My Vampire Beloved Husband
Chapter 78: Shattered Control

Chapter 78: Shattered Control

Zylan’s face darkened, his jaw tightening as Naomi’s words replayed in his mind. The thought of her being drugged gnawed at his insides like a persistent, festering wound. His piercing gaze bore into her, scrutinizing every movement, every flicker of emotion.

"Eaglet," he finally said, his voice sharp enough to cut through steel. "Who gave you the alcohol?"

The silence between them stretched taut, vibrating with tension. Naomi met his gaze, her chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. The weight of his question, his tone—it all bore down on her like a crushing wave.

But she didn’t falter. Narrowing her eyes, she glared at him with a defiance that matched the fire burning in her chest.

"Why does it matter if I drink or not?" she snapped, her voice quivering, betraying the conflict raging inside her. The memory of their earlier argument clung to her, a raw wound that hadn’t yet begun to heal.

When his expression remained unreadable, she repeated, louder this time, "Why does it matter if I drink or not?"

Her voice cracked, frustration bubbling to the surface. "You had business to attend to, didn’t you? Something more important than me." She hesitated, her tone trembling with a mix of anger and hurt. "Why don’t you just leave? Leave, Zylan. I don’t want to distract you."

The words lingered in the air, jagged and sharp, and for a moment, Zylan said nothing. His stillness was unnerving, his face impassive. Then, his voice softened, but there was an undeniable weight to his words.

"There is nothing more important than you."

Naomi froze, her breath catching as his declaration hung between them. Her golden eyes searched his face for any sign of deceit, but his expression remained calm, steady, resolute.

"Liar," she whispered, her voice trembling, her hands balling into fists at her sides. "You’re lying."

The disbelief in her tone hardened into something sharper as she shook her head. "The great Zylan, saying there’s nothing more important than me? Don’t make me laugh."

Bitterness seeped into every word she spoke. "Why should I believe you? You’re emotionally detached, Zylan. There are so many things better than me—people better than me. Who am I, really?"

She looked away, her voice breaking, softer now, almost vulnerable. "You could have anyone you wanted. What’s so special about me?"

Zylan didn’t respond immediately. His silence, though, spoke volumes. The weight pressing down on Naomi’s chest grew heavier with each passing second.

The distant thrum of party music faded into the background, the noise replaced by the echo of her own words. Zylan’s expression remained unreadable, but there was a tension in his stance, a tightening in his shoulders that betrayed his carefully constructed facade.

Finally, he broke the silence, his voice low but unyielding. "Let’s go."

Naomi’s eyes widened, her hands instinctively clutching the edge of her dress. She took a small step back, shaking her head. "Please," she pleaded, her voice almost desperate. "I want to finish the masquerade party."

His response was immediate, firm. "No. You can’t finish it. Let’s go."

As if the severity of the moment had slipped away, Zylan’s lips tugged into a faint smirk, though his eyes remained watchful. "Is my Eaglet jealous?" His voice was low, playful, almost teasing, as if testing her boundaries.

Naomi stiffened but quickly raised her chin, defiance sparking in her eyes. "What if I am, huh?" she shot back, her tone bold despite the slight slur in her words.

Zylan’s gaze softened just a fraction, a flicker of realization crossing his features. The alcohol was beginning to take hold. Naomi would never speak like this under normal circumstances, and it became glaringly clear to him just how compromised she was.

"Really?" he drawled, the teasing edge in his voice returning. "I had no idea."

Naomi pouted, her golden eyes shimmering under the dim lights of the venue. "I don’t want you dancing with other women. Just me."

Her admission, simple yet vulnerable, sent a jolt through Zylan. His body froze, his breath hitching as he took her in—the faint blush dusting her cheeks, the delicate pout of her lips, the raw emotion in her golden eyes. She was utterly captivating, and for a brief moment, he forgot the severity of the situation.

"Fine," he murmured, his voice quieter now, softer. "But only if you let me carry you home."

Naomi nodded without hesitation, her actions devoid of her usual restraint. Before she could process what was happening, Zylan scooped her effortlessly into his arms.

A soft gasp escaped her lips, and she instinctively clung to his neck. Zylan’s jaw tightened, but his expression remained calm—a practiced facade masking the storm of emotions inside him.

He moved through the party with deliberate precision, his towering frame commanding attention as guests whispered and stared. But Zylan’s focus never wavered.

