Page 43 of His Fury

“Seems like she said a lot,” I muttered as I unpacked the bag.

Rye let out a slow breath. “What’s the plan here?” I turned to face him, and he was watching me, leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets. “Tell me there’s a plan.”

“I haven’t figured it out yet,” I admitted to him. “I’m not used to people needing to protect themselves because of knowing me.”

“Yes, you are,” Rye said with a grunt. “You’re just not used to people having a say in it.” He looked at me for a long moment. “Do you think you’re doing her a favor by keeping her here? By keeping her close?” He didn’t let me respond. “We can’t just bring someone into our world, Zayn. They getpulledin.”

I met his gaze, seeing his frustration. “You think I don’t know that?”

“I believe you’re pretending it doesn’t matter.” Rye’s tone remained steady. “But it does. For her. For you. For every deal on the table that could now have Isla Wells written in invisible ink somewhere in the margin.”

I didn’t respond because he wasn’t wrong. She was becoming the fine print of my life—the unexpected clause I hadn’t accounted for but couldn’t seem to cross out.

“I’ll talk to her.”

“Talk andlisten,” he said, giving a pointed look. He walked over to the boxes of containers, picking up the kung pao chicken along with a container of rice. “I’m heading to the club. Will you be there tonight?”

“Yes.” I didn’t even convince myself.

Rye sighed. “At least promise me that you’ll keep your dick in your pants until you’ve had the conversation.” He left me there with the kind of warning only someone who’d seen every version of me could give.

Shortly after, I heard the front door close, and then the house fell silent. It was too quiet. I headed to the stairs to get Isla for dinner, but she was already coming down.

She was wearing the clothes I had delivered; her posture was straight but tense as we looked at each other. Her teeth caught the corner of her bottom lip, and I watched her hands run over the material of her pants legs. It was the look of a woman trying too hard not to admit how vulnerable she felt.

I scanned her clothes, and my first thought was that she looked good in them. A simple shirt and pants, yet she appeared classy as if the fabric had always been meant for her.

Like shebelongedin this house, in my space, in my world.

My second thought was that she would leave because I hadn’t convinced her to stay. Not really.

I came to a stop at the bottom of the stairs, watching her hesitate four steps from the bottom. “You got the delivery.”

Isla searched my face as she studied me. “I did.”

I nodded. “And you’re wearing them. You like them?”

“I didn’t have many options.”

I smiled just a little. “Convenient.”

Her eyes narrowed as if she wanted to pick a fight. Good. I could handle angry Isla. Silence? I felt less certain.

“You could have asked,” she said, breaking eye contact. “I never took you for someone who wanted to play wardrobe fairy.”

Play what?“Am I supposed to know what that means?” I asked her.

“Right…” She sighed. “When have you ever not known everything already?” She frowned at me. “You could have asked me.”

Definitely pissed off.“You’re right, Is. I don’t ask. And I don’t play.”

It was the wrong thing to say. I realized it immediately. Her chin lifted, and a wall slammed into place behind her eyes. She descended the last few steps, eye to eye with me, and the look in her eyes—measured, proud, and defiant—made something in my chest tighten.

“How long do you want me here?”

“How long do you want to be here?” I countered.

“Is this about keeping me safe,” she asked, “or keepingme?”

---