Chapter 8
The day after Melanie left the country, Yasmin wasted no time having the household staff replace every curtain and rug in the house with styles she preferred.
As Zachary stepped into the house that evening, his eyes narrowed sharply.
Several maids were carrying Melanie’s mahogany desk out of her study. Her favorite pen and a stack of
books were still resting atop it.
“What are you doing?”
Zachary’s voice was cold and cutting. In an instant, the living room fell silent.
The household staff froze in place. After a brief pause, one of them hurriedly explained, “Mr. Fuller, Ms.
Lloyd said this room gets great natural light. She wants to turn it into an art studio.”
Zachary’s expression darkened. “An art studio? And what if Melanie comes back?” he asked sharply.
The maids kept their heads down. No one dared to answer.
For days now, Yasmin had been getting rid of Melanie’s belongings. Everyone knew exactly what she was
up to.
The silence hung thick in the air. Then, a soft voice came from behind Zachary.
“Please don’t blame them. I was the one who asked them to do it.”
Yasmin wheeled herself forward slowly, her pale face making her look especially fragile. She looked up at Zachary, and her eyes held a silent plea as she said, “I just want to spend what little time I have left
painting. Once Melanie’s back, I’ll give the room right back to her, okay?”
Zachary looked down at her, his gaze dark with something unreadable.
Once, he wouldn’t have let anyone lay a finger on Melanie’s things. But then, he remembered how she had
set fire to Yasmin’s exhibit. Just like that, his resolve faltered.
He motioned to the household staff members. “Pack up everything that belongs to Melanie in the study. Leave them in the storeroom for now.”
Yasmin’s face immediately lit up with a smile. She clutched his sleeve and said, “Zachary, you’re always so good to me.”.
Zachary looked down at her and ran his fingers through her hair. The gesture was tender, yet marked by a quiet restraint.
“I don’t go back on my word,” he replied. His voice was low and calm, as if stating a simple fact.
Yasmin’s eyes flickered as she tilted her head to meet his intense gaze. She wanted more than his fleeting companionship. What she truly longed for was every moment of his future.
It was late at night, and the rain fell in a steady rhythm. Yasmin opened the door to Zachary’s study, carrying a warm mug of chamomile tea.
“It’s pouring. Here, have some tea. It’ll warm you right up,” she said softly.
As she set the mug beside his hand, her fingertips brushed lightly against the back of his.
Zachary didn’t give it a second thought. He picked up the mug and downed it in one go.
Meanwhile, Yasmin took a seat on the couch nearby with a book in her hands. Yet, her gaze kept drifting toward Zachary’s cold, sharp profile.
She had already tricked him into registering their marriage. But if the truth ever came to light-that she wasn’t terminally ill-he would start asking questions.
Hence, she needed to get pregnant as soon as possible. It was the only way to keep him by her side.
It didn’t take long before Zachary started to feel strange.
He removed his glasses and pressed his fingers to his temples, trying to suppress the uncontrollable heat surging through him.
“Are you feeling unwell?” Yasmin asked as she moved closer, her cool fingers brushing the back of his burning neck.
But as Zachary looked at her, an image of Melanie suddenly surfaced in his mind.
In a flash, Zachary grabbed Yasmin’s wrist. His breath came hot and heavy, and a dangerous glint sparked in his eyes. “What did you put in the tea?”
Yasmin sank into his lap and kissed him like her life depended on it. “I don’t have much time left. Will you give me what I want?”
Zachary’s expression hardened when he heard that. “Have you lost your mind?”
“If there’s no cure, then why not make the most of what I have left?” Yasmin cupped his face, her gaze drawing him in. “Zachary, please don’t turn me away.”
The drug was taking hold, and his body was growing hotter by the second.
In one swift motion, he gripped her waist and pressed her down on the table. Pens and papers fell to the floor with a loud clatter.
His shadow loomed over her as he leaned in.
“Yasmin, you-”
The last of Zachary’s biting words melted into their tangled breaths.
Yasmin held him tight, triumph flickering in her eyes. She was certain that this time, she had finally taken
Melanie’s place.
The next morning, Zachary stirred from a heavy sleep. The sheets were tangled, and the air was heavy with the remnants of the night before.
Everything that had happened with Yasmin was still fresh in his memory. However, it was Melanie’s determined figure that lingered in his dreams.
Bathed in the light of dawn, she dragged her suitcase behind her. But no matter how many times Zachary called out to her, she refused to turn back.
Annoyed, Zachary threw back the sheets, only for a pair of arms to snake around his waist.
“Don’t go,” Yasmin murmured drowsily, her voice sweet and seductive.
Zachary’s gaze fell to her face. Her cheeks were rosy, and her breathing was steady. Suffice to say, she looked nothing like someone dying of cancer.
