Honesty

"Where did you stay last night? Did you meet your friend? Sorry I couldn't drive you. I had to work overtime again." Zayden loosened his tie wearily, his eyes briefly glancing at Marisha, who was all dolled up in front of the mirror.

"Just the usual, girls' time!" Marisha replied lightly, walking over to help him out of his work clothes.

"What about you? Did you eat last night? Don't overwork yourself too much," she added warmly, as if there wasn't a trace of suspicion in her tone.

Not that she needed to. Bram had already been helping her investigate the affair. Marisha didn't want to confront her husband directly. She didn't want to lose her perfect image in Zayden's eyes. She refused to be replaced.

Zayden merely nodded. He let Marisha pick out fresh clothes for him while his mind drifted elsewhere. You could probably guess where his thoughts were.

"I asked the maid to make you a sandwich," Marisha continued with a smile. "What time will you be home today?"

"I'm not sure yet. Hopefully, no overtime," Zayden replied, trying to sound casual.

Marisha nodded, then embraced him tightly. "Don't get sick, okay? Let's not work on the weekend. I want to talk about having a baby again. I want to try another pregnancy program. I'm not ready to give up!"

There was a sincere warmth in her hug. Zayden returned it wordlessly, his guilt tightening around his chest. Marisha had never been demanding. Never made things difficult. She trusted him unconditionally.

And yet, somewhere along the way, something inside him had died. He couldn't even pinpoint when it started, this emptiness, the numbness he felt around her.

Since Irish came into his life, everything had changed. With her, things felt real. Raw. No more pretending. No more suffocating smiles and scripted conversations. She made him feel alive again.

Affairs are like poison. Sweet in small doses, even addictive. But as the dosage increases, so does the need. Until finally, it consumes you whole, until there's no way out.

And Zayden knew… he was already in too deep.

****

Zayden opened the door to his apartment. The warm scent of the room greeted him. The corner of his lips lifted when he saw the petite figure standing in the living room, arms crossed and lips pursed in a pout.

Without thinking, Zayden tossed off his jacket and walked quickly toward her, ready to pull her into his arms. But Irish swatted him away, her face filled with mock outrage.

"Don't touch me, Uncle!" she huffed, folding her arms again in a way that made her look even more adorable.

Zayden raised a brow, feigning shock. "Are you mad?"

Irish scoffed, turning her face away. "You left me all day! You didn't even reply to my last message. Do you know how hard it is to miss someone and not go insane?"

Zayden chuckled softly, opening his arms wide. "Then why not run into my arms if you miss me that much?"

Irish blinked, fighting back a smile. But she couldn't resist. She dashed into his embrace, burying her face against his chest.

He wrapped his arms around her, pressing a gentle kiss on her hair. For a few moments, they simply stood there, breathing each other in. Until Irish looked up, remembering something.

"You still owe me an explanation," she whispered. "About that room..."

Zayden sighed, caressing her cheek. "I know."

Still holding her hand, he led her across the apartment, stopping before a closed door. He slowly pushed it open. The automatic lights flickered on.

Walls lined with racks and hooks. Leather whips, various cuffs, soft ropes, and tools that instantly made her cheeks flush red.

In the corner stood a wooden chair, fitted with restraints on both arms and legs, solid, a little intimidating.

Not far from it, a low bed covered in black leather, with metal rings on each corner. Everything looked clean, organized, like Zayden had been waiting for someone special.

He didn't enter. He stood at the threshold, gripping Irish's hand tightly as if afraid to let go.

"I know this probably looks... scary," he said hoarsely. "I built this room years ago. But I... I've never brought anyone here. Never actually used any of this."

Irish stared at him, trying to process what she was hearing. There was something so painfully honest in his voice, it tugged at her chest.

"Why?" she whispered.

He looked down, almost ashamed. "I was waiting. For someone strong enough to understand this side of me. Someone who could... maybe match everything I've imagined."

"Marisha?"

"Not her." His answer was firm. "I had to act perfect around her. I could never be myself. Marrying her was a way to hide... this darkness."

Silence fell. Irish looked back at the room, feeling its weight. It was intense, yes. But it also pulled her in curiosity, trust, and something else she couldn't name.

"My mother..." Zayden spoke softly, like peeling an old wound. "She was abused by my father every day. But she stayed... for the inheritance. Their marriage was never about love. It was business."

Irish held her breath, her eyes wide.

Zayden's gaze turned distant, then slowly back to her. "I grew up in that kind of pain. I thought I hated violence. But in relationships... I crave control. Not to hurt, but to feel safe. To trust."

Irish caressed his cheek gently, her heart aching.

"And I..." he whispered, locking eyes with her, "can only give that part of me... to someone I truly want. Someone I trust."

Irish stepped closer, tilting his chin so their eyes met.

"What if..." she paused, steadying her voice. "What if I'm that someone? The one you trust?"

Zayden froze, staring at her like he couldn't believe what he'd heard.

She smiled shyly, cheeks flushed. "Am I... the one you want? The one who fits your fantasies? I told you! I'm ready to give you what no one else can. A child? A chance to try something new... something wild?"

Zayden exhaled sharply, his fingers tracing her jawline.

"You're more than the right one," he murmured, voice thick with emotion. "You're the only one I've ever imagined, Irish. But... I don't want to hurt you."

"I'm not afraid."

Zayden looked into her eyes, full of doubt yet burning with desire. Their breaths came faster, their pulses louder.

"You really want to carry my child?" he asked, his voice trembling, deep.

Irish smiled, a smile filled with longing and silent promises.

Without another word, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her lips to his ear.

"I do. No matter the risk," she whispered. "I want to have your baby, Zayden."

"You won't be able to run from me after this," he warned, voice laced with raw hunger. "Are you sure?"

"This is exactly what I want," she whispered back, sending a shiver down his spine.

Zayden pulled her into him tightly, his grip possessive.

"Then..." he said slowly, voice dark and thick with tension, "you're mine. From now on. Entirely."

Irish's breath hitched as Zayden leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of her ear.

"But if you say yes now..." he whispered, his voice husky, "I won't stop at just making you mine."

He slid his hand down her back, stopping at the curve of her waist, pulling her closer.

"I'll tie you to that bed, Irish... and show you exactly what it means to belong to me."

Irish's lips parted, her heart pounding, torn between anticipation and fire licking beneath her skin.

"And when I'm done," he added, lips grazing hers without kissing, "you won't just be carrying my child…"

He paused, eyes burning into hers.

"You'll be begging me to never stop."