Page 42 of His Fury

A message that saidyou’re staying.

I carried the boxes into the closet, carefully setting them down on the edge of the shelving as if they might tip the balance of the whole damn house if I dropped them.

One item at a time, I pulled them out—soft sweaters, sleek wide-legged trousers, delicate camisoles, pajamas, and cozy loungewear. There was even underwear. Of course. The audacity. But some of it was sensible, and while some pieces were racier than I would typically choose, I knew I should have been mad. Maybe even felt trapped. But instead, standing barefoot in his house, dressed only in his hoodie and yesterday’s clothes along with my pride...I just felt…cared for.

And that scared me more than anything.

The final box caused tears to well in my eyes. A new phone sat in its own little box. The exact replica of the one I’dlost. I didn’t switch it on, I merely left it on the side of the bed.

I took a long, hot shower and washed and dried my hair. Then I chose the simplest outfit: a long-sleeved charcoal top and black, loose lounge pants that felt like they had been worn by me many times and offered familiar comfort even though they were brand new. I dressed slowly and carefully, brushing imaginary wrinkles from the sleeves and smoothing my hands down my thighs.

Why did it feel like I was stepping into someone else’s life? Or was I just shedding mine?

In the bathroom, I stared at my reflection. I didn’t look like myself. But…was I a stranger? I looked polished. Composed. Beautiful? Is this who he saw when he looked at me?

My chest tightened. Zayn was shaping the world around me—without force, without words. Just…intention.

And I was letting him.

A soft knock came at the door, and I moved instinctively, hands brushing against the new clothes like I had to hide them. When I opened the door, Rye was waiting patiently in the hall, taking in the new clothes immediately.

“Happy?”

“You know my sizes?” I asked, not even bothering to hide that it disturbed me.

“Don’t need to,” he said bluntly. “He does.”

I swallowed hard and brushed my fingers across the soft cashmere knit. “He shouldn’t.”

“Too late for you two andshouldn’t,” Rye muttered. I looked up at him, but he was looking down the hallway. “Babysitting duties over,” he said, and I couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not. “Zayn’s here.” He looked back at me. “Coming?”

“One second.”

Slowly, I walked back to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. One last time.

Not to admire. I was never that vain. No, I was reminding myself this wasn’t real. This wasn’t permanent. It was survival, wrapped in cotton and cashmere.

And I couldn’t let it be more than that.

No matter how much I might want to.

CHAPTER 11

ZAYN

“She’s been quiet,”Rye told me as he closed the door behind me.

I looked at him and then the closed door. “You’re my butler now?” I teased, trying to lighten the tension I could see around the tightness of his mouth.

“Butler, babysitter”—he shrugged—“everything rolled into one.”

I followed him to the kitchen, desperate to ask where she was, knowing better than to ask him when he was like this. “She’s been quiet?”

The look he gave me told me what a predictable asshole I was. “Yeah. She got up, made coffee, and sat by the window for an hour this morning, watching the trees like they were going to tell her something.”

I set the takeout boxes on the counter, not looking at him. “She talk?”

“Enough.” He paused, eyeing me. “Tried to play it cool. Didn’t ask where you were. Didn’t ask when you would be back.”

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