Page 80 of Her Ruin

I forced a smile. I couldn’t let him know I’d considered it. “I’m fine, Gerard. So, everything is complete?”

He let it go, and I successfully changed the subject, immersing myself in discussing the finished work. I returned to my tablet, and we began planning the grand reopening of The Grand Gracemont.

I left with a sense of accomplishment, and for the rest of the day, I was in a flurry of calls, speaking with clients regarding hosting their events at The Grand. After that, I reviewed vendor contracts and confirmed the upcoming deliveries for events already on my calendar.

Each task was a small victory—a reaffirmation I was still in control. Yet, in the back of my mind, I couldn’t shake the memory of Zayn—the way he had commanded the night and left me questioning…everything.

I made myself stay until five o’clock, unsure whether to prove something to myself or to punish myself. I think I simply refused to let tiredness gnaw at me and win. I wrapped up the final call and left the office, satisfied I let my own stubbornness succeed.

As I drove home, the familiar town blurred past, a collage of lights that failed to mask the memories of the night before. I pulled into the parking lot of my apartment building, walked into my apartment, and headed straight for my bedroom. I stopped in the doorway, taking in the unmade bed, the discarded clothes, and the wet towel still on the bathroom floor.

I had done my best all day to avoid thinking about it, but I failed. In my bedroom, there was no escaping what I had done.

AndwhoI had done it with.

This was bullshit.

His presence lingered in my room like an unwanted phantom, lurking in the back of my mind like an irresistible, dangerous promise.

With purpose, I strode forward and began to strip the bed.

This ended now.

He was not my first one-night stand. I blushed. Okay, hewasmy first one-night stand, but I would just make sure I had more. Five, ten,lotsmore. I’d start rewriting the rules. I could guarantee that he was functioning justfinetoday.

That wasn’t the problem. The problem was that I was letting it turn into something bigger than a fleeting moment—when in reality, it was no big deal. We’d had sex, it was good, great even, but it was time to get over it.

Tossing my bedding into the laundry, I cleaned my apartment from top to bottom. By the time I was finished, the apartment gleamed with the sterile precision of a fresh start. I knew, without a doubt, that I was ready to put this whole day behind me. I didn’t even bother checking the time—I had a long, hot shower and crawled between the clean, crisp sheets, finally ready to forget.

This would all be better by the time the weekend was over. Women made mistakes all the time when it came to sexy, hot, dirty, smooth-talking men. It was almost a rite of passage—an experience that left you both bitter and somehow hungry for more. And while I’d labeled it for what it was, I was glad this wasn’t the start of a pattern I might never escape.

Zayn had always been surrounded by girls. I was a notch on his bedpost and nothing more. I was confident he would never tell Julian, and neither would I.

Safe in that knowledge, I closed my eyes and let sleep claim me.

I woke to the sound of a soft knock at my door—a sound that sent my heart fluttering in a way I hated and craved all at once. Groggy and disoriented, I pulled the covers over my head, willing the moment away. But the knock came again, insistent and impossible to ignore.

Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I sat up and checked my phone. It wasn’t Julian.

As if I were still dreaming, I walked across the floor and, without overthinking it, swung open the door. He was leaning against the wall, his eyes dark with that familiar intensity, his expression unreadable and undeniably provocative.

For a moment, I couldn’t breathe.

“Hey,” he greeted, his voice low and husky. He looked me over and stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, closing the door behind him with a finality that sent a chill down my spine.

I blinked, trying to reconcile the man before me and the wild, chaotic dream I’d been having about the night before. “What… Why are you here?” My throat was so dry, which was another reason I had to stop opening the door to him.Yeah, dry throat was the reason!

Zayn reached out and brushed his thumb over my cheek, his touch both gentle and commanding. “Is it a problem that I’m here?” he murmured, leaning in so that his warm breath mingled with mine.

My heart pounded in defiance and desire, but I forced myself to step back, trying to regain some form of control. “I was sleeping.”

He chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. He took off his suit jacket and draped it over the back of my couch, uncuffing his sleeves. “I can see that.” He reached for me and pulled me into his body. Even though every fiber of me was screaming to resist, I wasn’t ready to push him away. He tilted his head, his dark eyes softening for just an instant, and in that brief flicker, I saw a promise of more—of passion, of chaos, of something I was terrified to admit. “Don’t overthink it, Is.”

I stared at him, conflicted. My mind screamed to open the door and ask him to leave, yet my body betrayed me, leaning in as if to catch every word he uttered. I wasn’t sure if I was angry, aroused, or simply terrified of what this meant. This morning, I had been determined to forget. All day, I had berated myself, and now, faced with him back in my apartment, every rule, every resolution, I’d made seemed to crumble away.

Zayn smiled down at me. “That’s it,” he murmured.

I swallowed hard, my throat tight with conflicting emotions. “I… I don’t know what you mean.” The silence stretched between us—charged and breathless. Finally, I found my voice shaky but defiant. “You should go,” I whispered though I wasn’t sure if I meant it as a command or a plea.

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