CHAPTER 103: NO CLUE

Just as Nathaniel’s thoughts began to drift, his phone buzzed, dragging him back to the moment. Roberto’s name flashed on the screen. He quickly answered.

"Did you catch him?"

Roberto’s tone was grim. "No. No one was there. The corridor was spotless. Not a drop of blood. It was like nothing ever happened."

Nathaniel’s brows furrowed in disbelief. That couldn’t be right. He vividly recalled one man sprinting away and the other collapsing to the floor after Zara had hit them brutally, both of them bleeding heavily. There had to be blood stains.

Suspicion crept into his mind. Something didn’t add up.

’Someone else was there,’ he muttered to himself. If not, such a quick cleanup and total disappearance wouldn’t be possible. It all hinted at a third party’s involvement. Someone had stepped in to cover up.

His voice turned cold. "Check for surveillance cameras in the hallway. If there is any footage, I want it now. We need to find out who those men were, and who got them out."

"There aren’t any cameras in that corridor," Roberto informed. "But I’m looking into anyone else who might have been injured at the hotel. Maybe we’ll get a lead. I’ll call if anything turns up."

Nathaniel ended the call, his thoughts spinning. Were those men just drunken idiots who spotted Zara alone and tried to take advantage of her? Or was there something deeper, more sinister behind it?

’No matter what... I’ll find them. I need answers. I need the truth.’

Inside the bathroom...

Zara stood motionless beneath the warm water, her arms wrapped around herself as though trying to hold her shaking body together. The water ran down her skin, but it did little to wash away the heaviness clinging to her. Her mind was trapped in the memory of those men, touching her all over, tearing her dress, and laughing at her helpless condition.

She scrubbed her skin with trembling hands, harder and harder, until it stung. It felt as if no amount of washing would ever make her feel clean again. Her tears mixed with the water.

Disgust churned in her stomach. The thought of those strangers touching her, hurting her—it made her want to crawl out of her own skin. If Nathaniel hadn’t come in time, those men would have ruined her. She shuddered at the thought.

Then, slowly, his breathless and bloodied face appeared in her mind. Nathaniel threw himself into the fight to protect her. He had shielded her, taken the blows, and faced danger head-on. Even after being beaten, he hadn’t run away. He hadn’t left her behind.

Her heart trembled at the thought of Nathaniel being badly hurt.

’He put everything on the line to protect me... again,’ she whispered to herself, the resentment and hurt she had carried toward him slowly began to fade.

Nathaniel had changed.

In the past, he had always kept his distance, never showing concern when she was sick, injured, or in trouble. But now, he seemed genuinely worried about her, as though his feelings had shifted. He hadn’t just rescued her—he had even reached out to Nicole to support her career.

Although she initially disliked the idea and had been reluctant to accept his help, she was beginning to reconsider. It wasn’t out of pity that he was stepping in. It was because he truly cared.

Her fingers paused mid-scrub. ’Is it really wrong to accept his favor if he is doing it because he truly cares?’ The voice in her mind whispered.

She closed her eyes, letting the water fall over her.

Nathaniel held power and influence. People constantly sought his support. Even someone like Nicole hadn’t hesitated to ask for his help. Yet here she was, the only one resisting.

Why was she so reluctant to take his favor? After all, she was his wife. There was no shame in accepting his help.

"Alright," she whispered, the last of her resistance softening. For once, she would let go of her pride. "But this will be the last time. I’ll never ask again. I’ll prove myself through my own work."

With fresh resolve burning in her chest, she wrapped the towel around her and stepped out of the bathroom. Through her peripheral view, she caught a glimpse of Nathaniel sitting on the bed, absorbed in a stack of documents.

She quietly slipped into the walk-in closet and changed swiftly into a fresh set of pajamas.

As she patted her hair dry, her thoughts drifted back to the night before—the way his hands had explored her, the heat of his mouth on hers. That moment had been abruptly interrupted, and she had rushed to Zane’s room.

And now, he was just a few steps away, waiting for her on the bed. Was he thinking about it too? Would he try to resume what had been left unfinished?

A nervous flutter stirred in her stomach. Her grip on the towel tightened instinctively at the idea.

Should she run away again? Should she make up another excuse and disappear into Zane’s room? Or was it finally time to stop running?

"Zara..."

His voice sliced through the quiet, startling her. She flinched, heart thudding violently against her chest.

"Are you done?"

Zara pressed her lips together, nervous energy curling in her stomach. He was waiting for her, probably growing impatient. But she wasn’t ready. Not yet. Her mind searched for a way out. Then she remembered mentioning making some soup for him.

"You must be hungry, right?" she blurted. "Wait a minute. I’ll go fix something for you."

"There is no need. I’m not hungry," he replied flatly. "Come to bed. It’s getting late."

His voice was commanding, and it travelled deep to her stomach. She twisted her fingers, her gaze moving to her reflection in the mirror, only to see her wet hair. She found an excuse.

"I-I haven’t dried my hair yet," she murmured, trying to buy time. "You rest. You must be exhausted."

He didn’t respond. It appeared he had taken her words seriously and decided to go to sleep.

She breathed out slowly, relieved. She reached for the hair dryer, plugging it in. But before she could switch it on, she saw him walking into the closet. The space suddenly felt much smaller with him in it. Their eyes locked in the mirror.

Zara froze.

He didn’t say a word, but the look in his eyes made her pulse quicken. A storm of flutters surged in her stomach, rising like a wave she couldn’t control.