Chapter 36 My Own Undoing

Chapter 36 My Own Undoing
(AURIANNA’S POV)

Zayne steps carefully into the bathroom, dodging the small trail of blood I’d left on the tiles. He crouches right in front of me, his green eyes scanning my face before dropping to my foot.

“Let me see,” he says softly.

I hesitate, gripping the tissue tighter. “It’s fine—”

He shakes his head. “Aurianna.” His tone is firm but calm, and before I can argue again, his fingers brush over mine and he gently pries my hand away.

The moment he sees the cut, his jaw tightens. “Jesus,” he mutters under his breath. “That’s deep.”

He looks at the soggy piece of tissue I’ve been pressing against it and lets out a quiet sigh. “These won’t do anything. You’re just making a bloody mess.”

I scoff, half embarrassed, half defensive. “Well, forgive me for not having a medical degree.”

He ignores the sarcasm, standing up quickly. “Stay here. Keep putting pressure on it.”

“Where are you—”

But before I can finish, he’s already gone, leaving me sitting there, clutching my foot and biting down a hiss of pain.

I press the tissue again, but it’s useless—the paper is drenched in seconds. The throbbing starts to crawl up my leg and I groan under my breath, “Fuck me.”

I rip off another tissue and press it down harder this time. My mind drifts as I wait.

To the broken vase.

The look on his face when he said my name.

The two women.

God, the fucking embarrassment of it all.

I’m still groaning internally when Zayne reappears at the door, holding a first-aid kit. 

“Alright,” he says, kneeling in front of me again. “We should get you to the bedroom. Easier to treat there.”

“I can walk,” I tell him.

“Sure,” he says, giving me a look that screams you’re full of shit.

He reaches for my arm, but I wave him off. “I said I can walk.

I push myself off the toilet and the second my foot touches the floor, pain shoots up like fire. I yelp, stumble, and before I even realize what’s happening, Zayne’s hand shoots out and grabs me by the waist.

My palms land on his bare chest.

His skin is hot, his heartbeat steady against my fingers.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, his breath grazing my face. “You can totally walk.”

I glare at him, but my cheeks are burning. “Shut up.”

He slides one arm under my knees, the other around my back, and in one swift motion, he lifts me off the ground like I weigh nothing.

I freeze.

My arms instinctively wrap around his shoulders, my body pressed against his. The musky scent of sex coming off him, wraps around me. My heart’s doing that stupid racing thing again, pounding loud enough I’m sure he can hear it.

Neither of us says a word as he carries me to the bedroom. His eyes flick down once, then back up, but he keeps his expression neutral. Almost too neutral.

He sets me gently on the bed, careful with my injured foot. “Wait here,” he says, then quickly ducks out of the room.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady the chaos in my chest.

He returns a moment later with a small stool. “Alright,” he murmurs, setting it down in front of me. He places my foot carefully on top.

I flinch.

“Sorry,” he says immediately.

I nod, biting my lip as he opens the first-aid kit. The silence that follows isn’t awkward—it’s just quiet. Almost peaceful, if not for how aware I am of every movement he makes.

He works carefully, cleaning around the cut, dabbing antiseptic all over the wound. Every so often, I hiss or twitch and he murmurs another soft “sorry,” each one gentler than the last.

After a while, I need to say something, anything to break the strange calm hanging between us.

“So,” I say, watching him wrap a strip of gauze around my foot, “your girlfriends are gone?”

He glances up, one brow raised. “Yeah. I asked them to leave. And they’re not my girlfriends.”

I tilt my head. “Oh really? So what do you call girls that are your friends?”

He smirks. “Funny.”

“I’m serious.”

He shrugs. “They’re just… friends, I guess. Met them at a party a few weeks ago. Saw them again today, figured we’d catch up.”

I give him a look. “By ‘catch up,’ you mean—”

He cuts me off with a small grin. “Only if they’re down.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re such a fuckboy.”

He laughs under his breath. “I think that’s one of my most charming qualities.”

“Charming isn’t the word I’d use.”

“Yeah? What would you use?”

I narrow my eyes but don’t answer. He finishes tying off the bandage and leans back a little. “There. All done. You can thank me now.”

I glance down at my foot, then back up at him. “You can’t see those girls again.”

He freezes, his smirk fading. “What?”

“You heard me,” I say, folding my arms. “You can’t bring any other conquests home either.”

His brows furrow. “And why the hell not?”

“Because it’s a security risk,” I say, keeping my tone steady. “What if one of your little flings decides to leak your home address or worse—works for Dominik? You want him knowing where you sleep?”

He stands up slowly, putting his hands on his hips, his expression somewhere between disbelief and amusement. “That’s absurd.”

“It’s not,” I shoot back. “If Dominik finds out where you live, this place will be crawling with his men before sunrise. You’re not just risking your life, Zayne. You’re risking Brielle’s too.”

For a second, he just stares at me. Then to my absolute irritation, he laughs.

“What’s so funny?” I snap.

“I just realized what this is,” he says, shaking his head, still chuckling. “You’re jealous.”

My jaw drops. “Excuse me?”

He tilts his head, that smug grin returning. “You’re jealous and now you’re trying to cockblock me.”

I laugh dryly. “Why the hell would I be jealous?”

“Because you saw me with them,” he says simply.

I scoff, shaking my head. “What you do with whoever in your bed is none of my business. I’m not jealous of you having sex with a couple bimbos, Zayne.”

“Then why were you watching?”

I freeze.

Every sound in the room fades except the thudding of my heart.

“I don’t—what are you talking about?” I manage to say, my voice a little too high-pitched.

He takes a slow step forward. “Cut the bullshit, Aurianna.”

My pulse spikes.

He steps closer, his shadow falling over me, and then he leans down—one hand braced on the bed beside my thigh, the other on the opposite side. I’m boxed in, staring straight into his eyes.

His voice drops low. “I know you were watching...”

I swallow hard. His gaze darkens, and his lips twitch into a faint, devilish smirk.

“Because I watched you myself.”