Forbiddenly Bound To You
Chapter 86: Addiction or Obsession

Chapter 86: Addiction or Obsession

Mira hadn’t expected him to say that. She stared at the screen, her eyes wide in surprise. Zamian watching her sleep through the video call was something new, something she hadn’t anticipated at all. She was speechless—not that she really minded it, but a flutter of nervousness stirred within her. What if... just what if she drooled in her sleep? The thought alone was enough to make her want to hide under the covers. That would be so embarrassing. Or worse, what if she snored? She mentally cringed, her cheeks flushing with the possibility.

She tried to shake the thought away, hoping to focus on something else. Anything else. "You need to rest too; you’ve had a long journey," she said, her voice soft, almost pleading, as she attempted to change the subject. She knew he had traveled for hours and couldn’t imagine how exhausting it must have been. But Zamian, stubborn as ever, refused to budge.

"I haven’t arrived yet. I’m still in the car," he said, his voice low and soothing. There was something almost hypnotic in the way he spoke, as if he was trying to lull her to sleep with his words alone. "Go ahead, sleep."

Mira hesitated, glancing at the screen again. He was serious. The calm, commanding tone of his voice made it impossible for her to argue further. With a small sigh, she finally set the phone on the bedside table, positioning it so that the camera still faced her. She lay down, pulling the blanket up to her chin, feeling a little self-conscious about being watched. The thought of him staring at her while she slept made her heart race, but she didn’t want to disappoint him. So, she closed her eyes.

At first, her body remained tense, fully aware of his presence on the other side of the call. She tried to calm her racing thoughts—would he notice if she shifted too much? Would he be able to hear her soft breathing? But, slowly, the fatigue of the day began to wash over her. The warmth of the blanket, combined with the deep comfort of her bed, soon lulled her into a deep sleep.

Zamian, on the other end of the line, watched her face as she drifted off. His expression softened, a rare smile forming on his lips as he took in the sight of her peaceful slumber. It was a side of her he hadn’t seen before, and it filled him with an inexplicable sense of warmth. Her usually lively features were now relaxed, her chest rising and falling steadily with each breath. She looked almost angelic, the soft glow of the screen casting gentle shadows on her face. If only he could be there in person to tuck back the few stray strands of hair that had fallen across her forehead.

His gaze lingered on her for a long moment, but soon the car came to a halt, pulling him out of his reverie. He hadn’t even noticed they’d arrived. John, started to speak.

"Where should I—"

"Shut up," Zamian’s voice cut through the silence, though it was barely above a whisper. Despite the low tone, the authority in his voice was unmistakable. John immediately silenced himself, realizing that Zamian was still on the call. The silence in the car had made him forget, and now he could only nod, his face paling slightly as he processed the situation. He didn’t dare make another sound.

Zamian slowly stepped out of the car, his movements quiet and deliberate, careful not to make any noise that might disturb Mira. As he began to walk toward the mansion, the tension in the air was palpable. Not a single person dared to speak. Normally, the staff would greet him with a formal "Welcome back, Young Master," but John had already signaled them to remain silent. They bowed their heads respectfully as their boss approached, understanding that one wrong word could seal their fate. The authority radiating from him was intense, and no one wanted to risk drawing his attention.

John trailed behind, his mind racing with questions. Why was Zamian acting so cautiously? It was as if the slightest drop of a pin would wake her up. He shook his head in disbelief. If anyone had told him that his boss—the man who commanded entire boardrooms with a single glance—would be this careful over a phone call, he would never have believed them. Not in his wildest dreams. And yet, here he was, witnessing it firsthand. The usually commanding presence of Zamian seemed softer now, all for the sake of a woman sleeping on the other end of a video call.

Zamian stepped into the mansion, the heavy door closing behind him with a quiet click. He made his way up to his private room, the luxurious halls of the mansion eerily quiet, as if the entire place was holding its breath. Once inside, he closed the door softly, locking out the rest of the world. Alone at last, he sat down, letting out a slow breath as he gazed at Mira’s sleeping face once more. She looked so serene, so peaceful, and in that moment, all of his worries seemed to melt away.

