3 - Her Again

Zayn's Pov

I reached the office and dove straight into work. Meetings with the data analytics team awaited me, and I needed to go over last month’s performance. Still, as I reviewed files and interviewed candidates for an open position, my mind drifted. I couldn’t shake the image of the girl from the club. It was unlike me, getting distracted over someone I’d seen just once. A week had passed, and yet the memory of her lingered, the feel of her skin, smooth and soft under my hand, like silk. Her scent a warm blend of caramel, vanilla, amber, and a hint of cinnamon, had drawn me in like a magnet.

She danced with an easy grace, each movement seamless and captivating. And for someone who hadn’t been to a club in years, I had to admit it was worth it. My day had started awfully, but by the end of that night, things felt different.

**FLASHBACK**

The clock read 4:00 a.m. when I woke up. I turned, reaching for Freya, wanting to pull her close, but my hand fell onto cold sheets. Her side of the bed was untouched, wrinkle-free. She hadn’t come home last night.

I took a deep breath, pushing down a surge of frustration. I have told myself countless times not to be insecure or paranoid. Freya’s work kept her busy, and she had a demanding schedule, but there were limits. Over the past three years, she has developed a habit of staying out late, claiming work as the reason.

Yet here I was, running multiple companies, and I always made time for her. I didn’t know where things had gone wrong, but I had tried, really tried, to give our marriage my all.

I forced myself up and into the bathroom, letting the sensor lights flood the space. After brushing my teeth, I splashed cold water on my face and headed into the closet. My gaze lingered on Freya’s section, clothes meticulously organized, untouched, like she hadn’t been here for days. I shook the thought off and grabbed gym clothes, deciding on a light jog around the estate to clear my head.

With my AirPods in, I set a podcast to play, letting the silence of the morning surround me as I jogged. Security guards nodded as I passed, the rest of the house still silent with sleep. An hour and a half later, I was back, pushing open the bedroom door, half-hoping to see Freya. But the room was empty. Again.

After a quick shower, I dressed in a black suit and picked T*m Ford’s Oud Wood Intense for the day. The spicy, rich scent grounded me, preparing me for the long day ahead.

Just as I reached the kitchen, two small bodies collided with my legs.

“Daddy, I want pancakes!”

“Daddy, where’s Mummy?”

Kamila and Kamrin, my twins, looked up at me, both talking at once. I held up a hand, chuckling. “Alright, one at a time.”

“Ladies first,” Kamrin, the older by minutes, said with a proud smile, giving his sister the floor.

Kamila’s pout melted my heart. “Daddy, where’s Mummy?”

I hesitated, forcing a smile. “She left early for work, sweetheart. She will be back soon.” The lie tasted bitter, but I didn’t want them to worry.

Kamrin took his turn. “I want pancakes, with extra syrup!”

The look in his bright blue eyes, a look both he and Kamila shared and was impossible to resist.

I led them to the kitchen, letting them climb onto the island stools. Slipping off my suit jacket, I rolled up my sleeves and began mixing the pancake batter. Less than twenty minutes later, I plated up stacks of fluffy pancakes, drizzling extra syrup on Kamrin’s as he requested. There will be no candy for him this week, though, given how much sugar he was consuming this morning.

After breakfast, I handed the twins over to the in-house nanny, ensuring they were settled before I left for the office.

When I arrived at the company parking lot, my driver halted the Rolls-Royce Phantom in my reserved spot. Workers scattered as they noticed me stepping out, no one wanted to risk arriving in the meeting room after I did.

My secretary rushed over, gathering my files as we headed to the fifteenth floor, where I will be meeting with Nexusphere Technologies Inc. My PA struggled to keep pace in her heels, and a security guard held the door open as I walked into the room. My team and Nexusphere’s stood on either side of the table, and everyone rose when I entered. I scanned the room, noting Mr. Colt, the founder of Nexusphere.

