FAZER LOGINIsla’s POV I didn’t conclude anything, not yet.Suspicion was easy. Fear made it tempting. But accusations—especially against someone like Zayne—required proof. I’d learned that the hard way. Jumping to conclusions had a way of detonating everything before the truth even had a chance to surface.So imagine I end up accusing him and I find out it was Silas all long?So instead of spiraling, I chose something harder. I chose peace for now.I stepped into the closet and pulled one of Zayne’s shirts from the drawer he’d pointed out earlier. It smelled like him—clean, faintly spicy, something warmer underneath. I slipped it over my head, the fabric grazing my thighs, grounding me just enough to steady my thoughts.If my phone was compromised, then someone had been careful. Which meant I needed to be the same.“Isla,” Zayne called from the kitchen. “Food’s getting cold.”“I’m coming,” I replied, forcing my voice to sound normal.I left the phone on the bed. That alone felt like a small reb
Isla’s POV I woke up reaching for my phone.It was instinct, muscle memory more than thought—my hand sliding across the sheets before my eyes were even open. The space beside me was still warm, the mattress dipped where Zayne had been, but my phone wasn’t there. That alone snapped me fully awake.I pushed myself upright, hair falling into my face, heart thudding for no reason I could immediately name.The last message I’d sent Sienna still hadn’t been replied to. I knew that because I’d checked it obsessively yesterday morning before stepping out. Something about the silence felt wrong now, heavier this morning.I swung my legs off the bed and stood. I didn’t bother looking for clothes.The apartment was quiet in that early-morning way that felt private, insulated from the rest of the world. Sunlight filtered in through the tall windows, pale and soft, catching dust in the air. I followed the faint sound of movement toward the kitchen.Zayne was there.Shirtless. Barefoot. Standing a
Zayne’s POV I wake up to heat.Isla is pressed against me, bare and warm, her body fitted to mine like she was made to be here. Her breathing is slow, deep. Completely out.Her chest rises and falls softly, and every time she shifts—even just a fraction—her nipple brushes mine in a way that makes sleep impossible.I don’t move, I just watch her.Morning light filters in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, turning her skin golden. Her lashes rest against her cheeks, her mouth slightly parted like she’s dreaming of something good. There’s a crease between her brows that wasn’t there before she fell asleep—something leftover from the night, from fear, from adrenaline.I reach out without thinking, thumb tracing that crease until it smooths out. She relaxes instantly. That does something ugly and permanent inside my chest.I’ve watched her sleep before—once, twice, more than I’ll ever admit—but this is different. This is knowing exactly how she breathes when she feels safe. This is see
Isla’s POVWhen he says come here, my body moves before my mind does. It’s not obedience, It’s instinct.Heat spreads through me like a slow spill of liquor—warm, reckless, and impossible to stop once it starts. My feet carry me toward him, but I don’t rush. I let my hips sway just enough to be intentional, to let him see that I’m choosing this. That I’m not being pulled.Zayne watches me like a predator who already knows the hunt is over. His eyes don’t roam, they lock on mine.The moment I step into his space, the air thickens. His hand comes to my waist, not grabbing, not gentle either, just firm enough to remind me exactly where I am. Exactly who I’m standing in front of.“Slow,” he murmurs. I smile despite myself. I lift my hands and rest them against his chest, feeling the solid heat beneath the thin fabric of his hospital shirt. My fingers drag lightly, teasing, tracing nothing and everything all at once.“You’re the one who told me to come,” I say softly.His jaw tightens. “
Zayne’s POVI must’ve heard wrong.That was the only explanation my mind could offer, a misfire, a distortion, the echo of exhaustion blending into something it wasn’t. Because there was no way in this universe where Isla Hart stood in my apartment, still shaking from nearly being hunted down, and calmly said she’d already booked a flight home.“Say that again,” I tell her.My voice doesn’t rise. It drops, flat and controlled. Dangerous in its calm. She doesn’t look at me.“I already booked a flight back,” she says again, softer this time. Like she’s testing the words against the air. Like she regrets them the second they left her mouth.My jaw tightens.“We’re all leaving with the private jet by the weekend,” I say. “After Sienna’s final wedding party.”Silence follows. Not defensive or confrontational. Just… still. That’s worse. I watch her closely now, because this is the moment where people usually lie. Or cry. Or lash out.Isla does none of that. Instead, her eyes drift slowly, d
Zayne’s POV The siren is getting closer. Like whoever is driving it already knows they’re arriving at something ugly.My body reacts before my mind does.I sprint back toward Isla’s first car, heart hammering so violently it feels like it might punch straight through my ribs. The road is quiet now, eerily so, like the chaos burned itself out and left only the aftermath behind.I started searching.Door handles. Seats. Floor. Dashboard. The glove compartment. I scan for anything—blood, fingerprints, something dropped, something forgotten. Anything that could point back to her.There’s nothing.No weapon. No trace. No sign she did anything other than drive for her life.Good.I don’t linger, I don’t let relief slow me down.I ran back to Rico’s car, sliding into the driver’s seat and slamming the door shut. My hands shake for half a second before I force them still.I look at Isla.She’s sitting rigid beside me, staring straight ahead, eyes unfocused, like she’s still on that road—stil
Isla’s POV I shot up in bed so fast the sheets tangled around my legs and yanked me sideways. My hand was already sliding down before my eyes even opened all the way, pressing against the wet spot in my underwear as the memory hit like a freight train. Last night. Silas. Me telling him no. “Shit
ZayneI hated rain. Always had. But tonight, as I pulled into Dustfield, I didn’t even notice the slick, wet streets or the faint drizzle settling on the windshield. I parked outside the house, hands tight on the wheel. My chest was a little tighter than usual, and I hated the faint pulse of relie
Isla The drive to Dustfield was long and silent. Rain pelted the windshield, blurring streetlights into golden smears. My chest ached, and tears refused to stop. Every blink smeared them further, leaving streaks across my cheeks. My thoughts were a tangled mess of betrayal, fear, and curiosity. A
IslaI walked out of the corridor, adjusting my blazer with shaking fingers, trying to calm the burn still crawling up my neck. My lips still tingled. Silas had really— God, I couldn’t even think it without my stomach twisting. One more minute in that room and I might’ve forgotten where I was. He h







