Chapter 3 - The Scars Behind the Veil
The interior of the Maybach was warm, smelling of rich leather and cedarwood. As the car pulled away from the conservatory, leaving the cheerful lights of my ruined wedding behind in the rain, I sank into the soft leather seats, staring out the black-tinted window.
Zachary sat across from me in the spacious rear cabin. He didn't press me to speak. He simply poured a glass of warm sparkling water from the built-in bar, handed it to me along with a soft cashmere blanket, and let the silence heal the frayed edges of my nerves.
“Where are we going?” I asked quietly after ten minutes of driving.
“My private residence at the St. Regis,” Zachary replied smoothly. “My staff has prepped a suite for you. You can shower, change, and rest without dealing with whatever circus is currently waiting for you at your home.”
I looked down at my hands. “I don't even have my suitcase. It’s in Andrew’s trunk.”
“It will be handled,” Zachary said simply. He tapped his phone, sending a quick text message before placing it back in his pocket.
I leaned my head against the cool glass. “You don't even know me, Mr. Howard. You don't know what happened back there.”
“I know three things, Maya,” Zachary said, his tone turning surprisingly gentle as he used my first name. “First, I know that six hours ago, you stood over my six-year-old daughter and held her life in your hands while her chest was open. Second, I know you chose to save a child’s life instead of attending a party. And third, I know that any man who trades a woman like you for a cheap spectacle at an altar is an idiot who deserves whatever ruin is coming to him.”
A bitter, hysterical laugh bubbled up in my chest before I could stop it. “He called me selfish. He said I was always playing the hero.”
“Saving lives isn't playing a game,” Zachary said, his voice hardening like cold iron. “It’s a calling. A man who resents your light is only mad because it highlights his own darkness.”
We arrived at the private underground entrance of the St. Regis. Within minutes, I was ushered into a sprawling penthouse suite overlooking the rainy city skyline. On the bed lay three brand-new garment bags containing cashmere sweaters, silk trousers, and a plush coat—all in my exact size—along with a fresh set of luxury toiletries.
Zachary stood by the doorway of the suite. “Take a warm bath, Maya. My private legal counsel, David Vance, will be here in an hour.”
May you like
I blinked, confused. “Your legal counsel? Why?”
Zachary offered a faint, dangerous smile that didn't reach his eyes. “Because while you were saving my daughter, I had my security team run a quick background check on your former fiancé, Andrew Foster. And I think there are a few things you need to know about why Mr. Foster was in such a hurry to get married today.”
