Isla’s POV
Zayne stood back at me for a moment too long. Long enough for me to wonder if he was debating whether to turn. Long enough for my chest to ache quietly with the weight of everything we weren’t saying.
Then he turned. Black on black: black shirt, black suit, and black shoes.
And I walked straight into the familiar storm of his cologne—clean, sharp, and intoxicating. The scent wrapped around me before I could shield myself. It was unfair how easily it still did that.
“Hey,” I said softly. “You don’t look so good.”
His face barely shifted. “I’m fine.”
The words were flat. Practiced. A lie wearing good posture.
“Sienna is asking after you,” he continued. “Come with me so she can see you before she makes her entrance.”
“Okay,” I said.
I followed him. The walk through the co
