บททั้งหมดของ My Bestfriend’s Brother : บทที่ 161 - บทที่ 170

Isla’s POV “I might be the one who killed him.” The words Zayne said earlier keep echoing. Like my brain refuses to accept them in real time. For a second, I don’t hear anything else.Just that sentence, repeating, slower each time.“I might be the one who killed him.”My fingers go numb. I don’t realize I’ve taken a step back until my calf hits the edge of the couch. The impact is small, but it grounds me just enough to feel my body again.My chest tightens, breaths shallow. I stare at him. But for a moment… he doesn’t look like himself. Or maybe I don’t recognize him anymore.No. That’s not true. I do recognize him, that’s the problem. Because he looks exactly the same. Same face, same eyes, same man I woke up next to, same man who held me last night. The same man I said I loved.And now—My stomach twists sharply.“Say that again.”My voice doesn’t sound like mine. Zayne doesn’t move, doesn’t rush toward me. He just stands there, watching.“I said… there’s a possibility,” he rep

Isla’s POVI don’t sleep, not really.I lie there beside Zayne, staring into the darkness, listening to the slow rhythm of his breathing like it’s the only thing keeping me grounded. Every time I close my eyes, it comes back.His voice: I might be the one who killed him.My chest tightens again just thinking about it. So I stopped trying to sleep. By the time the first hint of morning light filters through the curtains, I’m already sitting up, my phone in my hand, my mind racing in too many directions at once.Zayne shifts beside me. “Isla…” His voice is rough with sleep.“You’re awake.”“I didn’t sleep,” I admitted.He pushes himself up slightly, blinking at me. “You should’ve woken me.”“And said what?”I glance at him. “Hey, I can’t stop thinking about whether you killed my dad?”His jaw tightens slightly. “Not like that.”“Then how?”He doesn’t answer. Because there’s no easy version of that conversation, there never was.I exhale slowly and swing my legs off the bed.“I’m making

Zayne POVThe office is quiet. Not the kind of quiet that lets you think, the kind that forces you to. Every sound feels sharper because of it—the low hum of the air conditioning, the faint ticking of the clock on the wall, the muted city noise coming through the glass.I’m sitting behind my desk, but I haven’t touched anything. Not the files, or the laptop. Not even the phone that’s been lighting up every few minutes with messages I’m not reading. Because none of it matters right now.Not when my head feels like it’s splitting open. Not when something inside me is breaking, coming back. I lean back in the chair slowly, pressing my fingers against my temples. Breathe, just breathe. That’s what Pierce always says. Ground yourself, don’t force it. Let the mind protect itself.A bitter laugh almost leaves my throat. Protect, that’s what this is supposed to be? Because it doesn’t feel like protection, It feels like torture.Fragments, always fragments. Never enough to make sense of anyth

Zayne POVI don’t leave the office.Not after Elena’s voice—sharp, furious, accusing—sounded through everything I thought I understood about that night. I should go home, I should call Isla. I should… do something normal.But nothing about this is normal anymore. So I stayed alone. Because if the memories are coming back, I don’t want to interrupt it. I don’t want to lose whatever thread I’ve finally managed to pull loose.The lights are dim now, the sun already slipping lower outside the glass walls. Time has passed. I just haven’t been paying attention to it. I’m sitting on the floor this time, against the couch. Tie loosened, sleeves rolled up. Like the position somehow makes it easier to breathe, and easier to think. It doesn’t.My head still feels heavy, tight even. Like something inside it is pressing outward, trying to break through. And I’m done resisting it, no more easing into it. No more waiting for it to come naturally.If the truth is buried in there, I’m dragging it out.

Zayne POVI don’t remember the drive, the traffic, the turns. Not even how many times my phone buzzed in my pocket before I finally silenced it. All I know is, by the time I step into Isla’s apartment, my chest feels heavier than it did an hour ago.Because I have more now. More memories, more pieces. And somehow…that makes everything worse.The door is unlocked. I push it open slowly.“Isla?” My voice is low, careful. Like I don’t want to startle her.She’s in the living room, sitting on the couch. Phone still in her hand. But she’s not looking at it, she’s staring straight ahead. Like she’s been in the same position for a while, thinking. Or trying not to.Something in my chest tightens. Because I know that look, I’ve worn it myself too many times.“Hey,” I say.She turns her head slightly. Her eyes meet mine, and that’s when it hits me. She looks… drained. Like something inside her has been pulled too tight for too long.“You’re back,” she says quietly.I nod. “Yeah.”I close the d