All Chapters of Brotherzoned: Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

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

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 city didn’t look any different after I left the hospital. That was the part that unsettled me the most.The streets were still alive—cars gliding past intersections, traffic lights blinking patiently, music leaking faintly from open windows. Somewhere, people were laughing. And here I was, folded into the backseat of a stranger’s car, trying to understand how quickly a life could tilt.The driver didn’t speak. He didn’t ask questions. Just drove, hands steady on the wheel, eyes forward. Professional. Controlled. The kind of man who knew how to mind his business.I appreciated that more than he could ever know.I rested my head back against the seat and let my eyes close, but the darkness didn’t help. All it did was replay the hospital room in fragments—Ronan’s voice, calm and sharp. Aurora’s stillness. Zayne’s body pale against white sheets.Alone.The word hit me again, just as hard as it had before.I pressed my fingers into my thigh, grounding myself in the present.

Isla’s POVVincenzo’s house was quiet in a way that felt rehearsed. Not peaceful. Not welcoming. Controlled.The kind of silence that settled into corners and stayed there, polished, expensive and deliberate. Every surface gleamed—marble floors without a footprint, walls the color of soft smoke, lighting so carefully placed it made shadows look intentional. Even the air felt filtered, like nothing unpleasant was allowed to linger long enough to be noticed.A man I didn’t recognize nodded at me from near the staircase. He was dressed simply—dark suit, no tie—but his posture gave him away. Still. Alert. Watching without looking like he was watching.I hadn’t asked for security. Yet there he was.Another presence moved near the far end of the hall. Then another. Not intrusive. Not obvious. But suddenly, the house felt occupied in a way that made my shoulders tighten.Danger doesn’t always announce itself. Sometimes it just… shows up politely.Sienna walked infront of me, she looked nothi

Isla’s POV Silence has a sound when you grow up inside it.It hums. Low. Persistent. Like a room after someone has slammed a door and you’re still waiting for the echo to decide whether it will fade or come back louder.That’s how Vincenzo’s house feels this morning.I lie awake longer than necessary, staring at a ceiling that isn’t mine, tracing the faint shadow where crown molding meets marble. The room smells like linen and something sharper beneath it—cleaner than comfort. Everything here is intentional. Curated. Even the air feels managed.My phone rests on the nightstand, screen dark, but I can feel it anyway. Like a pulse. Like a hand on my wrist.I don’t need to look to know what’s there.The message didn’t say much. No greeting. No explanation. No Isla.Just a summons dressed as a suggestion.I roll onto my side and close my eyes, but the ceiling follows me there. The house creaks softly—someone walking, or maybe just settling—but it makes my spine tighten anyway. I’ve learn