บททั้งหมดของ My Bestfriend’s Brother : บทที่ 141 - บทที่ 150

Isla’s POV Grief is a strange thing, people think it fades with time. They say things like healing and closure as if loss behaves like a wound that eventually seals itself shut.They’re wrong, some grief doesn’t fade. And lately…mine had started breathing again. I sat cross-legged on the floor of my studio office in Fairview, surrounded by paper.Actual paper. Printed articles, old newspaper clippings, sticky notes, police summaries. Coffee cups I had forgotten to throw away.My laptop glowed in front of me while rain tapped steadily against the tall windows. Dad’s photograph rested beside it. The same one I showed Zayne in the car days ago.I stared at it again.“Who hurt you?” I whispered.His smile in the photo never changed. Gentle and warm. The kind of man strangers trusted immediately, which made the way he died feel even more wrong.Four years and nothing. No suspects, no closure. Just a case file that gathered dust until I showed up angry enough to reopen wounds nobody wanted

Isla’s POV I didn’t realize my feet were already moving until I found myself walking down the short hallway toward the bedroom.The apartment still smelled faintly new, fresh wood, clean linen, and whatever ridiculously expensive cologne Zayne wore that somehow lingered everywhere he went like a quiet warning.I pushed the bedroom door open. And stopped.“Oh.”Two luxury boxes sat neatly at the center of the bed like they had been waiting patiently for my discovery. One deep brown, one black. Even from the doorway I recognized them instantly.Louis Vuitton. YSL.My brain stalled for a full five seconds. I slowly turned my head toward the doorway behind me.Zayne leaned against the wall just outside, arms folded loosely across his chest like he was trying very hard to look casual.He failed spectacularly. The moment our eyes met, he looked away.Actually looked away. Suspicious.Very suspicious.I narrowed my eyes. “…Zayne.”He scratched the back of his neck.“Yeah?”“What is this?”

Zayne’s POV I leaned back in the chair slowly, fingers pressing into my temples as if pressure alone could force something loose inside my skull.Come on. Think.The office blurred into silence, still nothing. Just irritation boiling over. I had spent hours staring at the same image.Brown eyes. Serious expression. A faint crease between his brows like he was always thinking three steps ahead.Somewhere. I knew him somewhere. My jaw tightened. I closed my eyes and forced myself backwards. Italy.Hospitals.Old meetings.Galas.Therapy sessions.Elena.The name slipped through my thoughts like smoke. And suddenly, a flicker. Not clear or whole, just a sensation. Soft laughter echoing in a bright room. A hand brushing mine. Elena’s voice.“He’s just my driver.”The memory snapped open so sharply my chair scraped backward across the floor. I inhaled hard, heart pounding. But the memory refused to go further. Just only that i knew Daniel Hart through Elena, and then, nothing. Blank s

Zayne’s POVMy hands came up immediately. I shoved Isabella away. Hard.She stumbled backward against the bed, surprise flashing across her face as her hair fell messily over one shoulder.“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I demanded.My voice sounded colder than I felt, because beneath the anger was something uglier.Disappointment. Not in her, but in myself. For even allowing this situation to exist.Isabella blinked slowly like she genuinely didn’t understand.“You kissed me before,” she said softly.“That was a mistake.”Her lips parted. “And suddenly it means nothing?”“That’s exactly what it means.”The hotel room suddenly felt suffocating. My gaze swept toward the window automatically. My jaw tightened.“You chose this room on purpose,” I said quietly.She didn’t deny it. Of course she didn’t.“You noticed,” she murmured.I ran a hand down my face. Jesus.“You took pictures of Isla from here.”Still no denial.“That girl,” Isabella said carefully, “has no idea what w

I’m not worried, that’s the first lie I tell myself. The second one is that I don’t care if Isla is out tonight.Both lies taste like shit.My phone rests on the kitchen counter while I pour myself a glass of whiskey I don’t actually want. The amber liquid sloshes against the glass as I lean my hip against the counter, staring at the screen like it owes me an explanation.No new messages. The clock on the microwave blinks at 10:38 PM. Too early to be annoyed, too late to pretend I’m not.I take a slow sip of whiskey. Bad idea. Now my mind has time to imagine things.Isla sitting across from Rico. Her hair falling over one shoulder the way it always does when she laughs. The way she tucks it behind her ear when she’s listening to someone. The way her eyes soften when she’s amused.I exhale sharply and push the glass away. Jesus. I’m not the jealous type, never have been.But Rico Romano has always had a talent for pushing every instinct I possess in the wrong direction. Not because he’