His palm lands not on my arm, not on my shoulder.
But square.
On. My. Chest.
Right over my goddamn breast.
Holy fucking hell.
I freeze. My brain short-circuits. My lungs betray me, screaming in horror while my heart decides to try and beat straight through my ribcage. Zayan's eyes snap up to mine—wide, dark, startled. Pink creeping over his cheeks, ears hot as hell.
We stare at each other. A moment stretches long enough to feel like centuries, the kind of silence that's heavy, thick, terrifying, and... ridiculous.
I scream.
"YOU FUCKING—!" I shove him backward with both hands, chest heaving, arms clenching over myself like I'm trying to physically protect my dignity from the goddamn disaster of him standing there like some smug statue.
"You pervert! You FUCKING PERVERT! You touched my—my—WHAT THE FUCK, ZAYAN!"
He stumbles back, hands shooting up, pink and red everywhere, like a damn cartoon of embarrassment. "I—I didn't—shit, it's an accident! God, stop screaming!"
"Accident?" I sputter, pointing an accusatory finger at him, voice sharp enough to slice steel. "ACCIDENT?? WHO ACCIDENTALLY TOUCHES A WOMAN'S BREAST, ZAYAN? WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU, YOU—YOU—PERV!"
His jaw ticks, eyes darting around like he's trying to make sure the neighbors, the moon, the universe aren't watching this catastrophic shitshow. "I said—it's an accident! God, calm down! Don't make sound, people will hear you!"
"DON'T MAKE SOUND?!" I repeat incredulously, arms still crossed over my chest. "DON'T MAKE SOUND? ARE YOU KIDDING ME, YOU—YOU FUCKING—OH MY GOD—"
He pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath, something like, "God ...l…" and lifts his hands in some ridiculous mock surrender. His pink cheeks burn like the sunrise.
I jab my finger at him again, furious. "You perv! You absolute—ugh! What the fuck is wrong with you? You couldn't even think before your hands—UGH!"
"I DIDN'T EVEN THINK—!" His voice cracks in that low, dangerous tone that usually makes me want to bite him and punch him at the same time, but right now it's… comically, painfully human. His shoulders tense, and there's this ridiculous combination of heat and shame radiating off him like a damn fever.
"So this," I yell, pacing, pointing, arms flailing like a banshee possessed, "THIS IS WHY YOU INSISTED WE STAY IN ONE ROOM INSTEAD OF SEPARATE ROOMS, YOU SNEAKY—YOU SICK—!"
"What the fuck?!" He snaps, voice low, panicked, almost shaking. "I didn't even think about that! I wasn't thinking about—you! Fuck—don't just—ugh!"
I throw my hands up, stomp a foot like a toddler on a warpath. "You didn't think? DIDN'T THINK? You touched me! You're touching me! Are you blind or a goddamn moron?"
"STOP—shit—stop shouting!" His voice drops low, closer to that dangerous undertone he reserves for war or murder. He steps toward me, urgent, pressing. "People will hear. Just—stop it. For fuck's sake, stop it."
I spin to glare at him. "STOP IT? STOP IT? YOU—YOU SHOO ME?"
He throws his hands forward, waving them like a madman trying to bat down a fire. "I'm shooing you! I'm shooing you!"
I don't move. Not an inch. If anything, I lean forward, furious, because yes, I am pissed off, but also… my body won't un-tingle from the accidental touch. It's infuriating.
"Zayan ...you .."
He groans, exasperation bleeding into that low, velvet growl, voice suddenly so goddamn deep I almost melt despite my rage. He takes a step closer and—fuck, okay, too close—presses a palm over my mouth.
And I freeze.
Eyes wide. Shock, fury, disbelief, and some ridiculous… I-can't-breathe kind of tension all bundled into one.
"DON'T MAKE ANY SOUND," he hisses, close enough I can feel the heat radiating off his body, his jaw brushing just slightly against my temple. "Not a word."
I blink. Blink again. My hands press uselessly against his arm and chest, trying to shove him away, but his other hand—oh hell—presses lightly against my side, anchoring me in place. The physicality of it is maddening. Hot. Unfair. Humiliating.
"This—THIS—!" I manage to gasp, fumbling against his hold. "YOU—YOU FUCKING—!"
"Shhh," he murmurs, low, controlled, yet strained. The tension in his voice is like velvet over steel. "Not a word, Arshila."
I glare up at him through my lashes, chest heaving under the hand he's still using to mute me. My brain is screaming, my body is screaming, and somehow the heat of him this close—the accidental touch, the damn palm, the low voice—it's like a fire I can't put out.
