Zara's POV
Morning in the Martins' mansion was a spectacle. Golden light spilled through high arched windows, maids moved like clockwork, and silence was treated like luxury.
I sat at the breakfast table, my untouched croissant crumbling under nervous fingers. I hadn't slept. Not after what I'd overheard. Leon's words replayed in my head like a curse: "His daughter is nothing but leverage. A cover."
I should hate him.
I wanted to hate him.
But when Leon walked into the dining hall, sleeves rolled up, tie loose, dark hair slightly mussed like he hadn't slept either - hate was the last thing my body remembered.
He didn't sit immediately. He stood across the table, his gaze steady on me. Not cold. Not warm. Just unreadable.
"You didn't eat." His voice was softer than usual, but still carried weight.
I swallowed. "I wasn't hungry."
A flicker of something passed his face, then was gone. He reached for the coffee pot, poured into his cup, and then, without asking, into mine. Steam curled between us like a secret language.
"You'll need your strength," he said simply.
My heart thudded. Strength for what? To be his pawn? His cover? Or... something else?
I lifted the cup, but my hands betrayed me. They shook. Leon noticed. His eyes dropped to my fingers, then rose to meet mine.
"Fear doesn't suit you," he murmured.
The words shouldn't have made me shiver, but they did.
Their silence stretched, heavy with tension neither of them named. Finally, he moved, pulling out the chair beside me instead of the one across. My breath caught. Leon Martins never sat close.
"You..." I forced the words out, my voice low. "You don't even like me. Why pretend to care if I eat?"
His lips twitched, almost a smile but darker. "Care is a dangerous word, my love." He leaned in slightly, his breath brushing my ear. "But appearances... appearances keep us alive."
I should have pulled away. Instead, my pulse betrayed me, racing like I was prey caught in a hunter's gaze.
Leon's hand brushed mine, when he reached for the butter knife. A spark shot up my arm, sharp and consuming. I stiffened, but didn't pull back. Neither did he.
The butler entered with more dishes, breaking the moment. Leon straightened, his mask of detachment snapping back into place.
But I knew. I saw it. The flicker. The hesitation. The way his eyes lingered on me, a heartbeat too long before he rose to leave.
"Eat something," he said again, his voice low, almost rough. Then he walked away.
I sat frozen, my fingers still tingling where his had grazed them.
I hated myself for it, but beneath the anger and betrayal boiling in my chest, another truth was clawing its way out.
I was falling for Leon Martins.
And I was terrified he knew.
