Forbiddenly Bound To You
Chapter 138: The Long Wait

Chapter 138: The Long Wait

Hours had passed, and Mira paced back and forth in the mansion’s living room. Her heart raced with worry, each thud echoing in her chest. She hadn’t touched her dinner; the food sat untouched on the table, a reminder of her growing unease.

Zamian still hadn’t come home. She couldn’t shake the knot of anxiety that twisted in her stomach. Just as she turned again, trying to distract herself, her phone rang. She grabbed it hastily, her breath catching as she hoped for Zamian’s name to appear on the screen. Instead, it showed Lily. Disappointment flickered, but she answered anyway, masking her unease.

"Mira, I hope you’re okay," Lily’s gentle voice came through the line. "You don’t need to worry. Your husband is a strong man."

Mira nodded even though her friend couldn’t see her. The words offered a measure of comfort, but they weren’t enough to quell the storm of anxiety swirling in her chest. She needed to see Zamian, to know he was okay, to hear his steady voice. She needed him home.

After a long pause, Lily added, "Mira, could Zami stay here for the night? She just finished eating and fell asleep."

Mira hesitated, a pang of guilt cutting through her. "No, Lily, you’re pregnant. I don’t want to burden you."

"It’s fine," Lily insisted, her voice light with amusement. "I’m only two months pregnant, and I’m trying to learn how to care for children anyway. This is good practice for me."

Mira thought for a moment, weighing her options. Lily had a point, but she still felt reluctant. "Alright. If you’re sure."

"Thank you, Mira!" Lily’s voice was filled with gratitude, and Mira couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief knowing that Zami would be well taken care of for the night.

"Love you," Mira replied softly before hanging up.

Sighing, Mira stared at her phone, her fingers tapping against the screen as if she could will Zamian to appear through the device. But there was no sign of him, and the weight of silence pressed in on her.

Before she could dwell further on her spiraling thoughts, Nana entered the room, her voice gentle. "Mrs. Mira, your meal is getting cold. Please eat something."

"I’m fine, Nana," Mira replied, though her voice lacked conviction. The food before her felt like an insurmountable mountain, each bite an impossible task while her heart remained heavy with worry.

"Mrs. Mira," Nana pressed, her tone filled with care, "you know Mr. Zamian won’t be pleased to hear you haven’t eaten."

At the mention of her husband’s name, Mira finally relented. She didn’t want to add to his worries once he returned. Rising from the couch, she made her way to the dining room, her steps slow and hesitant, as if the act of sitting down to eat would somehow jinx the moment she was waiting for.

Sitting before her plate, she stared at the food as though it were an insurmountable challenge. It looked bland, unappealing, and yet it called to her. She took a bite, the flavors barely registering on her tongue. The thought of Zamian still weighed heavily on her mind, clouding her thoughts. She couldn’t enjoy the meal; not while her heart was twisted in knots, worrying about him.

Her mind spiraled with guilt. Everything that had happened—everything leading up to now—felt like her fault. She thought back to her encounter with Zack, remembering how he had looked at her with a strange, unsettling gaze. Zamian’s clear disapproval of the man, even without knowing who he truly was, had left a lingering tension between them. And yet, Mira couldn’t shake the feeling that she was the one who had caused all of this.

Mira gripped her fork tighter, willing herself to calm down. She had to believe that Zamian would return safe and sound. Until then, she didn’t know how to stop the storm of guilt and worry that was tearing through her. She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing deeply, trying to steady herself.

She ate a little, but the more she tried to consume, the more her stomach seemed to protest, refusing to cooperate. She set her fork down, feeling the weight of unease press in on her. She couldn’t eat. Couldn’t focus. And so, she stood up, her mind racing with thoughts as she began to descend the stairs. She needed to do something, anything, to distract herself from the gnawing fear that gripped her heart.

Even as her mind continued to whirl with thoughts of Zamian, she trusted him completely. She knew he would come back to her, that he would always find his way home. But still, the anxiety refused to let go, tightening its grip. She knew she had to stay optimistic, to stop overthinking, but the weight of the unknown was too much to ignore.

A warm bath might help calm her restless thoughts. She decided that, at least for now, it was the best course of action. Stepping into the bathroom, she turned on the tap, the sound of water filling the tub soothing in its own way. As steam began to rise, she slowly undressed, her body still tense with the worry of waiting. The warmth of the water enveloped her, and for a brief moment, she felt a sense of peace. The soft, calming scents she added to the water only seemed to deepen that feeling. She closed her eyes, letting the hot water soothe her sore muscles, even as her mind still churned with questions.

After a while, Mira finished her bath, the scent of lavender and chamomile clinging to her skin. She dried off and slipped into her pajamas—simple but revealing. It was just a singlet and panties, nothing extravagant. But somehow, it felt daring, a choice she wouldn’t usually make. Maybe, she thought, it would surprise Zamian when he saw her. A small act of defiance in the face of her anxiety.

Stepping out of the bathroom, she hesitated, suddenly self-conscious about her choice of outfit. The soft cotton clung to her skin in ways she hadn’t intended, and a flush of embarrassment crept up her neck. She felt exposed, vulnerable, yet there was something about it that made her feel more in control, more certain of herself. Before she could second-guess her decision and retreat back into the bathroom, there was a knock at the door.

Mira froze, heart leaping into her throat. She stood still for a moment, holding her breath as if the very act of moving would alert the universe to her vulnerability. She hadn’t expected anyone so soon. Her pulse quickened, and before she could even process what was happening, the door opened.

And there he stood—Zamian.

He was home.

His crisp white shirt was slightly rumpled, his hair tousled, as though he’d been through some sort of battle. But when his dark eyes widened at the sight of her, the breath left her lungs. He hadn’t expected her to be wearing such simple, yet gorgeous pajamas. In his eyes, this wasn’t just sleepwear—it felt like she was trying to surprise him. To show him a side of herself he hadn’t seen before.

Mira, not really thinking anymore, rushed toward him, her pulse racing as if she couldn’t get close enough. Without waiting for a word to pass between them, she wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her face against his neck. Her heartbeat thudded loudly in her ears as she inhaled his scent, relieved, finally, to have him close again.

"You’re back," she murmured softly, her voice barely above a whisper, as if she feared speaking any louder would shatter the fragile moment.

Zamian hadn’t expected her to run to him. He had thought she would be frightened, maybe keeping her distance after everything that had happened earlier. Perhaps she would need space, time to think things through, maybe even question what had transpired. But to his surprise, she hugged him tightly, her warmth melting away the coldness that had settled in his chest during the long hours apart.

"Don’t you ever scare me like that again, okay?" she murmured into his chest, her voice trembling slightly.

Zamian froze, his body stiffening at the unexpected closeness. His mind struggled to process what was happening—his wife, wearing such thin clothing, holding him so tightly. He could feel the softness of her body pressed against his, her warmth seeping into him. For a moment, he simply closed his eyes, the scent of her—sweet, intoxicating—filling his senses. This woman, his wife, was maddening. In the best way possible.

Without realizing it, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer, almost as if he needed her just as much as she needed him. "My cute wife, are you trying to seduce me?" he teased, his voice low, dripping with a mix of amusement and something darker, more primal.

Mira, still processing his words, felt a blush creep across her cheeks. She pulled back slightly, her heart still racing, but with a mischievous glint in her eyes. She met his gaze, her voice light but filled with confidence. "I don’t care," she replied, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "I’m doing it. So, what do you think, my lovely husband? Am I seducing you?"