บททั้งหมดของ My Bestfriend’s Brother : บทที่ 151 - บทที่ 160

Zayne’s POV My heart starts pounding harder.“Isla?” I repeated, voice low, rough from sleep.She doesn’t answer, that’s when I realize something is wrong. Her posture is strange. A cold sensation crawls down my spine. She’s not awake.I’ve seen sleepwalking before. My mother used to do it sometimes when I was a kid, wandering down the hallway at three in the morning like her mind had forgotten where her body was.Isla tilts her head slightly, like she’s listening to something far away.My jaw tightens. Slowly, I approach her like you would approach a wild animal.“Isla,” I say again, softer.Still nothing. Her eyes are open, but they’re empty. Not seeing me or the room. She’s somewhere else.“There was blood,” she murmurs again.My stomach twists.The words hit something deep inside my skull. A place I’ve been trying hard to touch. I stop a few feet behind her.My pulse thuds loudly in my ears.“Isla,” I say quietly.Her fingers drag slowly across the glass.“It was everywhere…”The

Zayne’s POV Four hours later, I arrived in Fairview.The building hasn’t changed. It still smells like antiseptic and expensive furniture the moment the elevator doors slide open. The hallway lights are too bright, reflecting off marble floors that make every footstep echo slightly.I step out anyway. Dr. Pierce’s office sits at the very end of the corridor, exactly where it always is. Dr. Harrington Pierce, MD — PsychiatryI stare at the name for a second longer than necessary. My jaw tightens slightly before I push the door open.The receptionist looks up from her desk. She smiles politely.“Good morning, Mr. Bellandi.”“Morning.”“You’re right on time. Dr. Pierce will see you shortly.”I sit in one of the leather chairs in the waiting area. Ten minutes later, the door to the inner office opens. Dr. Pierce steps out. He looks exactly like he always does. Mid-sixties. Silver hair. Impeccably dressed in a dark suit. Calm expression carefully practiced over years of dealing with oth

Zayne’s POV That evening. My phone lights up on the dashboard just as I’m pulling into traffic. For a second I think it’s another useless notification—emails, business updates, something Rico probably sent just to annoy me. But when I glance down, I see her name. Isla. The tension sitting in my chest loosens just a fraction. She finally responded. I pick up the phone at the next stoplight. Isla: You coming over tonight? Just that. No emojis or teasing. It’s simple, but something about the message feels… careful. I type back quickly. Me: Yeah. Then I add: Give me fifteen minutes. Three dots appear, disappear, then appear again. Finally her reply comes through. Isla: Okay. That’s it. The light turns green and I put the phone down again, merging into the evening traffic. Seattle is glowing tonight, wet pavement reflecting streetlights, people rushing between restaurants and late meetings, taxis weaving through the lanes. Normally I like the drive, but tonight my mind is

Zayne’s POV I don’t want anything else standing between us. Not lies or secrets.For too long my life has been built around things I refused to look at too closely—memories that slipped through my fingers, pieces of my past that never quite made sense, conversations I avoided because digging deeper meant confronting things I wasn’t ready to face. But Isla changed that. She has this way of forcing truth into the open without even trying. And tonight, sitting across from her at the small kitchen table in her apartment, I realize something with a clarity that feels almost painful.If I want to keep her in my life…then there can’t be anything left in the dark. No more hiding. No more waiting for the “right time.”If something exists in my past that could hurt her, she deserves to hear it from me first.Isla is leaning back in her chair now, arms crossed loosely over her chest while she stares at nothing. I hate that look. Because it means she’s still processing everything I told her.I

Isla’s POV I wake up gasping, violent and sharp. Like my body dragged me out of something before I could see how it ended. My chest rises too fast, breath catching halfway in my throat as I stare up at the ceiling, disoriented for a second.Dark room, faint city light slipping through the curtains. Zayne’s arm is still draped over my waist.I close my eyes again, trying to steady my breathing. But the feeling doesn’t go away. That lingering… fear. The kind that sticks to your skin even after the dream is gone.Because the dream is gone, that’s the worst part. I can’t remember it clearly.Was that a dream or did I sleepwalk? I suck in a breath.No, that wasn’t just a dream. My stomach twists, because it felt familiar. Like something I’ve said before or something I’ve heard. I sit up slowly, careful not to wake Zayne. His arm slips from my waist as I move, but he doesn’t stir.Still asleep. Good, because I don’t think I’m ready to explain this, not even to myself.I swing my legs over