Chapter Six : The Cost of the Morning

The sun poured through the suite’s floor-to-ceiling windows, indifferent to the chaos it revealed.

Zeema woke before Ray. The sheets tangled around her legs felt unfamiliar, the air too still. For a moment, she didn’t move. She simply lay there, staring at the ceiling, trying to slow her breathing.

Her body ached in places she didn’t expect. Her lips were swollen, her thighs sore, her skin carrying the memory of Ray’s mouth, his touch, his voice in the dark. But none of it compared to the heaviness sitting on her chest now.

Ray shifted beside her, one arm slung lazily across her waist. She turned to watch him—his lashes casting shadows over his cheekbones, his mouth slightly open, utterly at peace. It would have been beautiful if she wasn’t already unraveling inside.

She slipped out of bed carefully, tiptoeing across the plush carpet to the bathroom. The mirror didn’t lie. Her lipstick was smudged, a faint bruise lingered along her collarbone, and her eyes… her eyes looked too alive. Like someone else had worn her skin last night.

The water ran hot, stinging her skin as she stepped into the shower. She tried to scrub away the feeling of Ray’s hands, the memory of her own surrender. But she couldn’t.

Because she didn’t regret it.

And that terrified her most of all.

Ray was up by the time she stepped back into the room, a towel wrapped low on his hips, phone in hand. He glanced up and gave her a sleepy smile. “Morning, trouble.”

Zeema’s heart thumped. She nodded, lips parted as if to speak, but nothing came.

He didn’t notice her silence. “You want breakfast? I can call for room service.”

“I should go,” she said quickly.

Ray’s brows furrowed. “Already?”

“I have things to do,” she added, reaching for her bag.

He moved to stand in front of her. “Did something happen? Last night—was that okay?”

“It was fine,” she replied too fast. Then softened. “It was… more than fine.”

Ray exhaled, relieved. “Good. Because I wasn’t sure if—”

“I just need to think,” she cut in. “About everything.”

There was a pause. A long, charged pause.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” Ray said, stepping aside. “But I’m glad it was you.”

Her chest tightened. “I wasn’t expecting me either.”

She slipped on her shoes and walked out before she could change her mind.

---

The ride home was silent. The city didn’t care about her confusion. It moved on, loud and relentless. Her phone buzzed in her bag — two missed calls from Ifeoma, one message from Danielle: Report to my office at ten.

Her stomach sank.

The woman could probably smell guilt.

Zeema entered the office ten minutes early, dressed sharp and hiding the evidence of the night before beneath foundation and a buttoned-up blouse. But the nerves, those she couldn’t hide.

Danielle’s office door was ajar. Zeema knocked once.

“Come in.”

Danielle sat behind her desk, manicured fingers tapping at her tablet. She looked up, gaze sharp as ever. “You’re late.”

“I’m early.”

Danielle ignored her. “Where’s the memo for the board meeting?”

“I sent it yesterday evening.”

Danielle glanced down at her screen, then back at Zeema. “And the minutes from the staff review?”

“They’re also in your inbox.”

A pause.

Then: “Don’t get comfortable, Zeema.”

The words dropped like stones. Zeema straightened, masking her reaction.

“Excuse me?”

Danielle stood, heels clicking against the floor. “You’re walking around here like you belong. Like people notice you now. But you’re still the help. Don’t forget it.”

Zeema swallowed. The urge to talk back burned under her tongue, but she’d seen what happened to people who dared. Danielle didn’t fire them. She erased them.

“I understand.”

Danielle smirked. “Good.”

Zeema left the office numb, heart pounding, hands clenched at her sides.

Back at her desk, she opened her email to find a new message.

From Ray.

Subject: You left early.

I know this is messy. But I meant what I said. Let’s talk. Tonight?

And PS: why don't use password your phone

I put my number in it

Zeema stared at the screen, unsure if she should smile or scream. Every part of her life was suddenly colliding, and she didn’t know how to stay standing in the wreckage.

She clicked “Reply.”

Then stopped.

Instead, she minimized the window, leaned back in her chair, and stared out the window, letting the noise of the city drown out the noise inside her head.