"You perv! You absolute—!" I start again, fury spilling, but he leans fractionally closer, teeth grinding under his lower lip, eyes locked on mine with that dangerous control he wields so casually when he wants to dominate everything—including me.
"Arshila!" His growl is clipped, furious, embarrassed, lethal all at once. "Not. A. Word."
My fingers twitch against his forearm. I want to shove, to elbow, to scream. My body betrays me, twitching with rage and some ridiculous heat that I hate but can't stop.
He presses slightly harder, hand firm over my mouth, eyes flashing, and the tension between us—it's wild, raw, unholy.
"You—YOU—YOU—!" I try again, eyes blazing, cheeks burning like I just stuck my face in a furnace.
"I said," he hisses right into my ear, the low sound vibrating straight through my skull, "don't make sound. You want people to hear? Huh? You want the staff to see me like this?"
I freeze again. His words, his presence, the ridiculous proximity—it's impossible. I'm furious, embarrassed, burning, and… trapped.
And then he shuffles slightly, reducing any gap, making his body a wall between me and the world, hand still clamped firmly over my mouth. The control, the weight, the heat—it's infuriatingly intense.
"You feel that?" His voice is a low, dangerous growl, almost predatory. "That? That's called consequences for screaming before you think, Arshila. Not… a choice."
I glance at his hand covering my mouth, the other subtly braced against me, his chest brushing mine, and I swear the whole universe just tilted. Rage, embarrassment, ridiculous heat, and a tension that feels like it could snap bones—it's all too much.
I want to scream. I want to shove. I want to punch him in the face and laugh and cry at the same time.
But I can't.
Because he's holding me down with the simplest, most infuriating gesture ever, and I—fucking hell—I am trapped, fuming, and somehow, ridiculously aware of every inch of him.
His hand lifts slightly from my mouth, just enough to gesture like he's shooing a mosquito. His eyes narrow, dangerous and impatient, and that low, lethal growl drips off him like liquid sin.
"You want to hear your fucking shouting echo through the whole house?" he hisses, voice tight, velvet-edged with danger. "Do you want the family—grandfather, parents, all of them—thinking we're… doing it? Huh?"
I blink at him, jaw dropping mid-gasp. "WHAT THE FUCK??" My voice is trapped in that half-muffled, half-screaming chaos, ears ringing. My hands flail uselessly, claws scraping at his chest, at his shoulders—anywhere that might help me survive this nightmare.
He jerks back slightly, pain-flash crossing his face when I bite his palm hard. "Shit! God—fuck, that's—aww!" He hisses, pulling his hand away, muttering like a man possessed.
"Doing what?? Actually?? What the fuck are you even thinking, Zayan? Doing fucking it?? You absolute… MENACE!" I spit the words like venom, chest heaving, mind exploding with fury, embarrassment, and heat I can't even process.
He rubs his palm, cheeks pink and ears red, exhaling through his nose like it's a goddamn personal failing to be this embarrassed. "Look, Mrs. Adam Zayan," he says, voice dropping low again, that dangerous timber of his cutting into my brain, "if you shout one more time out here, I might actually throw you over this balcony… into the pond. Do you want to test that?"
I blink at him, incredulous, chest tight. "You—YOU WON'T."
"Try me," he says, smirk low and lethal. "I. Will. Throw. You." His voice is smooth but deadly, measured, predatory.
I fling my hand up, furious, jerking my wrist just enough to point at him like he's the embodiment of all the wrong in the universe. "I won't stop until I feel justice! You perv, you fucking—ugh—absolute lunatic!"
He chuckles low, dark, pleased, taking another half-step closer, shrinking the distance until I can feel his body heat radiating over me. "Huh. Loud. Fiery. Hot-headed. I think I prefer you like this."
I freeze, brain screaming, chest hammering like war drums in my ribcage. "I HATE YOU! You are the absolute worst, most disgusting—ugh! Why am I even—ugh—fucking—God!"
His head tilts, slow, deliberate, eyes tracing mine with a smirk sharp enough to cut glass. "Careful, Mrs. Adam Zayan. Keep that tone up, and I might have to remind you why I insist on one room instead of separate ones."
My stomach flips. Rage and embarrassment twist together into something impossible to untangle, heat radiating off him in a way that's physically unfair. "YOU—don't even think about it!" I snap, trembling with fury.
"I'm not. Not thinking," he says, voice low, deadly, teasing all at once. "Just… watching. Learning. Cataloguing every shriek, every glare, every flinch. It's data, Arshila. Pure fucking data."
