A few days passed, each one blurring into the next. I buried myself in work, meetings, and the kids, doing everything I could to keep my mind from drifting back to that night at the hotel.
By Saturday, I was sitting on the bleachers at Rashad's soccer game, the sun warm on my shoulders. My husband was next to me, both of us watching Rashad run down the field with his teammates. The air was filled with the sound of parents cheering, the whistle blowing, and little cleats hitting the grass.
The clock was running down—just seconds left on the board—when Rashad got the ball.
"Go, Rashad!" I yelled, jumping to my feet as he weaved past two players.
And then he kicked it.
The ball sailed cleanly into the goal just as the buzzer went off.
The crowd erupted in cheers, and for the first time in a long time, I felt that spark of joy run through me. I turned to my husband, and we both hugged Rashad as he ran over, sweaty and grinning from ear to ear. For a moment, we almost felt like a real family again.
After the game, Rashad begged for ice cream, so we all ended up at a little shop down the street, sitting at a table outside. Rashad was laughing with his sister, ice cream smeared on his face, and I smiled even as my mind started to wander.
Zaire.
I hadn't spoken to him since the night I left the hotel. I'd made sure all communication about the Miami project went through my managers. Keeping that distance was for the best... wasn't it?
It was a bad idea to sleep with my business partner. I knew that. And no matter what my husband had done, the fact was I was still married.
I had never cheated. Not once.
The guilt tightened in my chest as I pushed the thought away and focused on my kids.
That's when my phone rang.
The screen flashed Unknown Number.
I sighed, standing up and stepping away from the table. I figured it was one of my managers or someone from the office.
"Hello?"
There was a pause. Then a voice I knew instantly.
"Fatima."
I froze. "Zaire?"
"You've been ignoring me," he said, his voice low. But there was something in it—something that almost sounded... hurt.
I glanced back at the table where my husband and kids were laughing, then turned away, lowering my voice. "I've just been busy," I said quietly.
Zaire let out a short, dry laugh. "Busy, huh? Am I that bad, Fatima?"
My heart thudded, and I had no answer.
I hesitated, my throat dry. "No... you're actually the best I've ever been with," I admitted quietly, my voice low enough so no one at the table could hear me.
There was silence on the other end. I could almost feel him processing what I'd just said.
"But it was a mistake, Zaire," I continued, forcing the words out even though they hurt to say. "I got caught up in lust. And honestly... it only happened because of what my husband did. His affair—" I stopped myself, glancing back at the table. My husband was watching me out of the corner of his eye, his jaw tight as Rashad licked ice cream off his fingers.
Zaire finally spoke, his voice deeper now. "It didn't feel like a mistake, Fatima. You can't tell me you didn't feel what I felt that night."
"I felt it," I whispered, my hand tightening around the phone. "But that doesn't change the fact that it was wrong."
"I don't care what you call it," he said softly, almost like a plea. "I just need to see you."
I shook my head, turning my back to my family so they wouldn't read my lips. "Zaire—"
"Please," he cut in, his voice sharper this time. "I have something important to show you. Just meet me. One time. Tonight."
I swallowed hard, the weight of his words hanging heavy between us.
At the table, I could feel my husband's eyes burning into me as I stood with my phone pressed to my ear. He wasn't even pretending not to listen anymore.
"Fatima," Zaire said quietly, "don't tell me no."
I exhaled, glancing back at the table again. My husband's stare was so intense it made my stomach twist, but I looked away quickly.
"Where?" I finally said.
"I'll send you the details," Zaire said firmly before I could respond.
I hung up and stood there for a moment, staring at the phone in my hand, my thoughts spinning. This whole situation was a mess. I was married, my kids were laughing with their father, and here I was sneaking phone calls with a man I should've never touched.
I tucked the phone in my bag and walked back to the table, forcing a smile.
"Who was that?" my husband asked immediately, his eyes narrowing just slightly.
"Work," I said quickly, sliding into my seat. "One of my managers."
He didn't look convinced, but he didn't push it either.
As we finished the ice cream, I found myself staring at him across the table, thinking about how he was still sleeping in the guest room. Ever since I slept with Zaire, I'd been feeling this heavy guilt. It wasn't logical—I knew that. My husband had betrayed me first. But somehow it felt like, now that I had stepped out too, I'd lost the right to press forward with the divorce.
