Her Ruin (Fractured Loyalties #1)

1. Isla

CHAPTER 1

ISLA

Lilies were the flower of the devil.

I was sure they weren’t. They were probably the flower or symbol of some ancient Greek god, but to me—someone with an allergy problem—they were the flower of Satan.

“Isla, do you think pink with white or white with pink?” Sienna asked, holding up two stems of the offending devil flowers.

They both looked the same—allergy-inducing weapons of demons. “Sure.”

Sienna narrowed her eyes at me. “Sure?”

That look. I knew it well—the one that said she was moments away from screeching if I didn’t look like I cared.

“ Sure ?” she said again, her tone sharpening.

“Sure, I like the white with pink,” I lied smoothly. “Don’t you?”

Her gaze lingered suspiciously for a second longer before she turned back to the florist with a radiant smile. “White with pink.”

They resumed their conversation about bouquets while I edged closer to the door. Fresh air was my lifeline in that cramped florist shop packed with floral landmines. My throat felt tight, and I could practically feel every petal plotting against my sinuses.

Pushing the door open, I stepped outside, the bells jingling above me as I escaped. Leaning against the cool brick wall of the shop and trying to shake off the tickle in my nose, I gulped in the crisp air like I’d been underwater for too long.

“You ditched me,” Sienna called out a few minutes later as she joined me, her arms overflowing with brochures about centerpieces and table arrangements.

“Allergies,” I said, gesturing to my nose as I pushed off the wall. “Plus, you didn’t tell me you were turning into Bridezilla.”

“I am not Bridezilla,” she protested, swatting at my arm playfully. “I thought you, of all people, would appreciate my efficiency.”

“I do appreciate efficiency,” I admitted with a small smile. “But I also appreciate diplomacy. So far, you’ve interrogated three florists, held a hostage situation over linen colors, and made a baker cry. Efficient isn’t exactly the first word that comes to mind.”

Sienna’s laugh echoed down the sidewalk, bright and carefree. “The baker deserved it! He couldn’t tell me the difference between buttercream and fondant. Who doesn’t know the difference?”

“Then why ask him?” I teased, but I couldn’t stop the grin tugging at my lips. For all her chaos, Sienna was still one of my closest friends—and I knew how much her wedding meant to her. She was adamant she was only doing it once , so she was doing it right .

Looping her arm through mine, she smiled up at me, her voice light. “Okay, Miss This-Isn’t-How-I-Work, what’s next?”

“Work,” I deadpanned, glancing at my watch. “I have a meeting in twenty minutes. I don’t think I’m cut out for weddings anymore.”

Sienna wasn’t offended. She knew me too well. “Well, you did plan a gazillion weddings when you started your career,” she said sympathetically. “But...you don’t get to ditch me. You’re a bridesmaid. And as a bridesmaid, you have to do all the stuff.”

“That’s the maid of honor’s job,” I reminded her.

“My sister is a she-demon.”

I snorted a laugh. “She is not a she-demon. You just want to call me constantly because I’m an event planner.”

“As I said, I’m efficient and utilizing my resources.”

“Or what my grandmother would call a chancer,” I said, watching her frown in confusion. “It means you push your luck when you know you shouldn’t.”

The faint headache I’d been ignoring started to throb at my temples, probably a leftover from the florist shop’s pollen haze. Sienna noticed and gave me a knowing look.

“You need a break, Isla. You work all the time, and it’s at all hours.”

“I’m an event planner,” I reminded her. “Irregular hours come with the territory.”

“Fine.” We walked in silence for a few moments before she spoke again. “You’re okay, though, right?”

I nodded quickly, brushing off her concern. She didn’t need to hear about my worries today. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

Sienna let it go, but her expression said she didn’t quite believe me. She was right, though—I was tired. Actually, it felt more like I was drowning.

I had back-to-back events on Friday and Saturday night, followed by a pre-wedding brunch for fifty people yesterday. This morning, I met with Sienna, and then I had a ten a.m. meeting with a multimillion-dollar blue chip company for a new tech launch. Afterwards, I needed to drive to the other side of town for a meeting at The Carriages Hotel about the convention they were hosting this Wednesday for another IT company.

“Who will do the event planning for your wedding?” Sienna asked suddenly.

I almost tripped over my own feet in surprise. “My wedding?” I spluttered. “Don’t I need someone to marry first?”

“Do you think you’ll get married?” she asked distractedly, fishing in her purse and pulling out her phone.

“Again, I need someone to marry,” I reminded her with more bite than perhaps necessary. I laughed at myself for getting all defensive over nothing. “Honestly, who knows? Maybe someday.” The answer felt hollow. Empty. I used to dream about it—big weddings filled with family and friends—but they lost their appeal after planning so many as my main job.

“If you didn’t work all the time, maybe you’d have time to find someone,” Sienna said, pretending to be engrossed in her phone as she offered the soft rebuke. “You deserve someone to go home to.”

