall, I hesitated for only a second before turning the knob. The door creaked open, revealing a dimly lit room cluttered with papers, books, and his laptop sitting dark on the desk.

I stepped inside.

At first, nothing seemed out of the ordinary—just work-related documents, a few notes scribbled in his unreadable handwriting, and a glass of water half-empty beside his chair. This is what's keeping him away? I frowned, feeling foolish. Maybe I was overthinking things—

Then I saw it.

A small, almost invisible groove in the back of his bookshelf.

My heart picked up speed.

Carefully, I traced my fingers over the wood, pressing lightly until—click.

A hidden compartment.

Slowly, I pulled it open, revealing a small stack of files tucked neatly inside. My breath hitched as I reached for them, my fingers grazing the edge of the topmost folder when—

The front door clicked open.

My heart dropped.

I shoved the files back, closing the compartment as fast as I could before stepping away. My hands trembled slightly, but I forced myself to stay calm, to act as if I hadn't just stumbled upon something I definitely wasn't meant to see.

Footsteps echoed down the hall.

I slipped out of the study just as Zavian stepped into the living room, looking exhausted—his tie loosened, his shirt slightly wrinkled. He didn't even glance around, just slumped onto the couch with a heavy sigh, pulling out his phone.

I hovered near the entrance, watching him.

He didn't notice me.

Whatever was happening to him, whatever secrets he was hiding—he was sinking deeper into them.

And now... I wasn't sure if I was ready to know the truth.

I walked up to him, my steps slow, hesitant. Something about the way he sat there—his shoulders tense, his expression blank—made my chest tighten.

"Long day at work?" I asked softly, searching his face for something, anything.

He barely acknowledged me, just giving a small nod without looking up.

I swallowed, trying not to let the disappointment settle too deep. "I'll get you dinner," I offered, hoping to do something, even if it was small.

But he stopped me with a quiet, "No."

I blinked.

He finally lifted his gaze, his eyes shadowed with something I couldn't quite place. "I already had a dinner meeting. I've eaten." His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it—like he was somewhere else entirely, not here with me.

I forced a nod, glancing at the clock to fill the silence. "I'm going to our room then," I said, keeping my tone light, though my chest felt heavy.

Zavian finally smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Don't study for long, Mashal-e-Mehtaab," he murmured, his voice gentle.

I returned his smile, though mine felt just as strained. "Just a bit of revision," I assured him, already heading for the stairs.

The moment I reached our room, I let out a slow breath, as if releasing the weight pressing on my ribs. I settled into my chair, flipping open my laptop, trying to focus on my research paper.

But my thoughts kept drifting.

To the files I had found. To the way Zavian barely looked at me anymore. To the feeling that something had shifted between us—something I couldn't name but could feel.

I shook my head and forced myself to focus, typing, revising, reading the same lines over and over again. But the unease sat in the back of my mind like a shadow, whispering that I was missing something.

Something important.

I heard Zavian moving around downstairs—the creak of the floorboards, the soft click of a door opening. Most likely his study. I sighed, forcing my focus back on my laptop, but the words blurred together. My fingers hovered over the keys, unmoving. I wasn't invested. Not really.

Minutes passed.

Then, the door to our room creaked open.

I didn't turn, keeping my gaze locked on the screen, pretending to be immersed in my work. But then—his hands. Large, warm, pressing down on my shoulders, rubbing slow circles into my tense muscles.

A sigh slipped from my lips, my eyes fluttering shut as I relaxed, sinking into his touch.

For a moment, just a moment, I let myself melt into the warmth.

Until he spoke.

"Did you go to my study, Iman?"

His voice was quiet. Too quiet. But beneath that softness lay something else—something cold. My body stiffened.

The pressure of his fingers didn't change. His touch remained steady, smooth... but now it felt calculated. A silent message. A warning.

I swallowed, my pulse skittering. My hands curled into fists over my laptop. "No."

The word was a whisper, almost too weak to be convincing. I heard it myself—the slight tremor in my voice. And so did he.

His thumbs pressed down harder, kneading into my shoulders just a little too firmly. Enough for me to feel it. Enough for me to understand.

Slowly, he leaned down, his breath warm against my ear. My entire body shivered, not from cold but from something far, far worse.

"Lies."

That whisper.

God.

It slithered down my spine, chilling me from the inside out. My stomach sank, twisting into something dark and heavy.

I opened my mouth, but no words came.

I swallowed. Forced my voice to work. "I'm not lying." Another whisper. Another mistake.

Zavian leaned in further, his lips dangerously close to my ear. "Are you scared, Mashal-e-Mehtaab?"

Even the nickname sounded lethal. Like a blade against my throat.

I shook my head. "No." A lie. A poor one.

His breath hitched, a quiet, almost amused scoff leaving his lips. "No?" he repeated, his voice a low rumble. "Disappointing."

His fingers finally stilled on my shoulders. No more massaging. No more false pretense of care. Just the weight of his presence. The suffocating heat of him looming behind me.

My breath turned shallow.

"Did you find anything, sweetheart?" he murmured, the words sliding over my skin like silk—deceptively soft, utterly dangerous.

I squeezed my eyes shut, willing my pulse to steady, my lungs to work.

"No."

Silence.

I didn't dare move.

Then, the ghost of a chuckle.

And just like that, he pulled away.

I finally let myself breathe. But deep down, I knew—I had just stepped into something far bigger than I could understand.