For Better, For Worse: The Serpent's Contract Wife

Chapter 141: The Serpent & His Kitten [3]

The hum of the hair dryer filled the silence between us. Zade focused deeply on drying my hair and nothing else. The last conversation we had left an inexplicable tension.

Was he pissed off?

I don’t think I have done anything to piss Zade off. Despite the things I’d done and my attempts to betray him. He had never been visibly angry.

I haven’t gotten that kind of reaction out of him. He may have shown them toward others but not me.

As much as it fluttered my heart to think that way, it also disturbs me in some way because of how easily he could let the things I did slide.

Well, my actions did come with consequences, of course. But not the kind that earned me a bullet in my skull.

Zade had always been different toward me.

The hum of the hair dryer ceased, and he set it aside. The noise that had once filled the room was gone, and now it clearly showed just how suffocating this silence was.

"Shouldn’t we talk about the elephant in the room?"

"What elephant?" he asked, taking off his towel.

I swallowed. "About—"

"That conversation has pretty much ended, hasn’t it?"

"I-I wasn’t looking at you in pity. You just thought I did."

He tucked a few strands of hair behind my ear. "Either way you thought about it, and I don’t want you worrying yourself over something as unimportant."

I fixed him with a pointed stare. "How’s that unimportant?"

He smirked. "Because it is."

"So the Serpent’s scared of a little care directed toward him?"

"Baby, scared is the last thing on my mind."

I leaned close. "Then why brush it off so easily?"

His hand covered my throat, and I swallowed down a lump. He kept his eyes on my lips, examining how they parted slightly.

"It’s not a practical topic," he said.

It does affect him, and even though he doesn’t admit it, I know. I figured it was a sensitive topic for him. His parents had been the only people who’d ever truly taken care of him. After they were gone, he’d never been under anyone else’s wing.

That kind of thing altered you in a way. I knew what it was like to face things alone. Yet even with an absent father, my experience was nothing compared to Zade’s.

Zade’s parents were gone forever.

"I was just concerned, that’s all," I mumbled, feeling regretful about bringing this up in the first place.

"Why’d you be concerned about something like that?" he asked, amused.

He’d probably think it was silly if I said it. But I did anyway. "I was worried that you’d spent so many years taking care of everyone else that you’d forgotten what it feels like."

He blinked slowly, as though pausing on a thought. "I never thought about it that way. Not that it matters. I don’t see why this worries you, Anastasia."

My eyebrow furrowed, pondering how he could easily make this trivial.

"Don’t let things like that get to you." He added.

It might not have meant much to him, but it meant everything to me.

I should’ve said that out loud, but I didn’t. For some reason, I didn’t think words would be enough for something like this.

"Don’t move."

My eyes followed him as he walked toward the door, and my breath caught when I saw it.

Oh my god. Are those my nail marks?

I shakily placed my hand on my mouth. Oh dear... I practically used him as a fucking scratching post!

However, I couldn’t help the pride that swelled in my chest. My neck, tits, and thighs were covered in hickeys. It was soothing to see that I had marked him in some way.

God, I sound sick. Was there even a point to debate? What happened in that kitchen was a round of unholy things. Especially when he licked the blood off my—! Okay! I told myself I won’t think about that right now.

So much for blocking that image out.

My heart raced when Zade was back, wearing a pair of sweatpants hanging low on his waist and holding a dress shirt.

I slipped my hands into the sleeves with ease, and I pushed my hair aside when he began buttoning the shirt.

"What about panties?" I asked.

"You don’t need them. Put them on, and I’ll just rip them off anyway. Pointless."

"Great! So I’m gonna walk around half naked."

He sneered. "I don’t mind."

His lips pressed against mine in a heartbeat but I placed my hand on his chest to pull away. As much as I wanted to continue this I can’t.

"Zade, we need to talk," I said, changing the topic.

"After lunch."

I shook my head. "Lunch can wait."

Zade rested his hands on my sides and leaned down closer, a smile playing on his lips. "I’m all ears then."

I opened my mouth to start, but the words got stuck in my throat. Still, he waited patiently.

I exhaled sharply, seemingly the only thing I could afford at the moment. I was holding back, and I didn’t wanna do that, not when I had this window of opportunity.

There has been this inner dread after I got that revelation during the performance, about how those flashes could be memories.

Everything leading to this point had been a distraction, and now there was nothing in the way. Except me.

I took a deep breath, closed my eyes for a moment, then opened them and met Zade’s gaze. He was still waiting patiently, and I had a feeling he was gonna keep doing that until I said otherwise.

Here goes everything.

"I’ve been having weird deja vu," I began, feeling my insides tremble. "I’ve been seeing things that aren’t there. Hearing things... voices. I know I sound crazy, and I’m probably losing my mind. It’s a one-way ticket to the psych ward."

I chuckled even though the sound was dead to me.

"You’re not crazy."

I exhaled a shaky breath. "T-Then those things... are they real?"

"Depends on what you saw."

I shook my head. "That’s not an answer, Zade. I need answers. I need to understand why... after all this time, why something like this is happening to me."

I buried my hands in my face before dragging them up into my hair. "Two years ago... Did we know each other?"

Our eyes locked that instant, and the more we stayed like that, the more I thought I wasn’t gonna get any response

"Zade, please..."

"Are you sure you want an answer to that question?"

I nodded eagerly.

There was a lingering pause for a while before Zade helped me down the island. He took my hand and led me out of the bathroom into the bedroom.

He walked through the door, leading to his closet. The smell of cedarwood and a mix of tobacco hit my mouth so hard I stopped in my tracks.

Despite the number of times I have been in his room, I have never actually seen the closet. It was like I had stepped into a gentleman’s dressing room.

The closet was lined with dark wood cabinets filled with tailored suits. Polished shoes occupied one side, while the other, to my left, housed shirts and jeans arranged neatly.

A marble island stood at the center beneath the warm lighting. Beside it was a glass-topper display where his watches, rings, and cufflinks were.

I couldn’t get enough of this, but there was a more pressing importance at the moment.

"What are we doing here, Zade?"

"Answering your question."

"In your closet?"

I narrowed my eyes as he walked closer to a black door. What’s a door doing inside a closet? I don’t think that leads to more clothes. Call it a hunch. God, I hope it wasn’t some torture room or something.

Zade grabbed the doorknob, facing me. My eyes descended to the other hand he stretched out for me to take.

Releasing a sigh, I placed my hand on his big ones and he brought me closer.

"Please tell me there aren’t bodies in there."

The corner of his lips tipped. "No. Trust me."

I shifted my gaze to the dark space, nervous to the bone, before I eventually walked in, and Zade switched on the lights.

It was like I had stepped into a completely different world. The curtains being parted automatically pulled my attention to the floor-to-ceiling windows that were curved with the shape of the room.

With my chest rising and falling heavily, I dragged my gaze to the collection of paintbrushes and paints resting on the worktable. Then I saw what those brushes and colors had created.

The canvases lining the walls... every single one depicted portraits in such a mesmerizing way.

They weren’t detailed paintings, not the kind of realism that mirrored a photograph. Instead, they consisted of bold, expressive brushstrokes that held resemblance.

These were all paintings of me.