As exhaustion finally began to drag her toward sleep, Lena whispered a silent prayer—not to God, not to fate, but to sheer luck—that whatever twisted thread had bound her to Zayn Specter would finally snap.
That their paths would never cross again.
Still, even as her eyes closed, dread lingered in her chest like a shadow that refused to fade, and her body tensed instinctively, as if some part of her already knew—
This story was far from over.
--
On a different place, Zayn Specter was a living storm, a force of destruction that tore through glass towers and boardrooms alike, leaving nothing but shaken faces and scorched nerves in its wake.
Anyone unfortunate enough to cross his path felt it immediately—the sharp edge of his temper, the cold precision of his words, the lethal calm that
