Samir Powell’s face darkened with rage, his fingers digging into Zara Powell’s shoulders as he wrenched her around to face his icy, piercing glare. "You’ve got some real nerve, Zara. Since you love confessing so damn much, I’ll make damn sure you’ve got plenty to confess today."
With that, he wrenched her arm and dragged her roughly out the door.
Ailani Rivera’s eyes flashed with worry, and she hurried after them, pleading. "Samir, please, don’t do this. Miss Powell didn’t mean any harm. I’m really fine, you don’t have to do this for me."
Samir didn’t even hear her. Blinded by white-hot rage, he dragged Zara straight into the packed hall full of party guests.
Up on the stage, the host was in the middle of his speech for the Thanksgiving celebration.
Samir stormed right up, snatched the microphone out of his hand, and stared him down with a look that could freeze hell. "Move."
The host froze for a second, caught off guard, then quickly recovered and plastered on a smile for the crowd. "Let’s welcome Mr. Powell to say a few words!"
Shrinking under Samir’s unblinking, brutal glare, the host hurried off the stage immediately.
Samir hauled Zara to center stage.
Staring out at the sea of hundreds of staring faces, Zara dropped her head, breathing so fast her chest heaved, her face drained of every last drop of color.
She trembled, repeating the same lie over and over in her head to calm down: It’s okay, it’s okay, none of this is real, it’s all just an illusion.
Samir jammed the microphone right in front of her mouth, his voice cold as a grave. "Did you kill Watson Rivera?"
Zara whispered, "Yes."
Her voice was barely louder than a breath, but it boomed and echoed all through the vast hall.
As her amplified confession hung in the air, Zara’s heart lurched and quaked.
Samir ground his teeth, sneering. "Excellent. Did you do it on purpose?"
Zara’s nails dug so deep into her palms they drew blood. She kept her head bowed, and said nothing.
Hundreds of eyes burned into her back.
Samir pressed harder, spitting the words out. "Answer me—was it intentional, or self-defense?"
Her clenched hands shook. Finally, she forced the words out. "It was intentional."
"What do you mean by intentional?"
"I intentionally killed Watson Rivera."
The admission sent a shockwave through the crowd, and everyone gasped.
Chaos erupted instantly: people pulled out their phones to snap photos, shouted in shock, and half-assedly tried to hold back Cataleya Rivera, who was frothing at the mouth to get at Zara.
Samir slammed his fist down so hard on the podium the whole thing shook.
He grabbed Zara’s jaw in his bloodstained hand, snarl ing. "Then why the hell did the court rule otherwise?"
Zara lifted her head slowly to look at him, and his sharply handsome face filled her entire vision.
She thought, out of nowhere: if the baby I carried two years ago had been born, he’d be over a year old now. He’d probably look just like Samir.
Her empty, hollow gaze dropped again. A faint, bitter smile tugged at her lips. "Because I bribed my defense lawyer."
Samir’s grip on her jaw tightened so hard she thought he’d crush her bones. "How did you bribe him?"
Zara spoke without a single trace of emotion, like she was recounting some boring story that had nothing to do with her.
"I slept with him, and had his child."
*Crack.*
Her head slammed into the concrete wall behind her. Samir pinned her shoulder to it with one hand, wrapped the other around her throat, and squeezed.
His jaw muscles twitched, his eyes were bloodshot, and his voice seethed with unbridled fury. "How dare you! How fucking dare you!"
As the oxygen burned out of her lungs, Zara didn’t even struggle. She just stood there, letting him squeeze harder and harder.
Slowly, everything in front of her blurred. When her body went limp and started to fall, a strong arm caught her mid-collapse.
She hung suspended for a second, the roar of the crowd around her swelling, then fading to dead silence as everything went black.
When the pressure on her throat loosened, she dragged air back into her lungs bit by bit, and consciousness slowly crept back.
She forced her eyes open, and through the fuzzy blur she saw the back of a car seat in front of her. She was in a car.
A strange, hollow feeling washed over her—like she’d died, and just dragged herself tragically back to life.
For the last two years, this is how she felt almost every time she woke up.
Samir, half-unhinged with rage, saw she was awake and wrenched her upright, forcing her to face him.
He fisted a hand in her hair, staring so hard his eyes looked like they’d burn right through her. "Where’s the kid? Where is it?!"
Zara shook her head, slow and heavy. "It’s gone."
Samir’s dark eyes flickered. "You were never pregnant, were you? You lied to me?"
"I miscarried while I was in the psychiatric hospital," Zara answered softly.
It hit him like a needle to the heart, but that flash of pain was instantly swallowed whole by jealousy and hatred.
He shoved Zara away, hard, so that her head cracked against the car window. He glared straight ahead. "Uncle Finn, find the lawyer that defended her back then—I want him to see exactly how he…"
"He’s already gone," Zara cut him off. For the first time all night, something other than blank calm showed on her face.
A tiny smile touched her lips, and it hid all her despair, all her guilt, all her pain right in that faint curve.
Samir’s body went rigid. Zara spoke softly, gently. "He took my case, went against the law, faced all the public outrage, became a target. So he died." Public opinion is an invisible killer.
A weird, unnameable emotion twisted in his chest, and for a minute, he couldn’t speak.
Zara shifted a little, and lifted her eyes to his, pleading. "Mr. Powell, please just let me go. I have nothing left. The Powell family has nothing left."
Even sitting right beside him, not ten inches apart, it felt like there was an uncrossable chasm yawning between them.
For the rest of their lives, that chasm would never be closed.
Samir suddenly leaned in close, so close his cold breath fanned her face. His icy eyes looked like they could see straight into her soul.
"Let you go? Don’t even waste your breath thinking about it."
Zara’s lips moved, but no sound came out.
It was only when she noticed they were driving down a road she didn’t recognize that she spoke again. "I need to get back to work. Please let me out."
Her detached, polite tone stung him like a slap. Every word was a fresh jab to the chest.
His voice was ice. "Come home with me. You don’t need to go to work today."
Zara hesitated, then had to remind him. "Mr. Powell, I think you’ve had too much to drink. I have my own place. If my job bothers you that much, I’ll quit and leave."
Samir’s face was grim as stone. "Where do you live? Uncle Finn will drive you."
Zara’s heart trembled, and the words slipped out before she could stop them. "Thank you, but I can get back on my own."
Samir glared at her, intense and unblinking. "Zara, what are you trying to say here? Why do you have to act like you’re this wronged little victim?"
"Mr. Powell, you misunderstood. Your time is valuable, I can handle it on my own."
Samir finally snapped, unable to hold back his frustration any longer. "Get the fuck out!"
Uncle Finn hit the brakes fast. Zara immediately wrenched the door open and got out, then flagged down a taxi to get as far away as she could.
Back inside the car, Samir’s gaze was murderous as he gave a cold, sharp order. "Follow her."