A slow smile spread across his face as he continued to watch her. She looked so cute in her sleep, her lips slightly parted, her cheeks flushed from the warmth of the blanket. He wished he were there with her—to brush away the few stray strands of hair that had fallen across her face, to pull the blanket snugly around her. But for now, watching her like this would have to do.

Just then, his phone vibrated. He glanced down at the screen, only to see the dreaded message flash before his eyes: "Low Battery." His heart sank. The screen flickered, and before he could react, the phone went dark.

"F*ck," Zamian muttered under his breath, staring at the now lifeless device in disbelief. Of all the times for his phone to die, it had to be now. How could the most expensive phone in the world suffer from such a trivial issue like battery life? His frustration bubbled to the surface, and before he knew it, he was gripping the phone tightly in his hand.

Without thinking, he hurled the phone across the room. It collided with a glass lamp on the far side, the loud crash echoing through the room as the lamp shattered into pieces. Zamian barely registered the sound. His mind was consumed with one thought: What if Mira tried to call him tomorrow and couldn’t reach him? What if she thought he was ignoring her? He couldn’t bear the thought of her being upset because of something so ridiculous.

A knock on the door interrupted his spiraling thoughts. John stepped in, holding a power bank in his hand.

"I brought this to charge your phone. I figured you might want to keep the call going for a long—" His words trailed off as he noticed the broken lamp and the crumpled remains of the phone lying on the floor. His eyes widened, taking in the scene. Zamian wasn’t holding anything, his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides.

"Get me a new one," Zamian ordered, his voice low and dangerous. The tension in the room was suffocating, and John could feel the weight of his boss’s frustration bearing down on him. Zamian couldn’t afford to be without a phone, especially not when it came to Mira.

John gulped. "I’ll send someone to clean this up, but about the phone... I think tomorrow would be more practical—"

"No. Get it tonight," Zamian snapped, his patience wearing thin.

"O-okay," John stammered, quickly backing out of the room. He couldn’t help but wonder, Was Zamian addicted to Mira? The thought sent a chill down his spine. If that was the case, it would be dangerous—for both of them. Zamian’s attachment to Mira was starting to look... dangerous.

Moment later, the woman assigned to clean the room entered, her steps cautious and measured. She felt like she was being sent into the den of a dangerous lion. Her hands shook visibly as she knelt down to clean up the broken glass, beads of sweat rolling down her forehead. She knew better than to make a mistake in front of someone like Zamian.

She worked quickly and quietly, hoping to finish before anything went wrong.

Just as she was about to breathe easier, Zamian walked into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. She sighed in relief, thinking the worst was over. But as she prepared to stand and leave, she heard a loud shattering sound. Her body stiffened, fear gripping her as she realized what had happened. The glass-tinted, well-covered bathroom door had just broken, the sound echoing through the room like a warning,Not just that shattering sounds began to echoe through the room.

Her hands trembled, and she froze in place, terrified of what might come next.

As if a sudden realization struck her, she bolted out of the room. Just as she stepped into the hallway, she collided with John. Her body shook visibly, her hands trembling as she raised a sweaty finger toward the bathroom door.

"T... the b-b-boss... h-he’s b-b-breaking... t-things," she stammered, her voice barely audible as she struggled to speak, her panic overwhelming her. The words seemed to slip away from her, her usually fluent English now reduced to fragmented, desperate mutterings.

John didn’t need to hear more. His eyes widened, and without hesitation, he rushed into the room. The door slammed shut behind him as he hastily made his way to the bathroom. As he flung the door open, his heart nearly stopped at the sight before him.

The entire bathroom was drenched in chaos—blood splattered across the walls and floor, with shattered glass and broken objects scattered everywhere. Zamian stood in the middle of it all, his chest rising and falling as if each breath barely contained the rage boiling inside him. His eyes darted around the room, searching for more things to destroy, wild and uncontrolled.

John’s throat went dry. What was happening to his boss?

A smear of blood stretched across the center of the wall, almost like a deliberate mark. If John hadn’t known better, he might have thought this was the set of a horror film. The destruction, the blood—it was beyond anything he had ever witnessed.

"Boss," John called out cautiously, his voice trembling as he attempted to bring Zamian back from the edge.

Was this addiction? Or had it become an obsession?