Masuk
Isla’s POV
Click. The rhythm of my camera shutter had become the sound of the evening. The scent of white roses, scented candles, and too much perfume filled the air. My assistant, Ava, hurried toward me through the crowd, clutching a clipboard like her life depended on it. “Okay, boss, we’ve got fifteen minutes before the bride makes her entrance,” she said, slightly breathless. “Perfect,” I replied, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear as I scanned the ballroom again. “Let’s make sure the secondary lights are steady near the dance floor, and I want someone stationed by the cake table.” “Yes, ma’am.” Ava grinned and jogged off. This was the biggest job I’d ever gotten, a high-profile wedding with guests whose jewelry alone could fund my entire studio. And I wouldn’t even have been here if not for Silas. Silas, my boyfriend, he’d called in a favor a month ago to land me this gig, told me I deserved to be seen. And here I was, trying to prove him right. I adjusted the lens and captured a fleeting moment, the bride’s father laughing, her veil shimmering under the light. I was in my element, camera steady, heart calm… until I realized I’d lost sight of my team. “Where the hell did everyone go?” I muttered, scanning the hall as I walked out of it. Ava had disappeared toward the buffet, and the rest of the crew were scattered. I turned down a side corridor, hoping to find them, but instead, I found silence. The music faded. The sound of conversation dimmed. And then, a hand. It gripped my wrist, strong and familiar, pulling me through a half-open door before I could even gasp. My back hit a wall softly, and the scent hit me next, tobacco, cedar and spice. “Silas—?” I breathed, startled. He was already there, inches away, his breath warm against my ear. His tie was loosened, white shirt perfectly pressed, sleeves rolled just enough to expose his veins. He smiled, that same boyish, dangerous curve that usually undo me. “Missed you,” he murmured. My heart stumbled as I adjusted my glasses. “You scared me. What are you—” He cut me off by pressing me gently back against the wall, his hand braced beside my face before pressing a kiss to my lips. “Wanted to see how my favorite photographer’s doing.” I exhaled a nervous laugh, eyes flicking over him. “You came all the way here just to check up on me?” He tilted his head. “Maybe I needed a break from my own meeting. Maybe I just wanted to look at you.” He said it easily, as if words like that didn’t always make the air between us too tight. “Silas, I’m working,” I whispered, even as my fingers betrayed me, brushing his sleeve, tracing the edge of his cuff. “You shouldn’t be here.” “I shouldn’t,” he said, low and amused. “But I couldn’t stay away.” The corridor lights were dim, golden reflections bouncing off the tiles. I could see the reflection of us in the mirror across the hall, his body angled toward mine, my breath visibly shallow. He leaned closer, close enough that I could see the faint stubble on his jaw. “How’s the gig?” “Good,” I managed. “Crowded. Busy. I think I’m finally—” My phone buzzed sharply in my pocket. I pulled back, fumbling for it. “Ava?” “Where are you?” she said, voice panicked. “They’re calling for the photographers. You need to be front stage.” “On my way.” I hung up, glancing back at Silas. “I’ve gotta go.” His expression shifted, a teasing smile, but his eyes held something heavier. “So you won’t give me a minute?” “Silas.” “Come on, Isla,” he said softly, brushing a stray curl behind my ear. “You’ve been working nonstop. Just a moment, it won’t take long.” I tried to hold firm, but his tone, that low, persuasive whisper, had always been my weakness. “I’ll make it up to you tonight,” I said, voice dropping unconsciously. He hummed, leaning in so close I felt his breath. “Tonight,” he repeated, like it was a promise and a test. “What if I told you I might be home late?” “Then I’d tell you I’ll wait up.” He smiled, sharp this time, half teasing, half something else. “Can I get it one last time before you go?” I blinked. “One last time? What’s that supposed to mean?” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Nothing. I’m just… built up, that’s all. Long day.” “Mm-hmm,” I said, half laughing now, half studying him. His shirt was crisp, his hair perfectly styled, like he was headed somewhere more than just a check-in visit. “Where are you going, Silas?” He hesitated a beat too long. “Just business, babe.” I arched my brow, but before I could push further, the music from the ballroom swelled, laughter and applause echoing down the hall. “Duty calls,” I said softly, brushing past him. He caught my wrist again, gently this time. “I love you,” he murmured. “And you’re incredible, you know that?” I smiled sheepishly at him. “I’ll see you later,” I said, more quietly than I meant to. His gaze followed me as I stepped out, the corridor lights catching his reflection in the mirror, unreadable, and tense.Isla’s POVThe room felt impossibly tight, even though I’d been standing in it for what seemed like hours. My chest pressed against my ribs as if the walls themselves were closing in, and every subtle movement in the room sent shivers through me.Ronan’s eyes never left my face. Not even when Zayne shifted in the bed. Not when Rico straightened.Not when the machines hummed softly behind us, indifferent to the way my pulse thudded too loud in my ears.The words were still there. Hanging. Sharp around the edges.It hadn’t sounded like a question. It had landed like something dropped and shattered—too sudden to catch, too late to pretend it hadn’t broken.I stared at Ronan, mouth open just enough to breathe, but not enough to answer.Because I didn’t know how to say yes without sounding guilty.And I didn’t know how to say no without sounding like a liar.My fingers curled slowly into my palm.I could feel it then—the shift. The way the air rearranged itself. The way the room stopped be
