Page 41 of His Fury

Rye’s jaw flexed, and I didn’t think he would answer me. Finally, he said, “You make him…careless.”

I gulped.Careless? The word echoed in the silence louder than I liked.

“I didn’t ask him to come for me.”

Rye gave a low chuckle. “In that, I believe you.”

“But?” His face was stoic, and I wanted to yell at him but restrained myself barely. “Come on, Rye. There’s always a but.”

“But…” He shot me a flat look. “It doesn’t change the way he looks at you. Or behaves when he is with you. Or the fact that the people who matter most in Gracemont may have already noticed it.”

I turned to look out the window. “You thinkI’mthe liability.”

He didn’t answer right away, but when he did, his voice was low. “I think Zayn has worked hard to build something most people can’t even begin to understand. I’ve watched them try to tear him down for years and fail.” I heard his soft exhale. “And I think you’re the cracks in the wall he didn’t have before.”

“Cracks don’t always mean weakness,” I whispered.

“They do.”

I turned to look at him over my shoulder, my stomach twisting. “That’s not fair, Rye.”

“It’s never about what’s fair, Isla,” Rye said simply. “It’s about control. Our world, Zayn’s and mine, is a world where control is everything. It’s why your friend Julian doesn’t belong in it,” he added with no venom. Just a simple statement. “And you…”

He didn’t need to finish the sentence. “I never asked to be part of it.”

“Yes, you did,” Rye said with that same easy simplicity. “The moment you decided to compete with Elixir, with Zayn, you asked to be let in.”

I crossed my arms. “I was never competing withallof what Elixir is.”

“Maybe not.” He stood, picking up both empty mugs. “But now you are part of it as much as we are.”

I watched him as he walked away, disappearing back into the quiet of the house like he’d never been there at all. A ghost as Zayn had said.

Rye’s words lingered long after he was gone.

I hadn’t asked for this. I hadn’t wanted to be part of this. I had never thought I wasanyone’sweakness. Was I really Zayn’s? If I was, I would have no idea how to undo that if I even wanted to.

But somehow, I think I already knew it was true.

The sound of a rumbling engine pulled me from my thoughts. Rye never opened the door, but I saw the boxes being unloaded, and I stopped myself from pressing up against the glass to see how deliveries were made. Did they just dump them on the doorstep like the couriers did at my apartment? The truck rumbled away, and when Rye never appeared again, I went looking.

I didn’t find him, but I found three black boxes in my bedroom. The packaging was pretty. Too expensive. Even the light-blue ribbon had a weight to it.

I undid it slowly. I was half expecting something ridiculous. But when I lifted the lid, my breath caught.

Soft knits. Crisp fabrics. Neutral tones that I favored. Every single item wasexactlymy style—only better. Tailored, elevated, refined.

With a sense of giddy excitement, I opened the other boxes. I stood over the boxes for a long moment, staring at the layers of tissue paper like they might snap at me.

They were beautiful. Luxurious. Enviable.

My gut tightened.

It wasn’t the clothes.

It was what theymeant.

Zayn had not just guessed my sizes. He’dknownthem. As I stared at them, I saw them for what they were: a message delivered in silk and tailored designs.

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