My Vampire Beloved Husband
Chapter 89: Looks Like Her

Chapter 89: Looks Like Her

Naomi and Zylan sat at the dining table, breakfast already served. Naomi picked up her toasted French bread, biting into it slowly as her thoughts raced. She kept her gaze fixed on her plate, her grip on the fork tightening ever so slightly.

This time, she resolved, she needed to respect him—his space, his silence, his decisions. No matter what happened, she would hold her curiosity in check. They weren’t married out of love; this was something she had to remind herself of repeatedly. The sooner she accepted it, the better for both of them.

The air between them was calm but heavy with unspoken tension. Naomi sensed Zylan wasn’t ready to share anything personal with her, and forcing him to talk would only widen the gap between them. This wasn’t what she wanted. What she wanted—no, needed—was to respect their boundaries, just as he respected hers. And yet, even as she told herself this, the silence gnawed at her.

Her thoughts spiraled as she continued eating, methodically chewing the bread without tasting it. The soft clinking of silverware echoed faintly in the dining room, blending with the occasional rustle of fabric as they shifted in their seats. If the atmosphere was supposed to be peaceful, it was a fragile peace, threatened by the storm of questions in Naomi’s chest.

Finally, Zylan broke the silence, his deep voice cutting through the stillness. "Is the food good?" he asked.

Naomi glanced at him briefly, her golden eyes meeting his intense gaze before she quickly looked away. She nodded, her response quiet and reserved. "Yes. It’s good."

Zylan’s eyes lingered on her for a moment longer, as though he were searching for something beyond her words. Then, without another comment, he reached for the water bottle on the table. Naomi studied him from the corner of her eye, wondering if he wanted to say more but chose not to. She couldn’t help but feel that there was always something he held back, locked away behind that unreadable expression of his.

Just as Zylan placed the bottle back on the table, the door creaked open, and Rylan stepped in. His expression was pale, his usual composed demeanor tinged with an unusual urgency. Naomi’s fork hovered midair as she looked up, catching the unease in his eyes.

"We have a visitor," Rylan announced, his tone flat yet laced with an underlying tension that made Naomi’s heart skip a beat.

Zylan’s expression darkened instantly. "Send them away," he said firmly, not even sparing a glance at Rylan.

Rylan hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His voice dropped slightly when he replied, "She’s already here."

Naomi’s body stiffened at his words. She? The thought sent a ripple of unease and curiosity through her.

But why didn’t Zylan want this person here? And why had Zylan reacted so coldly to the news?

Naomi bit her lip, forcing herself to focus on her plate as she continued eating, determined to appear unaffected. Each bite was slow, deliberate, as though the act of eating could keep her grounded. The tension in the room, however, was impossible to ignore. It pressed against her, making the air feel heavier with every passing second.

She glanced at Zylan and Rylan, observing the way they communicated silently. Their expressions shifted subtly, as though speaking in a language she couldn’t understand. Just before Rylan moved to leave, Naomi noticed a flicker of surprise in Zylan’s eyes—brief but unmistakable. Her curiosity surged, but she held it back, her resolve to respect his silence winning out for now.

Moments later, the sharp, deliberate click of heels against the polished maple floor broke the strained quiet. The sound drew Naomi’s attention immediately, and she lifted her head slowly, her breath catching in her throat.

The woman who entered was breathtakingly beautiful, almost unnaturally so. Her presence seemed to fill the room, drawing all attention to her. She wore a sleek black bodycon dress that hugged her figure perfectly, each curve emphasized with effortless grace. Her hair, styled into what could only be described as a deliberately messy bun, framed her delicate features with loose strands that seemed too perfect to be unintentional.

Naomi’s eyes widened as she took in the woman’s flawless appearance. It was the kind of beauty that made the world stop—a beauty so striking it felt otherworldly. Everything about her seemed intentional, from the subtle shimmer of her skin to the way she moved, each step graceful and precise.

The woman’s gaze was fixed on Zylan as she entered, her lips curving into a soft smile. She hadn’t even glanced at Naomi, yet her presence alone made Naomi’s chest tighten with unease. When the woman finally spoke, her voice was melodic and sweet, like a lullaby crafted to disarm.

"It seems I’ve come at the wrong time," she said, her tone light but with an undercurrent of confidence that suggested she knew she hadn’t.