“Please, sit.” My voice cut through the silence. I took my seat at the head of the table, gesturing for the meeting to begin. A young man, barely late twenties, by the look of him stood, adjusted his tie, and cleared his throat. His nerves were apparent, but his presentation was solid, laying out the potential benefits of partnering with them and their product marketing strategy. I listened closely, my face betraying none of my thoughts.

“What’s the percentage split?” I asked as he concluded.

“Thirty percent, sir. With the current demand for our products and your company’s marketing, we estimate earnings around $200,000 monthly.”

“Forty,” I replied, crossing my arms.

The man blinked, visibly thrown. “Excuse me, sir?”

“Forty percent, or no deal.”

A few mutters rose among their team, but Mr. Colt nodded at the presenter, signaling his agreement.

“Forty it is, then. We’re honored to be working...”

I stood, already heading for the door. “My team will draft a contract and send it over.” Without waiting for further pleasantries, I left, irritation simmering beneath my calm exterior. The morning hadn’t been smooth, and I needed time alone in my office.

I buried myself in paperwork, meetings, and contracts, losing track of time until the door opened suddenly. I looked up to see Louis leaning against the frame, grinning.

“I thought you gave up sleeping at the office after you got married?”

I glanced at the darkening sky outside, realizing I had worked well past sunset. My staff knew I had no qualms staying overnight at the office, which was why no one had interrupted me.

“I lost track of time,” I muttered, shutting down my laptop. I wondered if Freya was back, but the thought only deepened the tension in my jaw.

“What’s going on, Zayn? You look like you’re a million miles away.”

“Just work stuff, nothing serious.” He gave me a knowing look, but thankfully let it slide.

“Let’s hit a club,” he said, out of nowhere.

“Not in the mood.”

“When are you ever? Come on, man. I’ll cover the tab. We wouldn’t want to make a dent in your account, would we?”

I laughed, knowing full well my account could withstand far more than a night out.

“Fine, but you’re driving.”

“My pleasure,” he grinned.

In the car, I mostly kept to my phone, sparing minimal conversation as we entered a part of town I hadn’t seen in years. Dirt lined the roads, and ramshackle buildings rose alongside us. The neighborhood screamed of neglect. I frowned, but curiosity kept me silent.

The club looked out of place, a gaudy spot nestled among rundown buildings. Inside, the multicolored lights glinted off old furniture and questionable decor. I found a seat by the bar, letting Louis entertain himself as two girls wrapped around him.

“Two shots of tequila,” I told the bartender, who handed over my drink with swift efficiency. I made a mental note to tip him as I downed my drink and place another order for a Long Island Iced Tea.

The next wave of dancers hit the stage, and that’s when I saw her, the girl in the middle. She gripped the pole, her movements graceful and deliberate, dark hair cascading in waves as she spun and dipped. Tattoos adorned her arm, with a small one peeking out on her thigh. Not too skinny, not thick, just the right curves. I found myself captivated. I pulled out my phone, barely thinking, and snapped a picture.

**END OF FLASHBACK**

A week later, and I couldn’t stop thinking about her. Who was she, and why couldn’t I shake her image from my mind? I groaned, running a hand through my hair, an old habit I needed to break. I picked up my phone, tempted to call Ultra.

“Good morning, boss,” he answered.

“I need you to look into someone. I will send a picture. I want every detail you can get.”

“Yes, sir.”

I hovered over the image, thumb over the send button. What was I doing, trying to track down a girl from a club? Married men don’t do this, it isn't right.

And yet, there I was, a picture on my phone that shouldn’t have been there in the first place. I hesitated, then lowered the phone. Something about her felt too… personal. I couldn’t send her photo to someone else, not like this.

“Damn you, Zayn,” I muttered, tossing my phone aside.

I glanced at the photo of Freya on my desk, my favorite, taken during a yacht getaway. Her hair had blown back in the wind, and she had laughed, genuinely carefree. I tore my gaze away as the door opened, and I straightened, expecting the next interviewee. Instead, there she was, the girl from the club. The one who I can't seem to get off my mind.