And now, all that tenderness belonged to Natalie.
When Natalie saw me return, a flicker of triumph flashed in her eyes. She drew her foot back slightly and looked at me with open provocation.
“Zayn,” she said coyly, “I told you there’s no need to wipe my feet…”
Zayn spoke without turning around, his voice so tender that it sliced through me like a whispering wound. “You’re always walking around barefoot. It’s easy to catch an infection or hurt yourself. I’ll have the butler lay down some carpets later. Go pick the texture you like best.”
Then Natalie deliberately called out, her tone dripping with false sweetness, “Yvonne, you’re back.”
Hearing the sound, Zayn stood and finally turned to look at me. His brows immediately furrowed.
“Go take a shower,” he snapped coldly. “You’re filthy—can’t you see that even one of Natalie’s toes outshines you?”
My chest tightened painfully. I fled upstairs in humiliation.
As I was gathering my documents, the door suddenly burst open and there stood Natalie.
She kicked over my suitcase with a sharp thud, her eyes glinting with venom. “Yvonne, you think copying my little ‘runaway act’ will make Zayn care about you?”