It didn't make sense.
But I also knew there were still boundaries neither of us could ignore.
Later that day, we got home, and the kids went straight to their rooms to unwind from the long day.
"I'm heading to the office for a while," I told my husband, grabbing my keys from the counter.
He gave me a look like he wanted to ask questions, but instead, he just nodded. "Of course" he muttered.
Outside, my driver was already waiting by the car. I handed him a folded piece of paper with the address Zaire had sent me.
He smiled warmly as I climbed into the back seat. "Mrs. Fatima, my daughter won her game," he said proudly. "She was so happy with your gift. You set her life up with that ring, you know. College money, or even business money if she wants it."
I smiled faintly, touched by the pride in his voice.
"She's only eleven, and she already has her future covered because of you," he continued, his voice full of gratitude. "Thank you, Mrs. Fatima. You don't know how much this means to us."
I nodded softly. "I'm glad it helped her," I said quietly.
He kept talking, sharing how excited his daughter was, and for a moment, I felt lighter hearing it. But deep down, the weight of everything else in my life still pressed heavy on my chest as we drove toward the address Zaire had sent me.
As we stepped into the estate, I couldn't help but look around at the sheer size and elegance of the place. Marble floors stretched from wall to wall, tall ceilings with crystal chandeliers, a sweeping staircase that curved up to the second floor.
"This can't be your house," I blurted out, almost laughing in disbelief.
Zaire glanced at me, one eyebrow raised. "It is."
I shook my head, smirking. "So what, you just keep random mansions around the city you don't live in? What is this, your secret family house or something?"
A small smile tugged at his lips, but it faded quickly. "No... it's not that."
He took a deep breath and stepped further inside, his voice quieter now. "I bought this house for my parents years ago. They were my biggest supporters, always there for me no matter how crazy my dreams sounded."
I felt my chest tighten as I watched his face.
"One night," he continued, his voice dipping lower, "armed men broke in. They wanted money, jewelry... my location. But my parents never gave me up. They protected me until the end."
I swallowed hard, frozen in place.
"They didn't even turn off the cameras or the audio," he said bitterly. "I had to watch and listen to how it all happened. How they... died. Because of me."
"Zaire..." I whispered.
He shook his head slowly. "The reason I brought you here is because... that's what drew me to you. I knew your pain. I knew what it felt like to lose everything that made you feel safe."
Without even thinking, I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around him. He didn't hesitate to hold me back, his hands pressing against the small of my back as he exhaled like he'd been holding his breath for years.
We stood like that for a moment before he pulled back slightly, his hands still on my waist.
"I was thinking about selling this place," he said softly, a small smile tugging at his lips. "But since I met you... I haven't been able to. It's like there's history here now."
I stared up at him, my heart racing.
Then he kissed me.
It wasn't rushed, but it wasn't soft either—it was deep, full of all the words neither of us could say. My hands clung to the back of his neck, his lips moving against mine like he didn't want to let me go.
When he finally broke the kiss, he didn't say a word. He just laced his fingers through mine and pulled me gently toward the back of the house.
As the double doors opened, I gasped.
The backyard was breathtaking. String lights draped across the trees, the garden blooming under the soft glow, and in the middle of it all was a beautifully set table for two. A small group of musicians stood to the side, their violins filling the air with the softest, most haunting melody I'd ever heard.
"Zaire..." I whispered, almost at a loss for words.
He stepped close behind me, his voice warm in my ear. "Ever since I met you, I've been stuck. I don't want to sound like a creep, but... it's true."
I turned slowly to face him, my chest tight. "Zaire... I'm a lot," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "I come with so much baggage. And I've... I've never really received love before. Not the kind you deserve."
He lifted my chin gently with his finger, his eyes searching mine. "Then let me be the first to show you what it feels like."
We sat at the table as the violinists played softly in the background, the music floating through the night air. The dinner was simple but perfect—grilled salmon, roasted vegetables, wine that tasted expensive.
At first, we talked about easy things. The Miami project. The kids. Even Rashad's soccer game. But slowly, the conversation went deeper.
