Mr. Adiaga's footsteps and mine echoed as we entered the house. Climbing the stairs and passing through the white-panelled hallway, we entered a room.
Brown shelves lined the walls of the study room. The air harboured the scent of paper.
My eyes fell on a man settled on the sofa in the middle of the room, a wheelchair next to him.
His black hair was styled to perfection. His hunter-hazel eyes seared over me, melting my skin with a feeling I knew well—fear, and another I couldn’t dare discern. The black polo shirt did a horrible job concealing his broad chest.
“Is she the one Raphael?” His voice was hoarse yet pleasing.
I whipped my head to him. “Raphael?” The plaintiff’s name was Mr. Zain. The name on the contract was Mr. Zain Adiaga.
My breath shuddered as shock swept my whole body.
Mr. Adiaga shot a taunting smile. “This is Zain, your husband-to-be.”
He had tricked me.
