He rose, moving through the villa with the precision of someone who could command an army, solve a crisis, and crush a challenge without flinching, yet inside, something he refused to name quietly throbbed.
Longing, frustration, desire—it didn’t matter. She had played her part, and he had played his.
Tonight, Zayn Specter would sleep alone.
Tonight, he would lock the door not just to the villa, but to the chaos she had brought into his life.
Tonight, he would remind himself of the rule that had kept him alive, sane, untouchable: never trust liars. Never again.
And as he finally collapsed onto his bed, eyes staring at the ceiling, body tense and aching, one last thought whispered through the storm in his mind—a silent admission he could not voice, a truth he could not allow himself
