Page 71 of Her Ruin

I called a cab, fighting the feeling of disappointment as Sienna spoke enthusiastically about our evening. As I half listened to her, I couldn’t help but wonder if I was running from something or simply reclaiming a piece of myself that had been overshadowed by his actions last week. The rhythmic thump of Elixir’s bass still echoed in my mind, its promise of reckless abandon and dangerous temptation now replaced by the steady beat of my own resolve. I had enough chaos in my life—why add Zayn’s unpredictable storm to the mix?

As Sienna mumbled that she was sleepy, I felt relieved when the cab pulled up. After helping her into the cab, I took one last look back at the club. I had survived another round with Zayn. After tonight, the uncertainty of seeing him again was over. I was in control, and that was exactly how it was meant to be.

Sienna’s fiancé took his sleepy bride-to-be off my hands and carried her now-sleeping form into the house with a promise he would have her call me in the morning.

Not long after, I let my tired body into my apartment. I kicked my shoes aside, peeled off my dress, and draped it over a chair. I headed straight for the shower, eager to wash the night away. The hot water was a small mercy, and I felt like it was dissolving the lingering tension from Elixir.

Knowing how late it was, I reluctantly stepped out of the shower, aware a busy day awaited me and a few hours of sleep were better than none at all.

Wrapped in a towel, I completed my nightly skin-care routine. I was grateful Zayn made me switch to water, though I would never admit it, as I got ready for bed.

A soft knock echoed through the quiet apartment. I paused mid-thought, the sound slicing through my solitude.

For a moment, I considered ignoring it. After all, a knock at this time of night couldn’t be a good thing. But the knock came again—insistent, measured. I approached the door with a mix of trepidation and curiosity. It wasn’t unheard of for Julian to turn up really late and crash on my couch.

I slowly opened the door, and there he was.

Zayn stood framed by the pale streetlight filtering behind him, his eyes locked on to mine. My heart stuttered in a way I’d fought so hard to avoid, every instinct screaming to slam the door shut. Yet, as I stared at him, I couldn’t bring myself to move away.

“What are you doing here?” I managed, my voice a whisper against the quiet of the night.

Zayn offered me that half smile, the one that carried its own blend of challenge and invitation. “I couldn’t let you disappear without a proper goodbye,” he said, his tone low and even as his eyes traveled down my body slowly before rising to meet mine once more.

For a moment, time seemed to stretch between us. In that suspended silence, every ounce of control I had fought to maintain…wavered. Despite everything, despite my desperate need to run from him, here he was, uninvited yet impossible to ignore.

I stood there, towel clutched tightly around me, as he held my gaze in a way that both unnerved and captivated me. I forced my voice to remain steady. “It’s a bit late for a house visit.”

He took a step forward. “Are you letting me in, or do you propose to stand there in your towel?”

My mind raced. Every instinct told me not to, but I took a step backwards, my heart pounding. “Um…do youwantto come in?”

Without a word, he stepped into my apartment. I closed the door behind him with a soft thud that seemed to echo loudly, clicking the lock into place. When I turned around, he was in front of me.

“Isla,” he murmured, his voice low and husky, as he closed the gap between us. I felt his hand brush against my cheek, and then, without thinking, I allowed his fingers to trace the line of my jaw. The warmth of his skin and the intimacy of his touch made it impossible to resist.

I tried to steady my racing pulse, but his nearness stirred something deep inside me—a fire I had fought so hard to keep contained. He cupped my face, his thumb softly brushing my lips as if daring me to move away. His gaze bore into mine, heavy with unspoken questions and heady promises.

I swallowed hard and nodded, unable to find words, even though I knew he hadn’t asked me a question. In that moment, all the tension, all the push and pull between us, converged into a single, undeniable need. He leaned in slowly, like he had all those years ago, giving me the chance to back out, but this time, I met him halfway. Our lips met in a kiss that was both desperate and tender—my tummy flipping as I surrendered, and every boundary between us shattered.

Zayn deepened the kiss with a raw and unpolished passion that sent shivers running through me. I could taste the night on him, whiskey, and that fiercely familiar sense ofhimthat made my knees weak. I reached up, my fingers tangling in his dark hair, pulling him closer, anchoring myself to him as I burned under his touch.

For a long time, we existed solely in that kiss—lost in the heat of desire that defied every rule I had so carefully followed. His hands roamed over my body, firm and insistent, and his tongue danced with mine as he kissed me senseless, and I felt the weight of craving this man lift.

In his arms, I was both alive and vulnerable.

When we finally broke apart, his forehead rested against mine, and I could see the promise in his eyes that told me this was far from over.

“You’re mine tonight, Isla,” he whispered, his voice a promise and a threat all at once, his lips moving along my jawline and down my neck.

I attempted to pull away, to regain some sense of control, but his grip tightened. His hold felt both protective and possessive. The heat in the room and the pounding of my heart blurred into a single, overwhelming moment where nothing else mattered except those four words.

“Zayn,” I said breathily, half plea and half challenge. I knew I should resist how he always took charge, how he left me feeling defiant yet wanting more. But at that moment, I had no fight left.

He smiled then, a slow, knowing smile that sent a shiver down my spine. “Say yes, Isla,” he murmured. I nodded, and he tsked. “Use your words, Is,” he said, pulling me closer to him, his fingers on the fold of my towel, dipping beneath it to trace over my skin. “I’m not finished with you yet.” He breathed into my ear, his mouth moving to that spot just behind my ear. “Say yes.”

My eyes were closed, my body bowing into his, and the moonlight filtered through the window, casting our entwined shadows on the wall. I knew, no matter how much I’d tried to deny this, I was already lost in him. “Yes.”

His hands traced the curve of my waist, sliding over the fabric of my towel before he reached up and tugged sharply. The towel pooled at my feet, and Zayn leaned back to drink in the sight of me naked before him. “Fuck,” he groaned softly, his mouth back on mine, deep and unyielding, as if he were determined to leave no doubt about what he wanted.

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