Each step carried a singular thought: Naomi’s safety.

The scent of the drug clung to her, faint but unmistakable. It wasn’t alcohol alone affecting her. No, this was something else entirely. A specific concoction designed to heighten desire and push its victim toward dangerous vulnerability. His chest tightened at the realization.

How could he explain this to her? How could he shield her from the truth while ensuring her safety?

A faint, dangerous smile tugged at his lips. Whoever had dared to harm his wife would pay dearly. No one messes with Naomi.

As they reached the car, Naomi’s fingers wandered absently over his chest, her touch featherlight but enough to make Zylan clench his jaw.

"Naomi, behave," he said, his voice low and firm, though a hint of tension crept into his tone.

Her hands stilled, but her lips curved into a mischievous smile. "Hubby, I want to tell you something," she whispered, her voice soft, teasing.

Zylan’s grip on her tightened slightly as he stared down at her. The way her golden eyes glinted, hazy with intoxication, sent a pang through his chest.

"What is it, Eaglet?" he asked, his voice gentler now, though his body remained taut, on high alert.

She leaned closer, her fingers tracing idle patterns across his collarbone. "I want to whisper it in your ear, dear," she said slowly, her words laced with a seductive edge that wasn’t entirely her own.

Zylan inhaled sharply, his mind racing. Her behavior wasn’t just out of character—it was dangerously close to something he couldn’t control.

"Naomi—"

Before he could finish, her lips brushed against his ear. The warmth of her breath sent shivers down his spine, and then—

She sucked on his earlobe, hard.

Zylan froze, his body stiffening as his breath hitched.

"That’s for dancing with someone else," she whispered, her tone playful, almost triumphant.

"Eaglet... don’t," he murmured, his voice strained, laced with barely contained restraint. "You’re drunk."

"No, I’m not," she replied, defiance gleaming in her eyes. Her pout deepened, her lips curving into a playful smile. "I only took a glass... and it’s because of you. I wasn’t planning on drinking, but you made me do that."

Zylan exhaled sharply, his resolve wavering as he opened the car door. Carefully, he slid Naomi into the passenger seat, fastening her seatbelt with deliberate precision.

"Be a good girl and stay here," he instructed gently, though his tone held an edge of warning.

Naomi tilted her head, her voice barely above a whisper. "Who’s driving?"

"I’m driving," he replied, his tone steady as he moved to the driver’s side.

The car hummed to life, its engine cutting through the quiet of the night. Zylan maneuvered it smoothly out of the driveway, the gates parting to let them through.

For a moment, the car was silent, save for the soft hum of the engine. Zylan’s mind raced, his thoughts a whirlwind of anger, fear, and something he couldn’t quite name.

This would not have happened if he had stayed by her side. He silently cursed himself, gripping the steering wheel tighter. The calm and composed Zylan Reed—always in control, always unshaken—was unraveling. Beneath his stoic exterior, a gnawing sense of worry clawed at him.

It wasn’t just anger that gripped him now. It was guilt.

He stole a glance at Naomi in the rearview mirror, his jaw tightening as his thoughts consumed him. But then, his heart sank.

Her reflection wasn’t there.

The air in the car shifted, and for the first time in years, Zylan felt genuine panic.

"Naomi?" he called, his voice sharp, the tension in his tone betraying his usual composure.

When no response came, the panic inside him morphed into something darker. He turned his head slightly, his sharp eyes scanning the empty passenger seat.

"Naomi!" he called again, louder this time.

Before he could react, slender hands shot up from behind, pressing firmly against his chest.

Zylan froze, the touch sending a jolt through him. His sharp intake of breath broke the heavy silence.

"I feel so hot," Naomi murmured, her voice soft yet laden with something unfamiliar. It was low, heavy, almost intoxicating.

His grip on the steering wheel tightened, the leather creaking under the strain. His knuckles turned white as his mind raced to process what was happening.

"Naomi," he began, his voice low and measured, though a dangerous edge lingered beneath the calm. "Why did you—"

His words faltered the moment he felt her lips brush against his neck.

The contact was electric, sending a shiver down his spine. He stiffened, his breath hitching as her warm breath fanned over his skin. Then, without warning, her tongue traced the sensitive curve of his neck before she sucked hard.

Zylan’s eyes widened, and the control he had meticulously built over centuries shattered in an instant.

The car screeched to a halt in the middle of the road, the brakes grinding as his resolve crumbled entirely