I found myself telling Zaire things I hadn't told anyone in years—how I built Luxor from nothing, how I'd sacrificed so much of myself for my family and my business, how some days I felt like I was running on fumes but couldn't afford to stop.
He listened, his dark eyes never leaving mine. "That's exactly why I respect you," he said. "You've carried the weight of the world on your shoulders, and you never once folded."
I looked down at my glass, swallowing hard. "It doesn't always feel like strength, Zaire. Some days it feels like survival."
"Survival is strength," he said firmly.
The violinists ended a piece, and Zaire turned to them. "Thank you," he said softly. "You can leave for the night."
They nodded, packed up quietly, and soon it was just the two of us in the backyard, the night air still and heavy.
Zaire leaned back in his chair, his gaze steady. "Why do you keep pushing me away?"
I blinked, caught off guard. "Because this... whatever this is between us... it's dangerous," I said, my voice low but certain. "I'm still married. I have kids. I have too much to lose."
"And you think I don't?" he asked, leaning forward now, his voice sharper. "You think I can afford to mix business and... this? But I can't ignore it. And neither can you."
I held his stare, my pulse racing. "I can. I have to. My life doesn't allow me to fall apart over something I can't have."
His jaw tightened. "You think I'm trying to make you fall apart?"
"I think you already have," I shot back before I could stop myself.
The air between us grew heavier. Zaire stood slowly and walked to my side of the table, stopping just close enough that I could feel the heat of his body.
"You think this is just about attraction?" he asked quietly. "It's not. I see you, Fatima. I see every part of you that you hide from the world. And you hate it because you can't control it."
My chest rose and fell as I stared up at him, my hands gripping the edge of the table. "I don't need you to see me," I whispered. "I need you to let me breathe."
Zaire leaned down slightly, his voice dropping even lower. "You're lying to yourself. That's what's killing you, Fatima. Not me."
I looked away, my heart hammering, and pushed back from the table. "You don't know me as well as you think you do."
He didn't move, just let the words hang there. "I know enough," he said finally, his tone softening but still sure. "And that's why I can't let you go."
I barely had time to react.
Zaire stepped closer, and in one swift movement, he picked me up effortlessly and sat me on the edge of the table. My breath caught as I gripped his shoulders for balance.
Before I could say a word, he swept his arm across the table, sending plates, glasses, and silverware crashing to the ground. The sharp sound of glass breaking echoed through the backyard, but neither of us flinched.
"Zaire—"
"You drive me crazy," he cut me off, his voice low, rough, his hands gripping my waist. "Do you know that? I can't think straight when I'm around you."
My chest rose and fell quickly, my heartbeat loud in my ears. "You think I don't feel the same?" I whispered. "But this isn't right. I told you—I'm still married. We shouldn't—"
"Stop," he said firmly, his eyes locking on mine. "Stop pretending like you don't want this as much as I do."
I swallowed hard, my hands tightening in his shirt. "I can't want it, Zaire. I can't."
His lips brushed against my ear, his voice deep and slow. "Then why are you shaking every time I touch you?"
My breath hitched, and I turned my face to his, our foreheads almost touching. "Because you terrify me," I admitted, my voice trembling. "I'm terrified of how much I want you."
His hands slid up my back, pulling me closer. "Good," he whispered. "Because I'm terrified too. But I'm done fighting it."
And then his mouth was on mine.
It wasn't soft. It was hungry, deep, a clash of all the emotions we'd been holding back. My hands tangled in his hair as he kissed me like he wanted to consume every part of me.
He pressed me back onto the table, his body hovering over mine as the remnants of the dinner crunched under his feet. My legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, pulling him closer, needing him closer.
"Zaire..." I gasped against his lips, my hands clutching at his shoulders.
"Say my name again," he groaned, kissing me deeper, his grip on my hips tightening.
"Zaire," I whispered, and I felt the shiver run through him.
We lost ourselves in each other right there on the table, the night air warm against our skin, the soft hum of the city in the distance. Every kiss, every touch, every movement was intense, like we were making up for all the time we'd been trying to resist this.
It wasn't careful. It wasn't gentle.
It was everything we'd been holding back... all at once.