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39. Zayne
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His Kind Of Woman 40. Myla
Seeing Zayne be happy and comfortable with himself brings me joy that I can't put into words. A weight had been lifted off both our shoulders and now we can love each other better. We're sitting in the meeting room waiting for the others to arrive, and he brushes a strand of hair off my face. His touch is gentle and the smile he gives me makes me melt. "Your eyes are beautiful." He whispers softly and his words sink into my heart, igniting a flame of affection and desire. I playfully bat my eyelashes at Zayne, feigning surprise. "Oh really? Well, I guess I'll have to start charging admission for people to gaze into them." "I would bankrupt myself a thousand times over just to have the privilege," His words send a shiver down my spine, and butterflies take flight in the depths of my stomach. "If the world knew the depth of beauty that lies within your eyes, they would willingly give up everything they own just for a fleeting glimpse." "Were you always this good at flirting? You're
His Kind Of Woman 41. Myla
Alex was my best friend. He's the kind of person to remind you of oversized flannels, baggy jeans, and messy hair. I loved that about him, he was effortlessly cool and the sweetest guy you'll ever meet. He had the ability to make me feel seen and he'd go out of his way to brighten my day whether that be cracking a joke about how he looked like he just rolled out of bed or surprising me with my favorite treat when I least expected it.He felt like adventure and freedom rolled into one. He was hungry for the unknown and new experiences. While others hurried through life, Alex would pause to appreciate the way the sunlight filtered through the trees or the sound of rain on a rooftop. He taught me to slow down. Yet here I am, racing through our memories together while standing across from him. His humor was like a ray of sunshine, brightening my world and reminding me not to take life too seriously. But now it feels like he's sucking his teeth into me, bleeding me dry of everything I onc
His Kind Of Woman 42. Zayne
I stare at the video recordings playing on my laptop, blood boiling in my veins. My fists are so tight my knuckles are pale and strained. The thought of her fragile heart shattering into a million pieces makes me want to break Alex's face. Watching the recording feels like a knife twisting in my gut. I asked Keith some time ago to find out why I didn't get Myla's job application and here I am watching someone hand it to Alex in the parking garage with a bag I assume filled with stacks of cash. My mind is filled with unanswered questions about who the man is and why is Alex involved in this. I can't brush off how shady all of this is because the next thing I watch is another recording of Alex crumbling the papers before he threw them in a nearby trash can and got on top of Myla's motorcycle, driving away as if he had just committed the perfect crime. The sight of him callously destroying Myla's application makes me rage. I remember her telling me about how she had been hopeful that
His Kind Of Woman 43. Myla
I stand at the door, staring at Zayne as he presses a knife to Alex's neck, not really sure if I want him dead or not. I thought our movie might end with us being friends again if we tried enough, but the ending credits are rolling and my heart sinks to the deepest pit of my stomach when the realization hits me. Alex was never my best friend. My whole life had been a lie. The people I once cherished, who I believed would always be there for me, had proven to be the very ones who would bring me to the edge of my own destruction. Mom, Alex, and now Zayne. "Myla... I-" His voice trails off as he tries to find the right words, but his actions have already spoken volumes. He lets go of the knife and it clatters to the ground as I take a step back, wrapping my arms around myself because I'm the only one I can trust now. I'm the only one who can protect myself now. "Is it true?" It feels as if I was separated from my body, and now I'm watching her almost from a distance. My whole body is
His Kind Of Woman 44. Zayne
She's not home. When I can't find her anywhere, my heart sinks into a deep well of worry. I quickly grab my phone, trembling fingers fumbling to dial her number. Each ring feels like an eternity as I anxiously wait for her to pick up, but there's no answer, only the cold, impersonal voicemail greeting. I stand in the middle of the empty living room, my footsteps echoing in the silence as if mocking my growing unease. I never wanted to imagine a situation like this. I never wanted to hurt her. The thought of losing her make my breath catch in my throat. Guilt floods over me, adding to the worry that grips my heart. I figure she's back home with her mother so I call her, and when she answers, I feel a flicker of hope ignite within me. She says Myla is home and I let out a shaky sigh of relief, feeling the tension release from my body. Instinctively, I take my car and drive to her house because her mere presence can bring me to life again. But I know what awaits me and it breaks my hear
His Kind Of Woman 45. Myla
I spent the past few days locked in my room, the blanket over my body not able to provide the warmth I desperately wish for. Time seems to stand still as I gaze at the world through my window, my eyes tracing the distant horizon. It carries on with its usual rhythm, laughter drifting in from a distance, mingling with the sound of passing cars and chirping birds. But in my room, I'm trapped. Zayne had been calling and texting but I had been unable to bring myself to answer. Although I miss him so much I find myself overwhelmed with emptiness, I don't think I'm ready to face anyone, actually. The thought of trusting someone is disturbed by the thought of them deceiving me, and I find myself questioning if this pain is worth the risk. Zayne said he wanted to protect me. Mom said she wanted to protect me. But all they did was make me feel suffocated as if I were a fragile bird trapped in a cage. I sigh and stand up from my bed, walking out of my room when I stop in front of the mirror
His Kind Of Woman 46. Myla
I stand in front of the house as I take a deep breath, calming down my racing heart. When I step inside, there's no sign of life. The kitchen is in pristine order, as if untouched for days. The place is very quiet and Keith's words hit me hard. He was right. I wonder if Zayne is alright. Our bedroom door is closed and I slowly approach it, my hand trembling as I reach for the doorknob. The laughter, the arguments, the stolen kisses in this very room feel like a distant dream when the door creaks and I catch a glimpse of Zayne huddled on the bed, his face buried in his hands. My heart sinks, and I rush to his side, kneeling down to meet his gaze. "Zayne," I whisper, my voice filled with concern. "Are you okay?" He looks up at me, his eyes so red and filled with pain. He looks at me for a moment, taking in my sudden presence and it breaks my heart to see him like this. He tries to speak, but his voice catches in his throat as he wraps his arms around me as if clinging to the last shre
His Kind Of Woman 47. Zayne
Myla is back home. After the sleepless nights with her by my side, she's finally back home, where she belongs. It feels as though the world had regained its vibrant colors, and the weight of my worries lifted from my weary shoulders. Holding her in my arms, I can feel the gentle rise and fall of her breath, the steady rhythm that assures me she is indeed real and not a figment of my imagination. The scent of her hair, the familiar touch of her hand on my cheek, it all makes me feel as if all the pieces of my scattered world had finally found their rightful place. And I'm complete. We spent the whole morning making love. I'd call it fucking but it'd sound crude and devoid of everything we felt in those intimate moments. I kissed her waist and traced my fingertips along the curve of her spine, savoring the goosebumps that appeared in response to my touch. I made sure she knew how devoted I was to her, how her presence in my life had turned me into a better version of myself, how deepl
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