Episode 2

"Good. So I can sleep soundly without having to serve you."

Ziva's answer slipped out so easily, casually, and without any burden. There was no hint of disappointment or fear on her beautiful face. She actually looked... relieved?

Elzian Drystan was silent for a moment. His thick eyebrows furrowed sharply. This reaction was not what he had expected. Usually, the women sent to his room would cry hysterically, beg for mercy, or run away screaming at the sight of his leg condition. But this woman casually removed her bridal veil, threw it onto a random chair, then plopped down onto the velvet sofa across from Elzian.

"Didn't you hear? I said get out," Elzian growled. His voice was low, like the rumble of restrained thunder.

Ziva took off her high heels one by one, sighing with pleasure as her feet touched the soft carpet. "Get out where? This is our bridal suite. Besides, I already got my house certificate. The deal is that I become your wife, live here, and you guarantee the security of my assets. There's no clause that says I have to leave the room just because my husband is moody."

"You have some nerve," Elzian scoffed. His hand gripped the wheelchair handle until his knuckles turned white. "You think because you're a doctor, you can act arrogant here? In this house, your title is worthless. You're just collateral for debt."

Ziva turned, her gaze sharpening. She got up from the sofa, walking slowly towards Elzian's wheelchair. Her steps were calm, measured, exactly like a predator observing its prey.

"Don't come closer," Elzian hissed.

Ziva ignored the warning. She stopped right in front of Elzian's knees. The scent of the man's masculine cologne wafted strongly, mixed with a dense aura of danger. But for Ziva, danger was an everyday companion on the operating table.

"You know, Elzian," Ziva said softly, her eyes sweeping over Elzian's legs covered in black trousers. "As a neurosurgeon, I've seen hundreds of cases of paralysis. Paraplegia, tetraplegia... I know them all."

Without warning, Ziva knelt down. Her hand reached out quickly to touch Elzian's calf.

"Let go!" Elzian jerked his leg away—a reflex.

The movement was very small, almost invisible to the untrained eye. But for Ziva, it was enough. A wry smile appeared on her red lips.

"Wow," Ziva murmured, her fingers now pressing strongly on Elzian's calf muscle, deliberately searching for the nerve points. "Interesting reflexes for someone who's been 'completely paralyzed' for two years."

"Get your hands off me or I'll break them," Elzian threatened, but he didn't immediately brush Ziva's hand away. He froze, wary.

Ziva looked up, staring straight into the man's black eyes. "Your gastrocnemius muscle is tight. Dense. There are no signs of atrophy or muscle shrinkage at all. If you were really paralyzed and sitting in this wheelchair for two years, your legs should have shrunk, withered like dry twigs. But this?"

Ziva patted Elzian's knee lightly, her tone full of mockery. "These are the legs of a runner, not the legs of a cripple."

Elzian's jaw hardened. The veins in his neck bulged, holding back the anger that was beginning to explode.

Ziva stood up slowly, bringing her face closer until their noses almost touched. She stared intently into Elzian's eyes, analyzing every micro-twitch on her husband's face.

"And look at your eyes," Ziva continued, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Your pupils dilated when I touched you earlier. That's a sympathetic nervous system response. Fight or flight. Your body is on alert. You're tense. You're not paralyzed, Husband. You're just a master con artist with terrible acting."

Silence.

The atmosphere in the room changed ominously in a matter of seconds. The air felt heavy, as if oxygen were being forcibly drawn from the room.

Elzian looked at Ziva with an unreadable expression. The glint in his eyes was no longer just cold, but deadly. His secret—the ace card he had guarded fiercely from his business enemies, even from his own family—had just been stripped bare by a woman he had known for less than six hours.

"You think you're smart, Doctor Ziva?" Elzian asked softly. Too softly.

"I don't think I'm smart. I am smart," Ziva retorted arrogantly. "So, stop putting on an act in front of me. It's disgusti—"

BANG!

Ziva's sentence was forcibly cut off.

The wheelchair was pushed back roughly. In the blink of an eye, a tall, large figure loomed before her. Elzian Drystan stood. Upright, solid, and towering, much taller than Ziva.

Before Ziva could back away, a large, strong hand gripped her neck, pushing her back until her back slammed hard against the bedroom wall.

"Ugh!" Ziva coughed, her hands reflexively clawing at the sleeves of Elzian's shirt, which now locked off her airway.

Elzian's face was now directly in front of her face. There was no longer a weak man in a wheelchair. What stood before her was the real monster. The muscles in the man's arms tensed perfectly, proving Ziva's diagnosis one hundred percent accurate. His strength was enormous.

Elzian's eyes flashed wildly, staring at Ziva like a lion ready to tear its prey's neck. The corner of his lips lifted into a cruel sneer that made her hair stand on end.

"Congratulations, Wife," Elzian whispered right in Ziva's ear, his voice hoarse and terrifying. His grip on Ziva's neck tightened, restricting her air supply, but not enough to kill—only to give an absolute warning. "A brilliant medical analysis."

Ziva gasped for air, but her eyes remained wide, refusing to submit.

"But you forgot one thing," Elzian continued coldly. He brought his face closer, staring into Ziva's teary eyes, which were beginning to water from lack of oxygen. "People who know too much usually have a short lifespan."

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