LOGINAuthorās NotešYou survived this story.Because thatās what it was, wasnāt it? Not just love, but survival. Zayne and Isla didnāt fall in love in a perfect world.They fought for it, bled for it. Choose it again and again. And now⦠they finally get to live in it. But not everyone gets that kind of ending.Because somewhere in this same world, someone else is about to lose control. And this timeā¦Itās Sienna.You thought Zayne was dangerous⦠you havenāt met him yet.š
Isla POVTwo weeks later, I stood in the middle of a room full of the people who had somehow become my family.It felt unreal in the gentlest way.Rico, Teo, and Marco had flown in from Italy with Sienna, bringing laughter, warmth, and that unmistakable family energy that made the place feel less like a ceremony and more like a homecoming. Aurora and Ronan were there too, looking proud in that quiet, unmistakable way parents do when theyāre trying not to cry before the day has even properly begun. Dr. Pierce had come as well, with Isabella and Silas beside him, and even though their presence carried its own complicated weight, today none of that mattered. Not really.Today was not about the past. Today was about my love story. About all the things that had survived.About all the things that had found their way here anyway.The room was quiet, but it wasnāt tense. Like everyone understood that this moment belonged to something bigger than words. I sat in front of the mirror with m
Isla POVThe morning after I found out about the baby, the apartment felt different, lighter, somehow, like the walls themselves were holding their breath along with me. Zayne hadnāt stopped touching me. Not in the obvious way, but little things: his hand brushing my lower back when I reached for coffee, fingers lingering on my stomach when he thought I wasnāt looking. Weād spent half the night tangled up talking about due dates and names and how we were going to turn the spare rooms in his penthouse into something soft and safe. By the time the sun climbed high enough to spill across the kitchen table, heād made up his mind.āWeāre telling my parents today,ā he said, sliding a plate of scrambled eggs in front of me. His voice had that quiet certainty he got when heād already decided something big. āNot about the baby yet. First I want to tell them Iām marrying you. Then weāll drop the rest.āI looked up at him, fork paused halfway to my mouth. āToday? Like, right now today?āHe l
We stayed like that for a while, tangled on the couch, trading soft kisses and quieter words. I told him about the fuzzy feeling that morning, the way his arm had tightened like he already knew something was changing. He teased me about keeping secrets for ten whole minutes and then got serious again, asking if I felt okay, if I needed anything, if we should call a doctor today or tomorrow. His excitement was infectious, that bubbly energy Iād been carrying since I saw the lines spreading between us until we were both grinning like idiots.Eventually I pulled back a little, tracing his bottom lip with my thumb. āThereās more, actually. I ran into Silas while I was at the pharmacy.āZayneās body went still under me, the playful light in his eyes sharpening into something protective. āSilas? What the hell did he want?āI took a breath and told him the whole thing, trying to paint the scene so he could see it.āI was in the vitamin aisle, comparing prenatal bottles like I suddenly kne
Isla POVI woke up slowly, the way you do when your bodyās already decided the day is starting whether your brainās on board or not. No alarm, no sudden jolt, just this gentle pull toward consciousness, like someone had turned the volume up on the world a few notches. My eyes fluttered open to soft gray light filtering through the half-closed blinds. The apartment smelled like the leftover takeout weād forgotten on the counter last night and the faint trace of Zayneās cologne still clinging to the sheets. I lay there for a second, letting my senses catch up, feeling the familiar dip of the mattress beside me.Zayne was still asleep, face relaxed in a way that always caught me off guard. One arm was flung across my waist, heavy and warm, his fingers loosely curled against my hip like even unconscious he was making sure I stayed put. His breathing was deep and even, chest rising and falling in that steady rhythm Iād memorized over the last few months. The tension that used to live in
Zayne POVI woke up to the buzz of my phone on the nightstand and immediately regretted checking it. Silas again. The message sat there like a stone in my stomach: I canāt stop thinking about what I did. I feel like shit, man. I need to apologize to Isla properly, this time no bullshit. Tell her Iām sorry for everything. Iāll come by whenever you say itās okay.I stared at the screen for a long minute, thumb hovering. Silas had been circling this guilt for weeks, and part of me got it. The other part, the protective part that still saw red whenever I remembered how close he came to ruining everythingāwanted to tell him to fuck off. But Isla had been through enough without me deciding for her. I typed back a short Iāll talk to her, then tossed the phone aside. Today wasnāt about old ghosts, everyday now is about us.By the time I walked into the kitchen she was already there, barefoot and drowning in my favorite black shirt, the hem skimming her thighs like it had declared permanent
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 reallyā God, I couldnāt even think it without my stomach twisting. One more minute in that room and I mightāve forgotten where I was. He h
Islaās 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. āShit
ZayneI hated rain. Always had. But tonight, as I pulled into Dustfield, I didnāt 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







