Chapter 6: The Silence After the Storm

Chapter 6: Chapter 6: The Silence After the Storm I woke up to silence. Not just the silence of a quiet morning, but the kind that clung to the walls, thick and heavy, like something was missing. The sheets beside me were cold. He was gone. I sat up slowly, body aching, weak in ways I couldn’t even name. My legs trembled as I swung them off the bed, feet hitting the floor with a soft thud. My skin still smelled like him. My chest still burned with the weight of what happened. His voice still echoed in my ears. I looked around. No note. No message. Nothing. Not even a door creak or leftover cologne. It was like he vanished into thin air, as if the whole night had been some kind of fever dream. But my body knew better. The soreness between my legs, the rawness in my throat, the faint bruises he left behind with his lips and fingers... I hadn’t imagined any of it. That voice... God, that voice... still haunted me. I slowly stood in front of the mirror, my reflection stared back at me, eyes bloodshot, lips slightly swollen. I looked... wrecked. Touched. Claimed. "I ran my hand through my hair, trying to clear my head. Trying to breathe." But how could I? After what he did to me... After what I let him do? The worst part? He left. Just like that. And for a moment... I thought maybe that was it. Maybe it was over. Maybe I was free. I went through the motions of getting ready, showering, wearing a shirt, and pants, but everything felt... mechanical. My limbs moved, but my head was somewhere else. My chest felt hollow. Like I was walking through fog. The restaurant was already buzzing when I got there. Pots clanged, the scent of garlic and tomatoes filled the air, and the staff yelled over each other. Normally, I’d be in it, organizing, tasting, fixing, pushing everyone to be better. But today? Today I was... distracted. I kept glancing at the door. Expecting him. Fearing him. Wanting him. God, it didn’t make sense. I should’ve been angry. I wanted to be angry. He showed up, ruined everything, took over my life, used that voice like a weapon... then left me like I was nothing. No message. No goodbye. Not even a glance back. But now that I’d tasted him, not just his voice, but him, his body, his scent, the heat of him against me... I wanted more. More of the fire. More of the chaos. More of him. I hated it. I hated that I kept thinking about the way his fingers gripped my waist. The way his breath warmed my ear. The way my name sounded in that low, dangerous tone of his. "Zayn..." Even just remembering the way he said it made me clench the edge of the counter, breath shallow. I told myself I’d forget him once we had sex. Maybe I was just curious, or confused, or lonely. But now? Now I was worse. Now I ached for him. Around lunchtime, I tried to focus and managed to plate a few dishes, shout some orders. But my mind wouldn’t stay still. Every little thing reminded me of him. The rich, roasted smell of the coffee reminded me of the Americano he ordered. The leather on my office chair smelled like his jacket. Even the deep laugh of one of my regulars had the same husky tone. I turned on the radio just to drown out my thoughts. Big mistake. Because there he was. Evric Draeven. Speaking on air like the city belonged to him. Calm. Confident. Charismatic. Talking about charity, business expansions, and plans for Draeven Holdings. That voice, God, that voice, so smooth it was criminal. I stood frozen in my office, listening. "At Draeven Holdings, we believe in strong partnerships. Commitment. Power through connection..." I leaned against the wall, head falling back, eyes closing as his voice played through the speakers. It wasn’t sexual. Not directly. But I was already gone. Just the sound of him talking about real estate made my heart race. I stayed like that for ten minutes listening. Like a fool. And when the segment ended, I felt like something had been taken away. I didn’t see him all day. No text. No call. No visit. It should’ve been a relief. But instead... I felt abandoned. As I was still battling with my thoughts, my phone started ringing again. I didn’t want to answer, but the caller ID flashed "Mom" so I sighed and picked up. "Zayn," she said before I could even greet her, "when are you going to get married? You’re not getting any younger, you know." I pressed my fingers against my temple, already bracing myself. "If you can’t find a good girl in that big city of yours, just come home. I’ll find you someone here, someone beautiful, quiet, respectful. I know at least five girls who would make perfect wives. Do you think you’re special? Every man needs a good woman." I didn’t say anything. I just let her talk. Sometimes, arguing made it worse. She kept going, listing names and families like she was reciting a recipe. I stared at the wall in front of me, tuning in and out. When she finally paused to breathe, I mumbled a quick, "Okay, Mom. I’ll think about it," and hung up. I dropped my phone on the table with a soft thud and leaned back in my chair, exhausted. Not physically, just... mentally. Then it buzzed again. I frowned, picking it up half-heartedly, ready to ignore it. But the message on the screen stopped me cold. >"The owner of the property you’ve been asking about says he’s willing to sell. If you’re still interested, come by today and bring payment." I blinked. Wait, what? That place... the one I’d been chasing for almost a year. It is a perfect location to open a second branch. The owner had been adamant... "Not for sale." I stared at the message again to be sure it wasn’t some scam. But it was legit. My agent confirmed it two minutes later with a call. And just like that, something in me shifted. A tiny spark of light in the middle of this chaotic mess I called life. A little bit of control. A win. I stood up, ran a hand through my hair again, and grabbed my keys. Maybe the day wasn’t entirely ruined after all. I didn’t waste any time. I grabbed my wallet, tossed on a jacket, and headed out the door. The air outside was thick and hot, the kind that clung to your skin but I didn’t care. For the first time in days, I felt like I was moving toward something that made sense. As I drove through the city, my mind kept drifting, mostly to him, to that night, to his voice. But I pushed those thoughts down, burying them beneath the rush of traffic and the task ahead. The location wasn’t far, just about twenty minutes from my restaurant. Prime real estate, good foot traffic, and the kind of visibility I’d been dreaming about for expansion. When I got there, the place still looked the same, quiet, a little worn down, but full of potential. The kind of place that could become something great with the right touch. The owner, an older man with a sharp gaze and a calm voice, was already waiting. "You’re fast," he said, offering his hand. I shook it firmly. "You don’t change your mind fast, so I figured I shouldn’t give you the chance." He chuckled, then motioned me inside. We talked for a bit, finalized the paperwork, and I handed over the check. Clean. Simple. No drama. The moment I signed the final document, a weight lifted from my chest. A small, personal victory. Something that belonged to me. Something I built, not something that controlled me. As I walked out of the building, keys in hand, I paused on the sidewalk and looked up at the place. My place now. And for a moment, I let myself breathe. Just breathe. No voice in my head. No messages on my phone. Just me. Just this. But deep down, I knew that silence wouldn’t last. Not with Evric Draeven in my life. The property was mine. Expansion was real. A win. A fucking rare win. I was driving home, window slightly down, letting the breeze wash over my face, trying to soak in the peace... when my phone buzzed. A message. Evric Draeven. My stomach twisted. > "Thanks for your patronage. You just bought one of my properties." I slammed the brakes, nearly missing the red light in front of me. My heart was thudding so loudly I could barely hear the cars around me. No. No. No.