Zion's Garden - Chapter 2
Zion’s eyes met mine as he lounged on the bed, exuding a nonchalant elegance that matched the luxurious surroundings of the room. Even without looking in the mirror, I knew my face was flushed, betraying my disbelief and irritation. He leaned back, fingers laced behind his head, perfectly relaxed as if my reaction was the most amusing part of his morning.
“Why?” I asked, my voice sharp, barely masking my agitation.
“Because,” he said, his lips curling up as if he were sharing an inside joke, “sometimes I forget what it’s like to feel real.”
His tone shifted, the playfulness in his eyes dimming for a moment, replaced by something deeper, more desperate. “And you, Doctor, remind me.”
I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the thrum of tension between us. There was an undeniable pull in the way he spoke, a magnetic force that left me teetering between exasperation and something far more dangerous. In this mansion, where everything seemed crafted to perfection yet hollow, I was now certain of one thing—Zion wasn’t just a patient or a responsibility; he was a storm, unpredictable and powerful, one I was caught in whether I liked it or not.
Zion’s eyes flickered as he looked at me, unfazed by my sudden outburst. His golden hair, slightly tousled from his careless state, glistened under the pale morning light filtering through the estate’s sprawling garden. He stood there, wearing only a bathrobe and slippers, indifferent to the chill that still lingered in the early spring air.
“Isn’t it strange?” he said, voice carrying that familiar, lazy drawl that tugged at the edges of my sanity. “You indulge in alcohol and cigarettes so freely, yet sex doesn’t seem to hold the same appeal. Or is it… that your self-control is simply unmatched?”
I clenched my fists at my sides, willing myself to remain calm. The tension between us was a palpable, heavy thing, suspended by the thinnest thread of civility. “Kim Zion,” I began, voice low and biting, “why do you insist on testing me like this? Why do you keep—”
The words died in my throat as I took in his appearance fully. The bathrobe was loose, revealing the sharp angles of his collarbones and a hint of his pale chest beneath. His eyes, those half-lidded, mocking eyes, held mine with a challenge that made my blood heat uncomfortably.
“Are you insane? It’s still cold out. Go inside right now,” I snapped, my professional resolve faltering as concern overrode the building frustration.
But Zion didn’t move. Instead, he tilted his head and gave a small, almost wistful smile. “I was waiting for you to tell me that,” he said quietly.
The moment hung between us, fragile and tense, as if a wrong word could shatter it into a thousand irretrievable pieces.
Zion’s lips curled up slightly, even as his eyes remained closed. “You’re lying, you know. You’re here to make sure I don’t die. And you’re worried… I can feel it.”
I stood frozen, his hand loosely gripping the hem of my shirt, the weight of his words pressing down on the silence between us. I should have brushed him off, walked away, reminded him and myself that this was all just a job. But the sharp, undeniable truth of his observation was suffocating.
“Fine. Just until you fall asleep.”
He didn’t respond, but the tension in his fingers relaxed. His breathing slowed, deepened, and soon only the sound of his soft, rhythmic breaths filled the room. I sat there, watching his expression soften as sleep overtook him. For a moment, he seemed almost peaceful—nothing like the chaotic storm of emotions that defined him while awake.
Looking at him now, so vulnerable and human, I could almost forget who he was—the world star, the patient spiraling on the edge of destruction. Almost.
I told myself it didn’t matter how beautiful or broken he was. I was here for one reason: to keep him alive until the end of those three months. That was all.
Yet, as the dawn light began to seep into the room, casting a soft glow over Zion’s golden hair, I felt an unfamiliar ache settle in my chest, warning me that perhaps it wouldn’t be so simple after all.