تسجيل الدخولIsla’s POV I woke up wrong.That’s the first thing I know—not where I am, not what time it is, not even what woke me. Just that something inside me is misaligned, like a bone that healed crooked without anyone noticing.The ceiling above me isn’t the one I’m familiar with.I stare at it for several seconds before that registers. Pale, unfamiliar lining. A faint crack that curves like a question mark near the corner. The air smells different too—masculine, sharper, like cologne I don’t use and a hint of antiseptic layered underneath.My heart begins to race.I don’t move right away. I don’t breathe too deeply either. I’ve learned, instinctively, that sudden movement gives panic more room. So I lie still and take inventory the way I always do when something feels off.I’m fully clothed. Oversized shirt, soft fabric. No shoes. Bare feet.My stomach drops, I turn my head slowly. This isn’t the guest room.The bed is larger, and firmer. The sheets are tucked too neatly, the pillows aligne
Silas’s POVI leave Teo’s room with the same excuses I’ve used my entire life.Twenty minutes, that’s all it takes to get what I want from people like him. A little charm, a little interest in his logistics, and his stupid delivery routes. Yet his loyalty to Zayne—unquestioning, yet complicated. Easy to steer around if needed.I tell Isabella I want to look around the house a little more.She barely looks up from her phone when I say it. Just hums, distracted, already halfway into a conversation with Aurora. She trusts me. She always has. That trust feels heavy tonight.I move through the house slowly, deliberately, like I belong everywhere. I ask Teo where Zayne’s room is, casual, like it’s nothing more than curiosity.Second floor. End of the hall. By the left.Of course, I wait until I’m alone before heading there. The door isn’t locked. That, more than anything, irritates me.Zayne was always careless with physical security. Too confident that nobody could know anything about him
Isla’s POV Teo doesn’t step all the way in at first.He lingers just past the threshold like he’s unsure whether he’s allowed to exist in my space, one hand braced casually against the doorframe. The hallway light spills in behind him, outlining his shoulders, casting his face half in the shadow.I gesture toward the chair by the window.“Sit,” I say. “You’re making me nervous hovering like that.”He chuckles softly and obeys, lowering himself into the chair with a sigh that sounds heavier than it should. He leans back, legs stretched out, hands clasped loosely over his stomach.For a moment, neither of us speaks. The silence doesn’t feel awkward. Just… loaded.“So,” he says eventually, glancing up at me. “How’s Zayne?”The way he asks—careful but genuine—loosens something in my chest.“He’s better,” I say. “Healing. Annoyed at being stuck in a hospital bed, but that’s normal for him.”Teo smiles. “Yeah. That sounds like him.”He exhales slowly, gaze dropping to the floor. “I haven’t
Isla’s POV Dinner stretches longer than it needs to. That’s the first thing I notice. The second is how carefully everyone avoids looking at me for too long.Marco joins the table first, his presence filling the room without effort. He doesn’t say much at first—just a nod, a brief smile, the quiet authority of a man who owns the walls we’re sitting inside. Ronan comes in right after him, all relaxed shoulders and sharp eyes, sliding into a seat like he belongs everywhere and nowhere at once.Then Teo appears later, unhurried, like he took his time deciding whether to show up at all.By then, the table is full. Too full.Silas is already engaged in quiet conversation with Teo, their heads inclined toward each other like old familiarity. Isabella has shifted closer to Aurora, their voices blending easily, soft laughter punctuating the air. Rico sits across from me, occasionally glancing my way, like he’s checking in without asking permission.I sit still. I smile when someone looks a
Silas’s POVIsla fucking Hart.Standing just inside the doorway, one hand still wrapped around her clutch like she might need it to anchor herself. Her hair is pulled back, loose strands framing her face, skin warm and glossy. She looks… lighter. Softer even. Like someone who slept well and didn’t wake up afraid.That’s new, that lands wrong. Her eyes find mine again.Just for a second. And in that second, something old and sharp opens inside her. Not anger, but disgust.Her face betrays her before she can stop it—the microsecond hitch in her breath, the way her shoulders stiffen, the tension pulling at her mouth before she smooths it out. She recovers quickly. She always did.But I saw it, I always see it. Isabella stands first.“Oh—Isla!” she says warmly, genuinely pleased. “Welcome. Been wanting to see you.”Her voice is normal. Happy. She walks toward her like nothing in this room is complicated. Like nothing has ever been.That’s Isabella.She believes in clean lines. In cause an
Isla’s POV The car hums under us while Rico drives, the road ahead easy and familiar. Outside, the city lights smear across the windshield in gold and white streaks. It’s late, and the traffic that was heavy earlier has finally eased.My phone rests face-down in my lap, Zayne’s voice still echoing faintly in my head. The way the call ended. The silence after I said her name.I don’t know what I expected—anger, maybe. Deflection. A sharp shutdown. Clarity most especially, because why the hell am I in this circus?Instead, I got something worse. Stillness.Rico clears his throat beside me. “So,” he says lightly, like nothing in the world is wrong. “Did you miss me, or should I be offended you survived without me for a few days?”I turn my head to look at him. He’s smiling, eyes on the road, one hand draped lazily over the steering wheel like he doesn’t carry weight in his bones. Like he didn’t scare me today. Like he didn’t sound cold enough to make my spine tighten earlier.I let myse
Isla’s POV I shot up in bed so fast the sheets tangled around my legs and yanked me sideways. My hand was already sliding down before my eyes even opened all the way, pressing against the wet spot in my underwear as the memory hit like a freight train. Last night. Silas. Me telling him no. “Shit
Isla The drive to Dustfield was long and silent. Rain pelted the windshield, blurring streetlights into golden smears. My chest ached, and tears refused to stop. Every blink smeared them further, leaving streaks across my cheeks. My thoughts were a tangled mess of betrayal, fear, and curiosity. A
Isla’s POVI slipped on a puddle and caught myself against the brick wall, rain slamming down so hard it blurred everything into streaks of neon and shadow. My glasses fogged over completely, turning the alley into a smeared mess of reflections. Every step splashed water up my calves, heels wobblin
IslaI walked out of the corridor, adjusting my blazer with shaking fingers, trying to calm the burn still crawling up my neck. My lips still tingled. Silas had really— God, I couldn’t even think it without my stomach twisting. One more minute in that room and I might’ve forgotten where I was. He h