Zylan didn’t reply immediately. He gave her a brief glance, his expression unreadable, before returning his attention to his plate. Naomi remained silent, though her mind churned with questions. Who was this woman? Why did she feel so significant? And, more importantly, why didn’t Zylan want her here?

Naomi’s eyes darted between Zylan and the woman, searching for any clue that might answer the questions piling up in her mind. But their expressions betrayed nothing. Pushing down the wave of emotions threatening to rise, she forced herself to focus on her food again, her hand steady even as her thoughts raced.

The woman moved toward the dining table with a kind of effortless grace that seemed almost inhuman. She finally turned her gaze to Naomi, and for the first time, her polished composure faltered.

Her lips parted slightly, and her eyes widened, shock flashing across her face. Naomi blinked, startled by the reaction. From the way the woman carried herself, she seemed like someone who rarely, if ever, lost control of her emotions. And yet, there it was—a crack in her otherwise perfect façade.

The woman recovered quickly, her features smoothing back into calmness as she turned to Zylan. "She looks like her," she murmured, her voice barely audible.

Naomi’s heart skipped a beat, the words ringing in her ears. Who? Who did she look like? Her gaze darted to Zylan, searching his face for any hint of an answer, but his expression had darkened further. His sharp eyes locked onto the woman with an intensity that silenced her instantly.

The tension in the room thickened, pressing down on Naomi like an invisible weight. She tried to piece it together—fragments of a puzzle she didn’t even know she was part of. Damon’s cryptic comment at the masquerade ball about her resemblance to someone. Zylan calling an unfamiliar name in his sleep ’Noelle’ this morning. And now this stranger, claiming she looked like her.

But who?

The woman seemed to sense the tension she’d created and turned back to Naomi, her tone polite but distant. "Apologies for my rudeness," she said with a faint smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Naomi."

Naomi wasn’t surprised the woman knew her name. She was Zylan’s wife, after all, and word of their union had likely spread. Still, the way the woman addressed her—formal, detached—felt oddly significant.

Forcing a faint smile, Naomi responded, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling within her. "Nice to meet you too."

The woman’s lips curved slightly in response, but her eyes remained unreadable. Then, without warning, Zylan stood, the suddenness of his movement drawing all eyes to him. His voice was deep and firm, leaving no room for argument. "Come with me," he said, his gaze fixed on the woman with an intensity that silenced any protest before it could be voiced.

Naomi watched as the woman rose gracefully, her movements as fluid as a flowing river. Her soft smile returned briefly, though it carried an almost mocking undertone when her eyes flicked back to Naomi. The smile lingered just long enough to spark unease before the woman turned, her attention now fully on Zylan. Without hesitation, she followed him toward the door, her heels clicking against the floor with a rhythmic precision that matched the cold elegance of her demeanor.

The sound of their retreating footsteps echoed like a countdown in Naomi’s ears, the door swinging shut with a soft thud that felt far too final. And then, she was alone.

Her breath hitched as her hands flew to her chest, clutching her blouse tightly. The fabric wrinkled beneath her trembling fingers, a futile attempt to soothe the sharp pang of emotions that surged within her. It wasn’t just the confusion that overwhelmed her—it was the anger, the pain, and a jealousy she couldn’t deny.

’Where was Zylan taking her? Why didn’t he want me to hear their conversation? Who is she, and why does she think I look like someone?’ The questions swirled in her mind like a storm, each one striking with a force that left her shaken.

But amidst the turmoil, something else emerged—something darker. That familiar ache returned, a pain she couldn’t explain but knew all too well. It clung to her like a shadow, growing heavier with each passing second. It was as if the woman’s arrival had ripped open old wounds she hadn’t realized were still raw, leaving her vulnerable and exposed.

Naomi squeezed her blouse tighter, her knuckles whitening as she fought to steady her breathing. A bitter thought crossed her mind, one she couldn’t suppress no matter how hard she tried: Was I wrong to think that things could ever be different?

The anger within her simmered, bubbling just beneath the surface. She didn’t want to feel this way—not toward Zylan, not toward a stranger she didn’t even know. But how could she not? The way he’d stood, his commanding presence focused solely on the woman, had sent a clear message. She had seen it, felt it, and it stung.