Zayden leaned back in his office chair, the subtle glow of his phone screen casting faint shadows on his sharp jawline. He had told himself he was just being polite, just checking on a guest from last night out of courtesy. But now, thirty minutes had passed and he was still scrolling through Irish's social media feed.
The screen was filled with vibrant snapshots of a young woman chasing her dreams. Irish posing behind the counter of her chic cafe. Irish showcasing fabrics in her boutique. Irish sipping coffee with a sketchpad beside her. She looked passionate, driven, fearless—and damn beautiful. Not the curated, perfect beauty he often saw in high society, but a wild, captivating kind of allure. Effortless, but sharp.
"Focus, Zayden," he muttered under his breath.
He swiped faster, trying to pull himself out of the rabbit hole. But fate clearly had other plans.
His finger slipped.
Tap.
A tiny heart lit up red under one particular photo. It was a rooftop shot. Irish in a deep green bikini, sprawled on a lounge chair as the sun dipped behind the city skyline. Her hair tousled perfectly by the wind. Her eyes slightly squinted from the sunlight. Her skin kissed golden by dusk. She looked confident. Free. Untouchable.
Zayden's eyes widened. "Shit."
Ding!
A message popped up instantly.
Irish: "So you're stalking me, Mr. Zayden?" Followed by a laughing emoji and a cheeky eye-roll emoji.
Before he could even think of a reply, another one followed.
Irish: "So… when are you coming to analyze my business? I'm still waiting for that apology you promised."
Zayden let out a groan and rubbed his temples. "Brilliant. Smooth, Zayden."
He stared at the messages for a while. His mind raced for a logical, professional response. Something safe. But his fingers betrayed him again.
Zayden: "I'll come today."
Simple. Dangerous.
Meanwhile, across town in a cozy little home filled with dried flowers and soft earth-toned décor, Irish's eyes sparkled with satisfaction. She placed her phone down on the vanity, the corners of her lips lifting into a victorious smirk.
"Hooked," she whispered.
With calm purpose, she stood and walked to her wardrobe. Her fingers slid across a row of dresses before stopping on one in deep maroon satin. Short. Sleek. Just enough to suggest seduction without making it obvious.
She held it against her frame, tilting her head at the mirror.
"You're walking right into it, Zayden Malik," she said softly to her reflection.
She brushed her fingers through her long hair, pulling it to one side. Her eyes narrowed slightly.
"This is what you did to my father, isn't it, Marisha? Seduced him. Drained him. Left him with nothing but shame and death."
There was bitterness in her tone, but also power.She let out a quiet breath, steady and sure.
"I've always hated women like you. But I'll become one... just long enough to destroy you."
Her voice was calm. Cold. And final.
Whatever regret she had buried, whatever innocence still lingered inside her, it would have to wait. This was war.
And Zayden Malik? He was just the first domino.