Page 111 of His Fury

“I don’t think I’ve ever been pretending with you,” I told him honestly.

His eyes searched mine, and whatever he saw made him lean forward, his hand circling the nape of my neck. He pulled me in and pressed his lips to mine. He was not rough, not greedy, just solid.

Certain.

The kind of kiss that answered questions I didn’t know how to ask.

He pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against mine. For a man who conducted deals in the shadows, Zayn’s silence was louder than most people’s shouting. It filled the space between us and demanded honesty.

“I told Rye I wanted to help not be such a burden,” I whispered. “I don’t want to be watched. I want to be able to protect myself.”

Zayn didn’t flinch. “He tell you that was a bad idea?”

I smiled faintly. “He told me that I was a liability and needed to learn the rules.”

Zayn huffed in amusement. “Sounds like him.”

“I’m serious, Zayn.” I pulled back enough to meet his gaze. “I don’t want to be shielded from everything. I don’t want to be tucked away while your world keeps spinning around me.”

His jaw ticked. “It’s not about hiding you, Isla. It’s about keeping you out of the line of fire.”

“I’m already in it,” I told him softly. “I don’t want to stand on the outskirts of the fire that burns around you while you walk through it.”

He watched me, his gaze guarded as he listened, but I knew as soon as I spoke the words that I truly meant them.

I reached for his hand and brought it to my chest, pressing his palm against my racing heart as if he were the only thing keeping it there.

“I’m scared,” I confessed, rising to meet his gaze. “Not ofyou,” I quickly clarified. “I’m afraid of what loving you might cost me.”

Zayn remained still as his hand reached out, his finger tracing a line down my neck while his thumb brushed softly against my collarbone. “You’re not the only one afraid.”

My breath hitched.

“I’ve never had anything I wasn’t willing to lose,” he admitted softly. “Until you.” His hands tugged at my waist, and I leaned in, resting my head on his shoulder, listening to the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing.

We stayed that way for a while. There were no more questions; there were still uncertainties between us, but they didn’t feel like they were separating us.

It was just us.

Just skin, breath, and silence—the intricate simplicity of two people getting to know each other piece by piece, discovering how to love and trust in a world shaped by sharp edges and betrayal.

Eventually, I felt his arms wrap around me tighter, pulling and lifting me from the floor, tucking me into his body to hold me close. My head rested on his chest as he leaned his cheek against my hair, offering an unspoken promise in his own language.

He didn’t have to say he loved me. In the silence, I knew.

I wasn’t sure how long we stayed like that, tangled together on the couch, the hum of the house filling in the words we didn’t need to say. My muscles ached, not from exhaustion but from the tension I had been holding on to for days.

Weeks maybe.

I shifted slightly and felt his grip loosen but not release me. “Come to bed,” I said quietly, barely above a whisper.

Zayn didn’t move immediately. He simply watched mefor a moment before nodding once, allowing me to pull him off the couch. There was no urgency, no heat behind it—just something weightier, something real.

He followed me down the hallway, both of us moving as if we were afraid to break the fragile stillness between us. We climbed the stairs in silence. In the bedroom, I slipped into the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash the day off my face. When I came out, he had pulled back the covers.

He was on his side of the bed. His. Mine. I felt my heart begin to race.

The room was dim, lit only by the amber glow of the hallway light spilling through the crack in the door. I climbed in and allowed the sheets to settle over me as he slid in beside me, fully clothed except for his watch and belt, both placed on the nightstand.

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