Page 35 of His Fury

He hesitated. “He keeps his word. He doesn’t like mess. He hates leverage being used against him. And he never—ever—lets someone touch what’s his.”

My heart thudded once, hard. I looked away. “I’m not his.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

I hated how the words stuck in my throat. How they felt true. How they made my chest ache.

“He would’ve torn Gracemont apart looking for you if he had to,” Rye added like it was just a passing comment. “You know that, right?”

My lips parted, but no sound came out.

“You were gone for six hours,” he said, pushing off the counter and moving past me toward the living room. “That’s all it took.” He glanced back at me over his shoulder. “Less time than that because for a few hours, he never knew you were missing. That’s all it took.”

Six hours? Was that all it was? It felt like days. But knowing it had only taken him less time than that to find me…I didn’t have words.

I still didn’t know what it meant. Didn’t know if I wanted to know.

I walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows, which overlooked nothing but trees and the sky, clutching the bottle of water tightly in my hand. The view was stunning. So peaceful.

“Isla.”

I turned to Rye. He was watching me, looking as if he was about to say something but then thought better of it. “I’ll be on the other side of the house if you need anything. Zayn will be here later.” He hesitated. “There’s a housekeeper, a chef, and a groundskeeper. The housekeeper comes early in themorning. None of them know who owns the place. They don’t see anyone. The chef sticks to the kitchen and comes three times a week. The groundskeeper doesn’t come inside, and the housekeeper won’t enter any room where the door is locked. Locked doors are off-limits to them. If the door is closed, she’ll check to see if it’s locked, and then she won’t come in. Do you understand?”

I nodded slowly, unable to find the words to say I understood I was to stay out of sight.

When I remained silent, Rye nodded and walked away, leaving me in the expansive living room, gazing out at the view. As I heard him move farther away, I exhaled, releasing my tension, and whispered the one thing I hadn’t been able to acknowledge aloud.

“I understand I’m trapped if I stay here.”

The house had settledinto silence, the kind that felt too heavy to be peaceful.

I wandered through it barefoot, my water bottle long forgotten on a marble counter, fingers trailing along surfaces too smooth to belong to real life. Everything was immaculate and controlled.

The whole house was devoid of personality, but yet everything about it screamed Zayn. Which was a complete contradiction, but it made sense in my head.

I should’ve known the loft was not where he lived full-time, that he’d have a place like this—cold on the outside, untouched, almost intimidating. And yet, for all my negativity, I felt sheltered.

I found myself curled up on the massive couch in the living room, knees pulled to my chest, wearing one of thehoodies I’d found tucked into a linen closet. It swallowed me whole.

It was clean, had no lingering scents, and could have been Rye’s or Zayn’s. I didn’t think it mattered. Theft was theft, and I had stolen this hoodie.

It was the one part of the last twenty-four hours that felt real.

I wasn’t sure how long I sat there, just listening to the wind shift through the trees outside. Long enough for the adrenaline to wear off. Long enough for the edge of fear to dull.

The sound of the front door unlocking was so soft I almost didn’t hear it.

But my whole body tensed.

Then I heard his voice—quiet, clipped, talking to Rye just outside. A few seconds later, the door clicked shut.

I didn’t move.

I felt him before I saw him, his presence cutting through the quiet like a blade. When he finally stepped into view, his eyes locked on me immediately.

He looked tired. No…that wasn’t right. He lookedwrecked.

His sleeves were pushed up, his forearms tense, and the moment his gaze landed on my hoodie, something in his jaw flexed.

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