I groan, exasperated and humiliated, but somehow—I can't ignore the tension, the ridiculous, physical, hot tension radiating off him.
He grabs my wrist again, firm, dragging me back into the room with a predator's precision, closing the balcony door with a muted click. The lock slides into place, final and mocking.
"Okay," he says, voice dropping to that dangerous growl again, "you want to shout, scream, kick me in the balls, spit fire, whatever the hell you want—here, now, in this room. Go ahead. Test your luck."
I glare, fury blooming hotter than ever. "I—ugh—don't even know where to start with your insane ass!"
He smirks, leaning just enough that his shadow falls across me, wide and impossible. "Start with reality, Mrs. Adam Zayan. Reality: I'm not letting you ruin the early morning peace for the entire estate, and also…" His voice drops an octave lower, near a growl that vibrates through my chest, "…you touched your absolute fucking limit this morning. Consider this the prelude."
I fling my arms out, pointing, stomping, pacing. "Prelude? I don't care about your damn prelude! You perv! I—ugh! You—you insane, horrifying menace!"
He laughs, low, dark, dangerous—like the sound of doom brushing against silk. "Good. Good. Keep that fire, keep that heat, and maybe—just maybe—we'll survive this morning without me tossing you over the railing or you screaming your lungs out."
I freeze, breathing hard, cheeks burning, hands trembling—not from fear, but some ridiculous combination of rage, humiliation, and… something that makes me want to punch him and curse him and throttle him all at once.
And he knows it.
God, he knows it.
I glare at him, chest heaving, voice sharp enough to make glass tremble. "You know, Mr. Adam fucking Tavarian, you are an absolute menace to society! A walking, talking, certified disaster of a human being!"
He smirks, that dangerous, slow smirk that makes me want to punch him in the face and simultaneously throttle him, like my brain is doing mental gymnastics I didn't sign up for. "Menace, huh? I think that's… accurate," he murmurs, eyes dark, unreadable, inching closer.
I take a step back instinctively. He takes a step forward. I scowl, pace backward again. Step. Forward. Step. Backward. He corners me. Of course. Of course he fucking corners me. My back hits the cold wall of the room, and suddenly the entire world narrows down to him, me, and the ridiculous heat radiating off him like it's physically unfair.
"Fucking hell, Arshila," he mutters low, dangerous, that growl vibrating straight into my bones. "Listen to me carefully." His eyes are sharp, predatory, scanning my face like he's reading the riot of fire and rage in my expression. "I didn't mean to fucking touch you. I swear. Not once."
I snort, snarl forming. "Not once? You're insane! Not once? That was—ugh—you are—" My words stumble, cut short because he's so close now I can feel every inch of his chest against me, the heat so ridiculous I can't even think straight.
He tilts his head slightly, voice dropping lower, deliberate, teasing like he's holding a weapon just out of reach. "Okay, listen… if you feel you're not justified, if you want… justice…" His lips twitch, smirk widening just enough to piss me off even more, "…then you can touch me too. Right here. Boom. Fair. Balanced. No cheating."
"What the…??" I snap, mind stuttering, heart pounding, heat burning through my chest like it's some cruel torture device.
"You heard me," he says, calm, infuriatingly measured, stepping just enough to eliminate any escape I might've thought I had. "You say you want justice? I'm giving you the fucking opportunity. You want it, you take it. You touch me. Right here. Right now. We're even. Fair. And don't even think about hesitating."
I blink at him. Blink again. Heat, fury, and some utterly ridiculous awareness of his body are all colliding inside me. "Touch you…? Justice? Are you out of your goddamn mind?" My voice trembles between rage and… something I refuse to name.
He leans just a fraction closer, dangerous smile curling, teeth catching the light just enough to look like a predator who knows he's winning. "Offer closes soon, Mrs. Adam Zayan. Tick-tock. You want to scream? You want to shout? Or you want justice?"
I swallow hard, chest heaving, mind scrambling to keep all the fuck-you energy intact. "I—hh—justice doesn't involve… you!" My hands twitch, want to claw, punch, shove. Rage, humiliation, and that unfair, ridiculous tension are all tangling into a fire I can't put out.
He laughs low, dark, satisfying in a way that makes me want to strangle him. "Oh, Arshila, this is exactly what I'm talking about. Loud. Fiery. Hot-headed. My personal favorite mix. You're literally the only person I've met who matches… well, almost matches… the chaos I carry around."
I glare up at him through narrowed lashes, fury still blazing. "You—ugh—you are the worst! The absolute fucking worst! I—ugh! How do you even live with yourself??"