Isla’s POVThe room felt too bright for how quiet it was. Not the clean kind of quiet—the kind that pressed against my ears until I could hear my own pulse, heavy and uneven, like it didn’t belong to me anymore.Aurora stood closest to the bed.Her hands were on Zayne—one at his shoulder, the other curled gently around his wrist, fingers pressing lightly as if counting something only she could feel. His arm looked wrong beneath her touch. Too still. Wrapped in white. Tubes disappearing into skin that was usually warm, alive and restless.She didn’t cry. That was the first thing that unsettled me.Her face was drawn tight, eyes sharp with control, but there was no hysteria, no shaking. Just vigilance. Like she was standing guard over something fragile and dangerous all at once.Ronan stood a little farther back. He didn’t move. Didn’t pace. Didn’t speak.He leaned against the wall with his arms folded, dark eyes fixed on Zayne, unreadable and cold in a way that made my skin prickle. M
Zayne’s POVWell… that didn’t land the way it sounded in my head.The second the words left my mouth, the room changed temperature. Not metaphorically. It was like the air itself stiffened, pulled taut between three bodies that suddenly didn’t know where to stand anymore.Isla hasn't said a word. She just stared at me.Not with anger. Not with fear either. It was worse than both—something quieter. Something that looked too much like disappointment trying to hide behind concern. Like she’d reached a conclusion she hadn’t wanted to reach.My throat tightened.“Why would you ask that?” she said softly.Her voice didn’t rise. She didn’t accuse me. She didn’t shout. That was the problem. When Isla was scared, she went quiet. When she was hurt, she went still. I’d learned that much already.Rico shifted beside her, jaw tightening. I felt his eyes on me, sharp and unblinking, like he was deciding whether I’d crossed a line that couldn’t be uncrossed.“I was just asking,” I said, hating how w
Zayne’s POVI watched Isla.She sat there, quiet in a way that felt heavier than screaming. Her fingers were laced together in her lap, knuckles pale, gaze unfocused as if she was somewhere far from this sterile room, far from the humming machines and the faint antiseptic sting in the air.She wasn’t talking.And for once, I didn’t have the strength to push.My body felt like it had been split open and stitched back together by someone who hated me. Every breath pulled at the wound in my side, a dull ache that sharpened if I moved too much. Even turning my head took effort. I was used to pain—but this was different. This was weakness layered on top of it, stripping me of control.“Hey,” I said quietly, my voice rough. “You don’t have to say anything.”Isla didn’t look up.“I’m not trying to corner you,” I continued. “Or pressure you. Whatever it is—you can tell me whenever you want. Or never. That’s your choice.”Her throat moved as she swallowed, but she still didn’t speak.Rico, on
Isla’s POVTears pooled in my eyes before I could stop them. He was awake. Not just awake—looking at me.Zayne’s lips curved into that lazy, infuriating smirk he wore like armor, the one that always said he was in control even when the world was burning. It didn’t belong to a man lying in a hospital bed, pale, stitched, hooked up to machines that beeped too steadily for my comfort.“You look like you’re about to cry,” he murmured, voice rough, low. “That’s new.”I laughed weakly, the sound breaking apart halfway. “You were shot.”“And yet,” he said, eyes flicking lazily over my face, “still devastatingly handsome.”He didn’t lie, not even a bit. He was still every handsome.I swiped at my cheeks, furious at myself for letting the tears fall. “You’re unbearable.”“Mm. You missed me.”Before I could respond, the door slid open quietly. Rico stepped in.His gaze landed on Zayne first, sharp and assessing, then flicked to me. The tension he’d been carrying seemed to ease just a fraction.
Isla’s POVA few minutes passed. Then a few more.Time in hospitals didn’t move the way it did everywhere else. It stretched. It stalled. It looped back on itself until seconds felt like minutes and minutes felt like punishment.I was staring at the same little crack in the tile across from me when a shadow fell over my shoes.I looked up sharply. Rico stood there.I hadn’t heard him approach. That alone sent a small jolt through me—my nerves were so frayed I was jumping at silhouettes now. He looked the same as he had when he left: jacket still on, jaw tight, eyes alert, like he’d never fully left whatever battlefield lived in his head.“What now?” I asked quietly.My voice sounded smaller than I wanted it to.Rico slid into the chair beside me, elbows resting on his knees. “We need to inform Aurora and Ronan.”The words landed heavy.I swallowed, my fingers curling into the fabric of my dress. “Do we?” I asked. “Is that… is that what Zayne would want?”Rico didn’t answer immediately