Personally, I couldn’t think of anything worse. I was drained at the end of most days. The very thought of having to be “on” for someone waiting for me when all I wanted to do was have a long, hot shower and collapse into bed sounded like more energy than necessary.

I liked being alone.

“I have Julian,” I reminded her.

Julian was my best friend. The constant, steady, reliable presence in my life. We’d known each other all our lives, and there wasn’t a day that passed without us talking.

“Julian is not the answer to this,” Sienna said with an exasperated sigh. “While you’re unhealthily joined at the hip, he is not the answer to your love life. Unless…” She gave me a speculative look. “Has that changed?”

Me and Julian? The very idea of it made my stomach turn. “Ew. Gross. He’s like my brother!”

“He’s a good catch,” she offered.

“He is a good catch,” I agreed wholeheartedly. “He’s charming, kind, handsome, has a great job?—”

“I have a fiancé, you don’t need to sell him to me,” she reminded me with a laugh. “You, though…”

I elbowed her in the ribs, ignoring her hiss of disapproval. “I love Julian, but I also know Julian better than anyone, and he’ll make a great catch for someone who doesn’t know as much about him as I do.”

Sienna grumbled something inaudible before turning to me in excitement. “Hey, guess who I saw? Oh my god, I can’t believe it took me this long to tell you!” she said eagerly.

With Sienna, it could be anything. Gracemont was a big town—not quite a city but big enough. Situated approximately forty-five minutes from Chicago, we were close enough to the city but far enough away to have our own independent feel.

“Tom Cruise.”

She gawked at me.

“What? You said guess!”

“Oh my god, I can’t with you…” She laughed lightly. “No, it was even more of a rare sighting. I saw…” She paused for dramatic effect, and my stomach twisted in dread. “Zayn McCabe.”

I tried not to react, but it was impossible. My top lip curled into a sneer automatically. “Ugh. I thought it would be someone exciting.”

“Isla,” Sienna groaned. “He’s hot. He’s loaded. And we went to school with him. He’s practically Gracemont royalty.”

“No. He’s Gracemont’s poster boy for criminals.”

“You’re so square,” she scolded. “Anyway, not only did I see him, I heard he’s the money behind that renovation on Hardgate.”

So what if he was? Glancing at my watch, I gave her a tight-lipped smile. “Mmhmm, interesting.” I looked at my watch again. “I’ve got to go, or I’ll be late.”

Sienna air-kissed me on both cheeks. I hated that, but I bit my tongue and waited until it was over. I hurried to my office, which was just two blocks away. My heels clicked sharply against the sidewalk as I navigated the pedestrian traffic of downtown Gracemont on a Monday morning.

Downtown was a historic area with older architecture. It was an almost quaint part of town with old brick buildings housing a variety of stores from boutiques to coffee spots and bars. It was lively during the day but also had an active nightlife with a scattering of clubs throughout the two blocks that made up the area.

Clubs . Like the building on Hardgate that was being renovated? Rumor had it that it was going to be a new elite nightclub.

Sienna was also late with her gossip. I’d heard Zayn was in town last week, and one of my colleagues had taken great pleasure in sharing the information.

“Have you heard Zayn McCabe is in town?” she’d asked, her voice brimming with gossip.

I’d stiffened at the name. “Why would I care?” I’d replied flatly, not bothering to look up from my computer.

“Oh, come on, don’t act like you don’t remember him,” she teased. “ The Zayn McCabe? Tall, broody, kind of a dick? Everyone thought he was trouble back in the day. Then there was the whole sudden move away. Why do you think he’s back?”

I’d feigned indifference even as the words rattled me. “I don’t know or care,” I’d muttered, keeping my focus on my screen.

Monica hadn’t let up. “Wasn’t he Julian’s friend? I thought you’d be excited to know he’s back?”

“He was Julian’s friend.” I’d looked up from my computer. “Not mine.”

Monica got the hint, but her words had stuck with me, lingering long after she’d walked away, not bothering to hide her smirk.

Zayn was a guy I didn’t like. He was Julian’s friend—much to my disapproval, then and now—but that didn’t mean he was mine or that I had anything to do with him. But I knew he now had money. I didn’t lose sleep over where he got his income, but I knew he was wealthy, and I doubted he’d earned it all legally.

Biting my lip, I wondered about the renovation of the old building. There’d been plenty of speculation in the office about what it was being renovated for, and last I’d heard, the plans were still being discussed with the planning department.

I’d walked briskly through the muggy streets of downtown, and I couldn’t stop replaying the conversation. The idea of Zayn owning a club in Gracemont meant he’d be back in town. A lot . I didn’t care that it implied he was the silent partner—the man could not avoid the limelight. He’d always been the center of attention; it didn’t matter that he was rough around the edges or thrived on pushing boundaries.

