72.

Murad pushed the large double doors of the mansion open with ease, the soft creak of the wood filling the quiet night. His footsteps echoed in the grand entrance, but his attention was fixed solely on the figure nestled in his arms. She wasn’t unfamiliar with the vast hallways of his mansion; she had been here before, but something about being in his arms now made everything feel more intense, more intimate. Her heart beat faster, not just from the surroundings but from the closeness, the warmth of his body against hers.

Murad carried her gently across the marble floor, his strides confident yet careful. The opulence of the mansion—the grand staircase, the glittering chandelier above them—faded into the background. His focus was on her, and nothing else mattered.

He laid her down carefully on the plush sofa, the softness cradling her as he knelt beside her, his hands brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Do you need anything?” he asked softly, his voice filled with concern.

She didn’t answer immediately, her gaze locked on him. She just looked at him—really looked at him—her hands still loosely wrapped around his neck, refusing to let go. Her thoughts were a whirlwind, questions spinning in her mind, demanding to be answered.

“I need answers,” she muttered, her voice barely a whisper. There was no anger in her words, just exhaustion and a deep need for clarity.

Murad met her gaze, his dark eyes softening. He nodded, his expression serious but gentle as he knelt down in front of her. One of his hands reached for hers, cradling it in his own. His thumb began to massage her palm, a comforting gesture as he said, “You’ll get your answers. I promise. Soon.”

The tenderness in his voice made her feel like she could trust him, even though a part of her still felt uncertain. The warmth of his hand on hers, the steady rhythm of his touch, lulled her into a fragile peace.

But the medicines she had taken earlier started taking effect, and drowsiness swept over her like a heavy wave. She blinked, trying to hold on, trying to stay awake long enough to ask more questions, but her eyelids grew heavier. The world around her blurred, and before she could register what was happening, her body went limp.

Murad moved swiftly, catching her just as she began to slip off the sofa, holding her securely in his arms once more. He looked down at her peaceful, unconscious face and sighed, his expression unreadable, a mix of emotions swirling behind his calm exterior. There was so much he wanted to tell her, but now was not the time.

With her safely tucked against him, he whispered quietly to her sleeping form, “Soon, I’ll tell you everything.” Then, with all the gentleness in the world, he scooped her up again and carried her deeper into the mansion, where she could rest undisturbed.

Taliya’s eyes fluttered open, her senses groggy as she adjusted to the dark room around her. The emptiness of the space, unfamiliar and still, gnawed at her. The soft mattress beneath her sank slightly as she pushed herself up, every movement sending a dull ache through her knees. Her feet touched the cold marble floor, and the contrast with the warmth of her skin made her shiver slightly. She knew this place well, despite how foreign it felt at that moment. She was in his mansion, but something was different this time.

The route to his room was etched in her mind, her feet moving on their own accord, guiding her to the place she knew he would be. But when she reached it, the room was empty, the bed neatly made, untouched. Her heart dropped for a second, wondering where he could be. Then, she heard it—the gentle clinking of spoons from the kitchen, the sound of someone preparing a meal.

Her steps were slow and hesitant as she made her way towards the kitchen. The soft light from inside greeted her as she saw him standing there, focused on the task of serving food. His expression softened when he noticed her, a welcoming smile spreading across his face as he poured the dish into two plates. Without a word, he walked over to her, pulling out a chair at the table.

“Sit,” he gestured simply, his eyes warm, but quiet, as if waiting for her to gather herself.

Taliya sat down, her body feeling heavy, not just from the exhaustion but from the weight of everything she had carried with her for so long. There were no words exchanged between them as she picked up her fork and began eating. The silence stretched, not uncomfortable but heavy with unspoken thoughts.

“Murad,” she called softly, her voice breaking the silence. She didn’t look at him immediately, her fork slowly lowering onto the plate.

He turned his full attention to her, his dark eyes locking onto hers. There was no question in his gaze, just a quiet understanding as he waited for her to speak.

“I need answers,” she continued, her voice steady but tired. There was no anger in her tone, just regret, exhaustion etched into every syllable.

Murad didn’t flinch, didn’t look away. He nodded slightly, urging her to continue, silently offering her the space she needed to ask her questions.

She took a deep breath, her fingers trembling slightly as she clenched them into fists to stop them from shaking. “When we were in high school, you told me to wait for the prom so that we could go together.” Her voice wavered slightly as the memories resurfaced, painful and sharp. “And I waited... I really waited. For minutes, for hours… But you never came.”

Taliya’s breath caught in her throat, the sting of that night returning to her. She had tried so hard to push it away, to forget. “And when you finally came back... you drugged me.” Her voice was barely above a whisper now, her lips shaking as she struggled to keep her composure. “Why?”

Murad’s brow furrowed, his confusion evident as he listened to her. His hands clenched slightly on the table, but he remained quiet, absorbing her words.

Taliya’s eyes filled with unshed tears as she recalled that night. “It was the worst night of my life… I was cold, I was alone, and then you...” She swallowed, unable to finish the sentence, her voice breaking under the weight of the memory.

The kitchen was silent again, but this time it was suffocating. She waited for him to speak, to explain, but all she could see was the conflict in his eyes, the struggle between the past and the present.