“I had my brother bring it back for you,” he tells me, gesturing toward the vehicle, another thing I have no memory of. He then leads me to his own car, opening the door for me. I hesitate for a moment before sliding into the plush leather seat. The interior of his car is sleek, with a glossy black finish. It is the kind of car most people can only dream of owning—for Zayn, it was just another luxury in his life, while it gives me anxiety in case I break something or scuff it with my shoes.
Zayn hops in and puts the key in the ignition. “You aren’t taking me into the city, are you?” I ask nervously as he starts the car. “My father will murder me if he catches me with you.”
“Relax, Cleo,” he replies, a wicked grin playing on his lips. “I have no intention of getting you in trouble with your father.” He revs the engine as I fumble for the seatbelt.
As we drive, I feel torn between the news of Deacon abandoning me and the realization that being involved with Zayn could have dire consequences. He is powerful, intoxicating – different from Deacon in every conceivable way. Then I remember what he said last night that he would never be caught dancing with another woman if I were his.
“Stop overthinking things,” he says, as if reading my mind again. “I’ll make sure nothing bad happens to you, your father won’t find you here.”
I want to believe him, more than anything. Deep down, I know anything to do with Alpha Zayn is playing with fire – and I am dangerously close to getting burned.
“My stepsister is always looking for any excuse to get me in trouble, and this wouldn’t just get me in trouble. My father would disown me,” I explain, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks as I think about Lydia’s constant meddling.
“So?” he asks, his gray eyes meeting mine with a challenge. “You’re an adult, you can be around whoever you want,” Zayn shrugs, and I raise an eyebrow. No, he can be around whoever hewants, he’s an Alpha. Right now, I am just the Alpha’s daughter who relies on her father to still pay her tuition.
“My father hates you for some reason, he blames you for killing his best friend, I have yet to hear a word of this so-called friend he had,” I admit.
“Ah, he’s talking about my father,” Zayn states. Confusion washes over me, and Zayn smirks, his fingers tapping against the steering wheel. “That’s your real concern, your father.”
I swallow hard, averting my gaze. I can’t deny the truth of his statement.
“Relax, Cleo,” Zayn murmurs, his hand reaching over to brush against mine, sending an electric thrill up my arm. “I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“Easy for you to say,” I mutter under my breath, the warmth of his touch somehow eases my fears. I pull my hand away, he clears his throat, placing both hands on the steering wheel.
“Because of my father,” he abruptly answers, catching me off guard. I look at him, confusion mixing with curiosity.
“Excuse me?” I ask.
“They used to be best friends, and they were talking again before my father died. Your father hates me because my father is dead, he blames me. My father was going to sell him back the land, but I stopped him, not wanting Linda to get her hands on it. When the city was founded, your father and mine, along with four other men, co-owned the land on which it was built. However, Joseph got into debt to my father, and after Joseph was caught out, he spent the funds put aside for his half. My father was going to file for bankruptcy when your mother told my father to sell half of it.”
“So he was forced to sell half of their shared half or lose it all. He left a patch for your father from his half, which he finished paying off just before you were born, back then myfather had no choice to sell the rest off. It took until I took over my father’s pack to recover what he lost.”
“As a result, your father has been holding a grudge against my father ever since, and he’s been trying to find a way to take the land back. That’s why he hates me – he thinks my father sold him out and tried to steal what is his. However, that hatred grew when my father died; your father hated him for it. For years they were really close.”
“If my father were in debt, he wouldn’t have had a choice,” I say, the pieces not quite fitting together in my mind.
“True, but your father didn’t see it that way and reckons my father caused issues in his marriage to your mother. However, what he doesn’t know is that your mother told my father to sell it because the money used to buy it originally came from her parents.” My grandparents died when I was six, so hearing him speak of them is a little odd?
“Only when your mother learned your father spent the land taxes and defaulted on her parents’ credit, she asked him to sell it to get back anything he could for it. My father, luckily, was able to sell a sizable chunk that paid her parents back. He kept a piece and gave it to your mother because your mother used to be best friends with mine until your father got it in his head that my father was meddling and after his wife.”
“Yet he left her for the troll he has now because she is his mate,” I scoff, shaking my head at the absurdity of it all. Zayn remains silent on the matter, clearly uncomfortable with discussing my father’s choices.
“So, where is your mother now?” I ask him, trying to shift the conversation.
“Dead. She died nineteen years ago.” Zayn swallows thickly as if the words still sting after all these years.
“So just after I was born?” Realization dawns; I never heard of this or met him before the Council meeting. If ourmothers were close, surely I would have known him if she did not die.
I stare at Zayn, trying to wrap my head around it all. My father’s long-standing grudge against him wasn’t because of some imagined slight or personal vendetta – it was rooted in a complicated history between our families, and a sense of betrayal that has festered over the years.
“Wow,” I murmur, feeling a mix of emotions churning inside me.
“That’s… quite a story.” The weight of it settles on my chest, making my heart heavy with the knowledge of their shared past.
As we pull up next to a quaint café and boutique clothing store, Zayn climbs out of the car and gestures for me to follow him. I hesitantly move around to head into the café, feeling foolish in the oversized clothes he lent me, when he grabs my hand and tugs me in the direction of the boutique instead. He pushes the door open with a jingle from the bell above, revealing an array of colorful summer outfits on display.
“Andrea!” Zayn calls out, his voice echoing through the small store. A woman around my father’s age appears, her face lighting up with joy upon seeing Zayn. She rushes forward and embraces him tightly, her eyes sparkling with affection.
