Zoya’s P.O.V
I could hear a low, growling sound, and even as it was greatly puzzling me, it took me a
while to realize that the noise was coming from the man's throat.
I blinked. What normal person did that when they were agitated?
As I was starting to be genuinely wary of this man, I blinked again, and suddenly, he was directly in front of me, his hand over my mouth to cover it and keep me from demanding what the hell he was doing.
The close physical proximity was, to say the very least, unnerving to me, and I found it
hard to concentrate when his hand burned my lips with his touch. It was not romantic
or intimate at all, but my own traitorous heart, much to my annoyance, pounded faster
than its usual speed, and I found myself getting somewhat light-headed and a little weak
in the knees.
This was what a little skin contact with an admittedly very handsome man did to me, and it was humiliating. I was just barely able to focus on what he was saying.
“If anyone asks about me,” he instructed, searching my eyes for some semblance of
loyalty to him, like he knew I did not have it in me to leave a person in need of help,
“you are to tell them that you have not heard or seen anything.”
Dimly, my hazy mind was able to register what he was saying, and even though the
rational part of me was highly against this plan for a variety of reasons that mainly
revolved around the fact that I did not know him and he seemed very sketchy. He could
be a con man for all I knew, and this was part of his act to rope me into a scheme that
could very well ruin my life even more than it already had.
Still, something must have come over me, because I found myself nodding along even
though I was starting to fear the wild look in his eyes.
“If you find it difficult to lie or if you ever think about crossing me, just remember that
as my doctor, you are bound to the doctor-confidentiality agreement that needs not to
be spoken aloud in order to take effect. If you value your principles, I suggest keeping
your mouth shut and doing exactly as I tell you to,” he told me through gritted teeth.
“Don’t worry, I don’t plan to meddle in whatever shit you’ve gotten yourself into,” I said,
prying his hand off my mouth. “But if you keep manhandling me around like this,” I
hissed, my voice turning from pleasant to annoyed, “I just might change my mind. Now
let go of me, will you?”
He seemed hesitant, unable to read my intentions, but he let go of me anyway, because
whoever was knocking on my door sounded like they would break it open any minute if
nobody answered.
I felt a sort of twisted sense of pleasure at the fact that I had this
man’s fate in my hands; I’ve had it since last night, being the one who nursed him back
to full health, but this kind of control was different. It was not the caretaker power that I
was used to, rather a manipulative control that could make or break him.
I did not know where I was getting my confidence from. I did not at all seem like myself,
and I did not know whether this change was a good thing or not. I guess the
people-pleaser, stepping-stone version of me had snapped and broke as I tumbled from
the peak of my life toward a hellish rock bottom.
I stalked toward the front door, light on my feet. I could feel the man’s stare boring holes
into the back of my skull. Tension and apprehension emanated from him as he waited to
see whether I would obey him or turn on him. I swung the door open and behind it, the
town Sheriff greeted me.
I wasn’t sure if I had imagined it, but I heard the man growl, “Ezra,” from where he was
hiding somewhere behind me. I shook my head, ignoring it, and instead turning to focus
on the sheriff, who was looking at me expectantly.
“Hello,” I greeted, “is there anything I can do for you this morning? Sorry, I had just
woken up when you came knocking so it took me a while to answer.”
“It’s alright, ma’am,” he told me in a somewhat apologetic tone. “In fact, I should express my apologies for having woken you up this early. However, before I can let you back to your business, I would like to ask you if you have spotted any unusual activity in the area. There was an incident last night and we are currently investigating it.”
There was something odd about the sheriff, like he had this aura about him that made
me alert. I was awfully aware of his every move, every flicker of his eyes, every twitch of
his fingers. He reminded me of the stranger I saved last night, and I wondered whether
they were related. They both made me feel very… unlike myself. I did not know what to
feel about that.
As if he was reading my thoughts, his gaze on me turned into a glare, and his shoulders
locked as if preparing to get into a fight. His entire demeanor shifted, as if I had done
something to offend him and it only just occurred to me.
His polite smile turned into a scowl and his eyebrows were knitted so tightly I worried they would permanently wrinkle his otherwise flawless face… Oh dear, what was I saying?
“Um,” I said out loud, trying to recover from my own mental stumble. “I, uh, I actually
just got here last night, so I don’t think I’d be of much help.” My hands flew to my
pockets as I fished for the credentials that would help me prove myself. I took my phone
out and showed him my ID as well as my transfer certificate. “You can ask Cam if you want to…Camilla?...I think her name was. She was the one who dropped me off here last night.”
He merely glanced at them for a brief three seconds before turning away to leave. He
did not even say thank you or a goodbye. Nothing at all for that matter.
I frowned at his retreating figure. What was that all about? He had been so polite at first,
only to turn a complete 180 and act like I had stolen his firstborn. Why had he turned
hostile toward me all of a sudden? I certainly did not remember doing or saying
anything to offend him.
Did I do something wrong? Is that why everyone seemed to hate me?
But what made me scratch my head in confusion was the question that: why was I so offended by the man’s sudden coldness towards me?