“No.” He spoke the words out loud to the room, as if that would make them magically be true. As if it would make Sophie the woman he had believed her to be, and not the woman she had proven herself to be.
He could not believe she had betrayed him. Not really.
She had asked him to want more for himself, more than a marriage that was simply for his country. She had made him believe he might find that. With her.
This was why he shouldn’t want more. Because the moment he did...the moment he did, he ruined everything.
He had brought her into his home, he had given her the tools she needed to destroy them.
But why? He still didn’t know why. Didn’t know what Isabelle needed, or why Sophie had felt compelled to do this. And he needed answers, dammit. He needed them.
He took another drink. And his chest burned, but not from the alcohol.
What was it that she had said to him? That duty without love was empty. Well, his actions had certainly proven empty in the end where she was concerned. And he had thought...he had felt things for her. He had given up so much for her.
And though he wanted to lock her in a dungeon for what she’d done...he could not wholly regret the change in himself.
Yes, Sophie had turned out to be false, but she had also given him hope, hope in something that had turned out to be a lie, but he wondered now what was possible. And he feared it was too late to turn back.
Too late to want less.
“Damn you, Sophie,” he said. How could she have done this? Made him believe. Made him love.
And yet...had she really betrayed him? He couldn’t imagine it. He couldn’t fathom that—the woman he’d held in the tent, the woman he’d kissed in the rain, the woman who’d told him it wasn’t his fault. That he was more than the tragedy he’d always blamed on himself.
There was no reason for her to do those things. None at all. And there was a part of him that couldn’t believe she’d done it for a story. It wasn’t her. It couldn’t be.
He picked up his phone and dialed her number. It went straight to voice mail, unsurprising, really, since she was likely to still be flying. He hung up, his mind racing. He had doubts. And he had to know. He had to know for sure.
Colin Fairfax. That was who he needed on the line. Colin Fairfax was responsible for this, and he would answer for it.
He pressed the intercom. “Connect me to Colin Fairfax. New York Herald.”
In a few moments, the phone was ringing, and a man answered. “Fairfax.”
“I need to speak with you about Sophie,” he said.
“Who is this?” Fairfax asked, his voice sounding concerned.
“Do I need an introduction?” Zayn asked. “I should have thought you would expect a call from me.”
“Sheikh Al-Ahmar.” And now his voice had crossed over into terrified. “I mailed Sophie the tape already. As promised. And whatever she does with it after is not my business. She said she’d destroy it, that’s the deal. But she’s the person you want to deal with. Not me.”
Zayn’s mind was racing, trying to piece together what Fairfax was saying, unwilling to look like he wasn’t in the know. “What else might Sophie do with it?” he asked, thinking this line of questioning might be best to find out what he needed.
“Sell it to another media company. But I’d sue the hell out of her for it. Anyway, that wasn’t what she wanted. She said she wanted the tape destroyed, and in exchange she told me the thing about Leila. But the story about the pregnancy was already broken. It’s not slander to fill in the details.”
“I don’t want to sue you,” Zayn growled. “I want to tear your limbs from your body. But it will have to wait.”
“Sheikh...”
“You have lost your chance to apologize. Or explain. Be very hopeful that I do not change my mind about acting on my desires.”