His eyes glint with that dangerous mix of amusement and something like challenge. "By cornering women like you and offering them justice. Fair, direct… physically satisfying justice," he mutters, voice dropping lower, a growl that makes me want to punch him and melt all at once.
I snarl, spinning, jerking my wrist just enough to point at him. "You——you are insane! An absolute, horrifying menace! And I swear to God, Zayan Tavarian, if you think—"
"Don't swear," he interrupts smoothly, deadly, leaning fractionally closer, that heat brushing against me. "Or do. I honestly don't care. But if you shout… scream… bite… anything? You will regret it. Literally. Regret. Every. Single. Second."
I freeze, fury coiling, brain screaming, chest pounding, heat radiating off him in a way that is cruelly unfair. And he knows it.
Fucking hell.
_____________________________
ZAYANS POV
I watch her—God, I really watch her. Every snarl, every flare of nostrils, every breath she drags in like she's about to combust. The chaos, the fire, the fury—perfect. Fucking perfect. And yeah, the touch was an accident… but this? This is deliberate. I can't stop myself from leaning into it, enjoying it, letting the tension coil around her like some damn physical leash.
Her glare? Blinding. Her chest heaving? Perfect. Her hands twitching, trembling—not out of fear, not really—but out of… something else entirely. Something hot, chaotic, fire-lit… I'll file that under absolute fucking perfection.
"Fuck you, Zayan!" she spits, voice sharp, cutting, venomous.
I smirk, low, dangerous, leaning just enough so my shadow slides over her, heat brushing hers without a damn inch of touch. "Do you… take it raw?" I murmur, voice velveted danger, watching her eyes go wide like I just slapped her in the head with a lightning bolt.
Holy hell. She looks like she's processing the apocalypse and the world ending and some kind of unfair, terrifying… me.
I can feel it, the ridiculous pull. I want to pin her to the wall. Right here. Right now. I want to drag her chest to mine, hear her inhale, see her try to fight the storm, and make her remember exactly who she belongs to—if not in some romantic garbage way, then in that primal, unfair, fire-and-metal sense where I own the moment, the space, her reactions.
Her breath hitches, sharp, ragged. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her jaw clench. She's resisting, furious, hot, alive—and it drives me insane, in a way I don't even want to analyze.
I take a careful, deliberate step back. Smile, slow, smirk dangerous. Watch her settle into the corner of the room, chest heaving, hands clenched, eyes blazing. I cross to the closest drawer, grab a plain black T-shirt, the kind that smells faintly of the linen room, soft, practically mocking in how normal it is compared to the chaos we just created.
"The offer," I murmur, voice low and teasing, eyes still on her, "is still… open."
She rolls her eyes, arms crossing over her chest like I'm the literal plague. "Oh, don't even," she mutters, tone sharp enough to sting my ear.
I smirk, t-shirt in hand, letting the silence drag for just a second longer. Then I open the door , slipping outside before the morning sun even thinks about rising. I can't stay still if I'm in that room with her any longer. Her heat, her fury, the unfair tension—god, it's intoxicating in a way that's supposed to be forbidden, unhealthy, chaotic.
I pause on the hallway, the air cold against my bare skin, chest still alive with adrenaline. I can hear her pacing behind the door, muttering curses like a storm trapped in a teacup. And God, I love it. Hate? Sure, call it that. But fire, chaos, heat, rage, obsession… that's what this morning is. That's what she is. And right now, trapped in this predawn darkness with the world still asleep? She's mine in a way she doesn't even realize, and I plan to make sure she never forgets it.
The offer? Still standing. But I'll be damned if I stick around to see if she's brave enough to take it. Not here. Not yet.
📍
You Want to Know What Happens Next…
The public sees the story, sure. But the truth? You're missing everything that really matters. The twists, the hidden threads, the moments no one else gets to read—they're all on you know where.
Right now, you can unlock:
Ten chapters ahead of the public, following Izar, Zayan, and the side characters you think you know… but trust me, you don't.
Exclusive side stories that show the real stakes, the bodyguard secrets, the power moves, and the moments the public will never see.
And yes… the first spicy 🌶️ chapter, raw and uncut, drops there first. Not on Webnovel, not on social media. Only insiders get it.
Imagine knowing the next moves before anyone else. Feeling the tension, the betrayal, the heat… while everyone else is still waiting. That's the edge you get as a member.
The chapters are live now. Three exclusive, ten ahead, and the spicy one coming. Don't watch the story unfold without actually being part of it.
👉 Tap my bio to unlock the vault. Be the one who already knows.