The first light of dawn slipped through the heavy curtains, painting stripes of gold across Marco's luxurious room. Zara stirred slowly, still curled against him, Elena resting peacefully beside her. The warmth of his body behind her was intoxicating, almost suffocating in the way it made her heart race.
Carefully, she shifted so she wouldn't wake him, her fingers brushing over the baby's tiny hand. Elena murmured softly in her sleep, and Zara's lips curved into a small, tender smile. For the first time in what felt like forever, she felt a fragile sense of peace—but it was quickly shadowed by the memory of last night, of how close Marco had been, how much control he seemed to have over her heart without even trying.
"Zara…" His deep, gravelly voice cut through the morning quiet.
Her heart skipped. He was awake, propped up on one elbow, those piercing blue eyes already focused on her. Her chest tightened; she looked down instinctively.
"You're awake," he murmured, though there was no scolding in his tone—only curiosity and a faint trace of something softer, something vulnerable.
"I… I didn't want to wake you," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
He smiled faintly, a small curl of his lips that made her stomach twist. "You didn't. But I like watching you before you notice me. It's… peaceful."
Zara's cheeks burned. Peaceful? Watching her? She tried to turn her gaze to Elena, hoping the baby could shield her from the intensity of Marco's stare, but she could feel him leaning closer, the air between them charged, magnetic.
"You slept well?" he asked, his voice softer now, but there was an edge to it—something protective, territorial.
"I… I think so," she murmured, though her heart was still pounding. "I feel… safe."
Marco's gaze softened in a way that made her knees weak. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Good. That's all that matters."
Zara's eyes flicked nervously to him. "Marco… about last night…" she began, but he gently put a finger on her lips.
"No. Not now. Don't speak," he said softly, his thumb caressing her cheek. "You don't have to explain anything. Just stay with me. That's enough."
Her pulse raced. Stay with him… just stay. But the words she wanted to say, the questions she wanted to ask, the fears she felt—it was all tangled up in her chest. She couldn't find her voice.
Marco noticed, of course. He tilted his head slightly, letting his forehead rest against hers. "You're trembling," he murmured, low and intimate. "Tell me… why?"
"I… I don't know," she admitted finally, her lips barely moving. "I… I feel so… confused. You scare me, and yet… I…" Her words faltered as her eyes met his. The truth in her gaze must have shown him, because his hand tightened gently on her waist, pulling her slightly closer.
"I know," he said softly. "I don't want to scare you, Zara. I'll wait. I'm not rushing you. But I need you to know… I'm not letting anyone hurt you. Not Elena, not you, not anyone. And I'll do whatever it takes to make sure you stay safe. Understand?"
She swallowed hard, feeling a shiver of something dangerous and exciting run through her. "I… I understand," she whispered, though her heart was still pounding against her chest.
She pressed herself closer to him instinctively, her cheek resting against his chest. His arm tightened around her, pulling her even closer, and the heat of his body, the scent of him, the slow, steady beat of his heart—it was all-consuming. She felt herself relaxing slightly, but a tension lingered in her chest: the fear of her own growing feelings, the danger of trusting someone like him, the undeniable pull she felt every time he touched her.
Marco's lips moved to the top of her head, brushing gently, and he whispered, "You're mine, Zara. Mine to protect… mine to hold. I won't let anything happen to you."
She closed her eyes, trembling, not knowing whether to pull away or let herself melt into him completely. "Marco…" she breathed, feeling utterly lost, utterly captivated.
Zara's chest tightened. The words, the touch, the protection, the power—it was all too much. And yet, as she drifted back into a fragile sleep, she realized she wanted nothing more than to stay in his arms, to feel his warmth, and to let herself trust him, even if just for tonight.
Outside, the world remained dangerous, unpredictable. But inside Marco's room, for the first time in a long while, Zara felt a fragile sense of safety… and something more, something intoxicating, something dangerously, irrevocably pulling her toward him.