Page 90 of His Fury

“When you broke it off? Why?”

How much could I tell her? “Reality,” I replied sincerely. “His…work…shattered the bubble of denial I was living in.”

Sienna narrowed her eyes. “Shady?” I remained silent, and she nodded in understanding. “Knew it.” She took a deep breath. “You always knew who he was, Isla.”

I heard the reprimand. Had I?Yes. “I did,” I said as I tore the corner of my napkin farther. “I was very vocal about it…”

Sienna laughed lightly. “Yeah, Julian got so many lectures!” She tilted her head. “What does he think?”

Can. Worms. Argh. “I wanted to talk to you. You’re not as…invested.”

“What? You think I don’tcare?”

“God, no,” I corrected myself. “You’re more…Switzerland. Neutral. Julian’s…biased. He’s friends with both of us.”

“True.”

Glad she was appeased, I waited for her words of wisdom.

“I think…” She chewed on her straw. “I think maybe you should stop trying to leave and start trying to understand,” she said slowly. “I think there is more than you’re telling me, and I understand that. I say he’s shady, but honestly, I don’t really know him. I knowofhim. Iknowyou don’t get all his money so quickly at his agehonestly.” She didn’t seem put off by that. “But I know if you're sitting in a coffee shop askingmefor relationship advice, thenyou'reall in.”

She reached over and patted my hand. “And if you are, and I know you are…” She hesitated. “If he can’t meet you halfway, Isla—if he can’t make room for who you are too—then all the love in the world won’t be enough for you to be happy.” She touched my hand again. “Don’t lose yourself in him.”

I nodded slowly, but her words felt heavier than they should have.

Because what if Zayn wasn’t the problem?

What if I didn’t know whoIwas anymore?

I had always believed that control felt like spreadsheets and structure—color-coded planners and timelines that didn’t bend.

But the control Zayn had was different. It wasn’t neat. It was quiet, perilous, and substantial.

And, God help me, I understood it better than I ever imagined I could.

We sat in silence for a moment before I changed the conversation and became absorbed in the wedding planning. The mood lightened, but as we said goodbye, I could tell my friend was concerned for me, and I realized I had done nothing to alleviate her worries.

I drove back to the house instead of returning to work. I made sure there were no cars behind me as I turned into the entrance, just as Rye taught me. Always be sure you weren’t being followed. It worried me that I accepted that warning so calmly.

When I returned, the house was too still, meaning Zayn wasn’t home yet, and Rye was nowhere to be seen.

They were likely having an ordinary Thursday, not the kind where their entire identity was slowly unraveling.

I dropped my purse on the counter, kicked off my shoes, and walked barefoot across the open space to the kitchen. The floor was cool against my skin, grounding me when everything else felt as if it were shifting beneath my feet.

Sienna’s words now echoed louder in the silence than they did over coffee.

Don’t lose yourself in him.

But what if it were too late? What if, somewhere betweenstolen nights and whispered confessions, I had already given away pieces of myself I couldn’t get back?

Restless, I went upstairs to change and sat on the edge of the bed—the one that had stopped feeling like his and had somehow becomeours—and stared at the folded hoodie at the foot of it. His scent still clung to the fabric.

God, I missed him. Even when he was away for just a few hours, I felt it. That tether. That ache.

It was neither normal nor smart, and it certainly wasn’t safe.

But it was real. It was sogoddamnreal.

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