Dahlia's POV
Soren's question hangs in the air between us. The plane hums around us as other passengers gather their belongings, but I feel frozen in place.
"I..." I start, then stop. He's right. I'm not part of his family anymore. I'm nothing to him now.
"I don't know," I finally admit.
Soren studies me for another moment, then stands with fluid grace. He retrieves a sleek black bag from the overhead compartment, every movement controlled and purposeful.
"Come," he says simply.
"What?"
"You need a ride. I have a car."
It's not a request. The tone is polite but leaves no room for argument, just like Cobb's always did. But where Cobb's commands felt entitled and petty, Soren's carries the weight of someone used to being obeyed.
"I can catch a taxi—"
"To where?"
"The hospital," I say weakly. "My mother is—"
"I know about your mother." His dark eyes flicker with something I can't read. "My car will be faster."
The plane is emptying around us. I should refuse. I should maintain some distance from Cobb's family. But there's something about Soren that makes saying no seem impossible.
"Okay," I hear myself say.
We walk through the terminal in silence. Soren moves with the confidence of someone who owns the world, and people instinctively step out of his way. I feel small beside him, invisible in his shadow.
Outside, a black sedan waits at the curb. The driver immediately springs into action when he sees Soren, taking our bags and opening the rear door with military precision.
Soren gestures for me to get in first. I slide across the leather seat, and he settles beside me with that same controlled grace.
The door closes with a soft thud, sealing us in together.
The interior is all dark leather and tinted windows. It smells expensive – like Soren's cologne and new car leather. There's a small bar built into the side panel, crystal glasses gleaming in their holders.
"Where to, sir?" the driver asks.
Soren looks at me expectantly.
"Downtown General Hospital," I manage.
The car pulls smoothly into traffic. Soren doesn't speak, just stares out the window at the passing city. The silence stretches until it becomes almost unbearable.
I sneak glances at him, trying to understand what's happening. Why is Cobb's uncle helping me? What does he want?
His profile is sharp and aristocratic, the kind of face that belongs on old money and older power. There's gray threading through his dark hair, but it only makes him look more distinguished. More dangerous.
"You posted quite the announcement," he says suddenly, not looking at me.
Heat floods my face. "You saw that?"
"Everyone saw that. Cobb's phone hasn't stopped ringing."
The thought of Cobb dealing with the fallout should make me feel guilty. Instead, I feel a savage satisfaction.
"Good," I say before I can stop myself.
Soren's mouth curves slightly. It might be approval.
"You're not what I expected," he says.
"What did you expect?"
"Someone who would go back to him by now. Someone who would delete the post and pretend nothing happened."
His words sting because they're probably true. The old me would have done exactly that.
"I'm done pretending."
"Are you?"
The question carries weight, like he's testing me. I turn to look at him fully, but his expression gives nothing away.
"Yes," I say firmly. "I am."
Soren nods once, as if I've passed some kind of test.
The rest of the ride passes in silence. I watch the city blur past through tinted windows, trying to process everything that's happened. This morning I was engaged to Cobb. Now I'm sitting in his uncle's car, my face still sore from his slap, my old life in ruins behind me.
The hospital comes into view sooner than I expected. The driver pulls up to the main entrance with the same military precision.
"Thank you," I say to Soren as the driver opens my door. "For the ride."
Soren hands me a business card through the open door. Heavy stock, embossed lettering. "If you need anything."
I take the card, our fingers brushing briefly. His skin is warm, calloused in unexpected places.
"Why are you helping me?" I ask.
"Maybe I like seeing Cobb get what he deserves."
Before I can ask what he means, the door closes and the car glides away, leaving me standing alone on the hospital sidewalk.
I stare at the card in my hand. Soren Zaid, President, Zaid Group. Below that, a phone number in elegant script.
My phone rings, startling me out of my thoughts. An unknown number flashes on the screen.
"Hello?"
"How dare you." The voice is sharp with fury, immediately recognizable. Flora Zaid, Cobb's mother.
My stomach drops. "Flora—"
"Don't you dare 'Flora' me. Do you have any idea what you've done?"
I press the phone closer to my ear, stepping away from the hospital entrance. "I ended a relationship that wasn't working—"
"You humiliated my son publicly. You made our entire family look like fools."
"That wasn't my intention—"
"Your intention?" She laughs bitterly. "Your intention was to hurt Cobb as much as possible. And you succeeded. Ivana is in the hospital because of you."
The words hit like a physical blow. "What?"
"She collapsed after reading your little social media tantrum. Her blood pressure spiked so high the doctors thought she might stroke out."
Guilt crashes over me in waves. Whatever games Ivana plays, she's still a person. The thought that my post might have seriously hurt her makes me sick.
"Is she okay?"
"She's stable, no thanks to you. The doctors said if we hadn't gotten her to the hospital when we did..." Flora's voice breaks dramatically.
"I'm sorry she's hurt, but—"
"Sorry isn't good enough. I want you to fix this."
"Fix what?"
"Delete that ridiculous post. Call the newspapers and tell them it was all a misunderstanding. Apologize to Ivana and my son."
The demands hit me like slaps. Delete the post. Apologize. Crawl back like nothing happened.
"I can't do that."
"You can and you will. Because if you don't, if something happens to that girl because of your selfishness, I will destroy you."
The threat hangs between us, cold and real. Flora has money, connections, influence. She could make my life very difficult if she wanted to.
"Are you threatening me?"
"I'm telling you to clean up the mess you made."
"I didn't make a mess. I told the truth."
"The truth?" She laughs harshly. "The truth is that you're a bitter, jealous woman who couldn't handle sharing Cobb's attention."
Each word is designed to cut, to make me doubt myself. And for a moment, they almost work.
"I shared his attention for six years," I say quietly. "I'm done sharing."
"You're done? You don't get to be done. You don't get to destroy my family because you're having some kind of breakdown."
"I'm not having a breakdown. I'm having a breakthrough."
"You're having delusions of grandeur. Cobb is the best thing that ever happened to you, and you threw it away for what? Some fantasy that you deserve better?"
"I do deserve better."
"Better than what? A man who loved you despite your limitations? A man who put up with your insecurities and jealousy for six years?"
The words are designed to wound, to make me believe I'm the problem. That Cobb was doing me a favor by staying with me.
"If that's love, I don't want it."
There's a pause, then Flora's voice turns dangerous. "You will retract that post, or—"
The phone is suddenly snatched away from her. I hear fumbling, then Cobb's voice fills my ear, sharp with frustration.
"My mom called you—so what the hell do you want from me?"