The thought of him running something as polished and legitimate as a nightclub didn’t fit my image of him.

But then again, it wasn’t like I’d ever really known him. Not beyond the surface, anyway.

And I didn’t need to know him now I reminded myself firmly.

Still, as I reached the steps of my building, the pull of curiosity tugged at me. It wasn’t about him. It was about the club. It was business . If Gracemont’s elite were going to be flocking to this place, it was only a matter of time before someone tried to book an event there.

And I did know him. More than I liked to admit…even to myself.

He was my best friend’s…friend. Zayn and I did not get along at all, but knowing the space and meeting the owner was practical.

It was my job .

Plucking my phone out of my purse, I scrolled through my contacts and hit Julian’s name before I could talk myself out of it.

He answered on the second ring. He always did.

“Hey, Isla.” Julian’s voice was warm and familiar.

“Hey,” I replied, hitting the button on the elevator door. “Got a second?”

“For you? Always,” he replied, and I could hear the faint smile in his tone.

Julian had always been that way—steady and reliable. Despite Sienna’s teasing and the pointless wishes of both of our families, our relationship was purely platonic because Julian Turner was the brother I’d never had.

Growing up, when things felt overwhelming or when I needed someone to remind me to breathe, it had always been Julian. He had this way of absorbing the worst of the world and returning calm.

“I was wondering,” I started, unsure how to bring it up, as the elevator doors opened to the floor of my office. “But, um...have you talked to Zayn lately?”

“Zayn?” His voice tightened just slightly. “Why?”

“No reason,” I lied quickly, then sighed as I opened my office door. Waving at Monica, I stepped into my office, where the cool tones of the walls greeted me. “Okay, maybe there’s a reason. Did you hear about the renovation on Hardgate?”

There was a pause, and I could almost picture Julian sitting in his office, running a hand through his perpetually messy hair. He was like that—never neat enough to look polished, and he wasn’t one for too much effort. He was probably in a button-down shirt, chinos, and loafers with his ever-present coffee mug in his hand.

“Yeah, I know about the club,” he finally said. “Why?”

“Monica at work mentioned it,” I explained. “Said it’s going to be the hottest spot in Gracemont or whatever. “

“And?” Julian asked, his tone somewhere between cautious and curious.

“Is it true?” I asked too quickly. “Is he involved?”

“I thought you hated Zayn?” His tone was casual. “Why are you so interested if he is?”

“Because I am an event planner! I could have a client that wants to have an event there, and I need to know the inside gossip so I look good. And…well, if it’s true and the asshat is involved…”

“Go on,” he encouraged.

“Zayn and I don’t exactly…”

“...get along?” Julian finished for me, his voice tinged with amusement.

“Exactly.”

There was another pause, and then Julian sighed. “Look, I don’t know what you want me to say. Zayn’s...Zayn. He’s done well for himself, and yeah, the rumors are true; it’s his, and the club’s legit. I’ve been there a couple of times since it’s been getting fitted out.”

That caught my attention. “You have?”

“Of course. He’s my friend,” Julian said simply as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

I bit my lip, unsure how to put my thoughts into words. “I just?—”

“You just what?” Julian prompted gently.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “It’s just…it’s him , you know? The way he left in senior year at school, and there was that night with you and him when you were in college, and then the next thing we hear, he’s got this whole empire or whatever. It’s just...shady. He’s shady.”

“Or you’re biased, Isla,” Julian said. His tone was careful as if he knew I wasn’t ready to hear whatever point he was about to make. “Zayn’s a decent enough guy.”

I scoffed. “Zayn? Decent? I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Maybe you should,” Julian said lightly. “See it, I mean.”

I rolled my eyes even though he couldn’t see me. “You’re not seriously suggesting I go to his club.”

“Why not? It might be good for you.”

“And what does that mean?” I shot back, narrowing my eyes at the phone like it could transmit my glare.

Julian laughed softly. “It means you’ve been working too hard, as usual. And maybe you need a night out. Somewhere that isn’t work-related.”

His words stung because they were true. Julian always had a way of gently but firmly cutting through my excuses.

I sighed. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good,” he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice again. “And Isla?”

“Yeah?”

“Isn’t going to his club why you called?”

“Shut up.”

His hearty laugh made me smile. “Zayn’s comfortable with who he is, and you aren’t. Do what you’ve done since the first day you met him.”

“Which is?”

“ Avoid him,” Julian said, and I could tell he was smiling. “Or, at least make an effort to be nice to him…”

“That’ll be the day,” I muttered, but Julian just laughed again, his calm, steady presence as unshakable as ever.

As I hung up, I stared at the phone for a long moment.

I could avoid him. I was quite good at it. But…this was business, so it made complete sense for me to go there when it opened. I didn’t have to see Zayn or even talk to him.

And yet, no amount of logic could explain the strange tightness in my chest when I thought of stepping into Zayn McCabe’s world once again.