Chained to the Enemy Alpha
Chapter 98: Slumber

Chapter 98: Chapter 98: Slumber

Lily sat stiffly on the edge of the sofa at the foot of Zayn’s massive bed. The bathrobe Martha had given her after tending to her cuts felt too thin, too revealing. She tugged it tighter around herself, wincing as the movement aggravated the fresh cuts on her palms.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?” Martha asked, hovering by the door. Her weathered face was creased with worry.

Lily shook her head firmly and pointed toward the darkened sky visible through the window. It was already well past midnight. Martha needed rest too.

‘I’ll be fine,’ she signed, forcing a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. ‘Go rest.’

Martha’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Alright...” She hesitated, then added in a whisper, “If anything happens, anything at all, you make as much noise as you can. I’ll get here as soon as I can.”

Lily nodded. Though she worried about what would happen, deep down, she knew she would be safe.

Martha, on the other hand, didn’t think the same way. Still, she respected Lily’s wishes and left, closing the door softly behind her.

As soon as she was alone, Lily’s shoulders sagged. She touched her bruised throat gingerly, remembering the feel of Zayn’s hand crushing her windpipe. The memory made her shudder.

Why had he offered his room? Was it guilt? Or did he expect something from her in return?

Her stomach knotted at the thought. Their first time together had been brutal, painful. She remembered how his scarred body pressed against hers, his eyes filled with hatred even as he claimed her.

The second time was different. For the first time, she felt loved. She felt safe. Just when she thought things between them were going to be good, everything came crashing down.

It was all her fault.

What she thought was a nice gesture turned into a nightmare, a nightmare she wanted to forget. She was beginning to wonder if there was any hope left for them at all. Or was their relationship broken beyond repair.

Lily traced the mating mark on her neck, feeling the raised edges of the scar. It should have been a symbol of love and commitment. Instead, it was a brand of ownership, a constant reminder that she belonged to a man who despised her very existence.

The sound of heavy footsteps in the hallway made her straighten. She smoothed down her bathrobe, heart hammering against her ribs as the door swung open.

Zayn froze in the doorway. He was surprised to see her despite having ordered her to stay in his room. For a moment, confusion flashed across his features before recognition dawned. She could almost see the memories replay in his mind—the destroyed room, his hands around her throat, his command that she stay here.

Without a word, he strode past her toward his closet, unbuttoning his shirt as he went. The material clung to his broad shoulders, damp with sweat from whatever had kept him away so long.

Lily rose instinctively, moving to help him with his shirt. It was what she’d been trained to do—serve, assist, make herself useful. But as her fingers brushed the fabric, Zayn jerked away as if burned. His hand shot up in a dismissive wave, causing her to flinch involuntarily.

Irritation flashed across his face at her reaction. “Stay put,” he ordered, pointing back to the sofa. “I don’t need your help.”

Lily retreated quickly, eyes downcast. She perched on the edge of the sofa again, hands folded in her lap.

Zayn pulled his shirt over his head, revealing his scarred back to her. The moonlight streaming through the window highlighted every mark, every raised line that crisscrossed his skin. Remnants of whips, burns, and what looked like claw marks covered nearly every inch of his muscled back.

She couldn’t help but stare. Each scar told a story of pain, of survival. Some were old, white with age. Others were newer, still pink and angry. She wondered how many her father and brother had inflicted.

Zayn caught her staring. His jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Grabbing a towel and a pair of sweatpants, he disappeared into the adjoining bathroom.

The moment the door closed, Lily exhaled shakily. She settled more comfortably on the sofa, drawing her knees to her chest. The events of the day had left her exhausted, both emotionally and physically.

Before she realized it, her eyes had drifted shut, her body surrendering to fatigue.

She didn’t know how much time had passed when a sense of comforting warmth roused her. Her eyes fluttered open, vision still blurry as she tried to make sense of her surroundings. She was no longer on the sofa.

She was enveloped in a familiar scent. Zayn’s scent. She looked up, eyes wide. Zayn was carrying her in his arms. His hair was still damp from his shower. She leaned against his bare chest. A towel hung low on his hips, water droplets still clinging to his chest.

“You fell asleep,” he stated unnecessarily. f.(r)eewe/bnov\ll.com

Lily blinked as she felt her cheeks burning. She instinctively felt the need to rest her head against his chest, but worried her touch would be rejected.

“You take the bed,” Zayn instructed as he placed her down in bed, “I’ll sleep in the office.”

He turned to leave, but was stopped by Lily, gently grasping his arm. The sudden movement made her wince as pain shot through her injured palms.

Zayn’s eyes dropped to her bandaged hands. A flicker of pain flashed across his face.

Lily shook her head. She placed a hand on her chest, then pointed to the office. She didn’t want him to give up his bed for her. She’d rather be the one to sleep in the office.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he responded, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You’re wounded, I’m not letting you sleep in a chair.”

Lily’s surprise must have shown on her face because Zayn’s expression hardened again.

“It just makes more sense,” he added coldly. “Nothing more.”

She continued to shake her head, grabbing his hand more firmly this time despite the pain. Her eyes pleaded with him. She wouldn’t be the cause of his discomfort, not again.

Zayn’s jaw worked as he stared at her, clearly frustrated by her persistence. Finally, he sighed.

“Fine. We’ll both take the bed. It’s big enough.”

Relief washed over Lily. She released his hand, allowing him to get ready for bed.

Zayn walked to a dresser and pulled out a pair of boxers. He dropped his towel and pulled them on, his back to her. Lily quickly averted her eyes, though not before catching a glimpse of more scars extending down his legs and thighs.

He slipped under the covers on the far side of the bed, his movements stiff with tension. The bed was enormous, easily fitting both of them with room to spare.

Seeing his willingness to share the bed with her, Lily pondered. Was he expecting something from her? Was that why he’d agreed to it?

Biting her lip nervously, Lily inched closer to him. Maybe he was waiting for her to make the first move. Carefully, she took his hand, feeling him stiffen at her touch. She guided his hand to the tie of her bathrobe, an unmistakable invitation.

Zayn’s head whipped toward her, his eyes widening in shock. He yanked his hand away as if burned.

“What are you doing?” he demanded, his voice sharp with anger.

Lily recoiled, confusion and embarrassment flooding her cheeks with heat.

She signed frantically, ‘I thought you wanted—’

“No,” he cut her off, his tone cold and final. “Go to sleep, Lily.”

Without another word, he turned his back on her, effectively ending the conversation. free.webn\ove(l)(.)c(o)m

Lily lay there, mortification burning through her veins. She’d misread the situation entirely. He didn’t want her, not like that. Not at all.

Biting back tears of humiliation, she turned away from him. She curled into herself and stayed as close to the edge of the bed as possible.