14. Isla
CHAPTER 14
ISLA
The gala was a roaring success. The guests were glowing with alcohol and excited conversation. The charity had already raised more than projected, the auction was off to a strong start, and I had navigated the endless demands of Gracemont’s elite without breaking a sweat.
Lyndsay was beaming, and as I saw her laugh freely at something someone said to her, a slow breath left my lungs, the kind of exhale that only comes after weeks of tension.
I had done it, and I was ready to soak in this victory.
I stepped towards the bar, accepting a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and letting my fingers slide over the chilled glass. From my vantage point, I could see everything—the conversations, the happy smiles, the effortless flow of the night.
This was mine. My event and I was so happy I’d pulled it off despite everything . This was my third year doing this for this client, and I knew Lyndsay wouldn’t hesitate to come to me when it came to next year’s events.
The microphone clicked on, and I turned to see what else was being auctioned. It seemed too soon for the short interval to be over.
When I looked at the stage, everything changed.
Zayn stood front and center, cool and collected and so devastatingly handsome. I froze, fingers tightening around my glass as his voice filled the room.
“Good evening, everyone.” His voice was smooth and calculated, the kind of voice that demanded attention without effort.
All around me, the crowd shifted, heads turning towards the main stage. My stage. And there he was. Standing on it like he belonged there, like this was his event, his success, his moment to claim.
My pulse roared in my ears.
“What the hell are you doing?” I mumbled as I set my glass down and took a slow step forwards, forcing myself to remain calm.
Zayn half smiled at the crowd. His black suit was tailored perfectly, and his presence was commanding as he surveyed the room like a king addressing his court.
“I want to thank you all for joining us tonight at Elixir,” he said, his voice carrying through the speakers. “It was a great honor to host this event today.” He looked to Lyndsay, who gave him a tight smile. Zayn smiled widely, and I swear a woman to my left sighed. “This event is a testament to what we can accomplish when we come together for something bigger than ourselves.”
And the crowd ate it up . Smiling, clapping, completely oblivious this wasn’t his win to take.
My stomach turned. Oh God. He wasn’t just thanking them; he was claiming it.
I stepped forwards, my blood thundering in my ears, but before I could take another step, Rye appeared at my side, gripping my arm tightly.
“Don’t make a scene,” he murmured under his breath.
I twisted towards him, furious. “He’s taking the credit for my event.”
Rye’s grip tightened, but his voice was perfectly neutral. “He’s reminding them where they are.”
I ripped my arm away. “He’s taking everything! I did this, and he’s acting like?—”
And then Zayn kept talking.
“Of course, an event like this doesn’t come together without the right resources. The right space. The right access,” he said smoothly, his gaze sweeping the crowd before landing…right on me.
Something cold and sharp slid down my spine.
“I’m honored that Elixir could provide the perfect venue,” he said while holding my gaze. “The perfect service. The perfect execution.” He smirked. “After all, without that, even the best plans fall apart.”
The words were subtle, but the meaning hit me like a punch to the gut.
He wasn’t just taking the credit ; he was erasing me.
I didn’t say anything when Rye took hold of my arm gently, but it was still a hold.
“Elixir’s private staff ensured that tonight’s event was executed flawlessly,” Zayn carried on, pausing to take a sip from his glass, his eyes still locked on to mine. “From the kitchen to the service to the security—you’ve been in good hands all evening.”
My stomach dropped. The kitchen. The service. The security.
He’d made sure I had no access to any of it. I’d been so focused on the event, on the planning, on navigating Zayn himself, that I hadn’t stopped to consider…I never once had control.
An illusion.
He’d given me the illusion of power. He had let me move through the club like I was running things, let me pretend I had pulled this off, when in reality? He had held every single string in his hand.
I’d done this. I’d planned an event inside his empire. Using his people. On his terms. I had never stood a chance. I was reeling, my nails digging into my palm so hard I was sure they’d leave permanent indentations in my skin.
Zayn tilted his glass slightly in my direction, knowing exactly what I’d just realized. Enjoying watching me figure it out.
“And so,” he finished smoothly, “I’d like to thank the Shaw Foundation for trusting Elixir with tonight’s event. It’s been my pleasure hosting you.”
The room erupted into applause. My knees felt weak as I stood there, my world tipping on its axis.
Zayn McCabe had played me.
And I let him .
The sound of clapping felt deafening but also muted. I knew I was spiraling. Holding it all inside, I raised my hands and clapped.
I forced myself to clap. Because what the hell was I supposed to do? Storm the stage? Rip the microphone from his hands?
No.
Not here. Not with hundreds of Gracemont’s most powerful people watching. Not with photographers capturing every moment, every smile, every careful detail that I had planned.
No. I would not give Zayn the satisfaction of seeing me unravel.
Instead, I looked for my champagne flute. A waiter passed with a tray, and I took a flute with steady fingers, took a measured sip, and stood there like a fucking joke.
Zayn was still watching me as Lyndsay joined him on the stage and spoke to him. I couldn’t look away from his smirk. He knew exactly how hard I was working to keep my expression neutral, how much effort it took to stand here, poised and polished, while he stole this moment from under me.
It was only when Zayn turned his gaze to Lyndsay that I felt Rye’s steady presence beside me. Looking up, I saw him watching me.
“Did you enjoy that?” I asked him, glad my voice was steady.
Rye sniffed, his hand slipping into his dark-gray suit. “I told you the first time we met, Isla. Only Elixir holds events inside Elixir.” He gave me a small consolatory smile, and then he walked away.
I downed my champagne, already looking for a replacement, when I saw Lyndsay Shaw walking towards me. I plastered my most professional smile on my face as my client came to stand beside me.
Her gaze swept the room, stopping towards the stage, where Zayn effortlessly engaged in conversation with a small crowd gathered around him.
“Well?” she said, her eyes on him. “How did that arrangement work out for you?”
I turned to face her. “I don’t know what you mean.” I had to maintain some form of control.
Her lips curled slightly. “Isla, I’m a businesswoman, and I know a power play when I see one.”
The huff of disgust was out before I could stop it. “The event was a success,” I told her. “That’s all that matters.”
Lyndsay hummed. “It absolutely was; you executed everything flawlessly.” Her gaze flicked towards Zayn, who was now laughing with some of the VIPs. “He made sure no one will remember it was your hours of work.”
I swallowed, hating how true it was.
Lyndsay gave a quiet laugh. “He’s impressive,” she said with admiration. “Did you see it coming?”
I smiled tightly. Did she want the truth or the lie? “We worked together better than I thought we would.” There, she could take that however she wanted.
Lyndsay gave me a sympathetic nod, clearly not believing one word I’d said. “That’s unfortunate.” She looked around again. “You really are exceptional, Isla. But to be played so easily?” She tsked. “Potentially disastrous. I hope you can bounce back.”
I barely resisted the urge to throw my drink in her face.
Instead, I excused myself with a polite nod and an excuse to visit the bathroom. I weaved through the crowd, ignoring the cheerful buzz of conversation and the occasional well don e. That was worse. They thought I worked for him.
I wanted to correct them, but I was too furious. I was too focused on getting to the bathroom, locking myself in a stall, and screaming into my hands.
I startled when a cool hand caught my elbow, slipping to the small of my back, steering me past the bathrooms and into a small room. Turning, I looked around the storage closet, trying to avoid making eye contact.
Zayn stood with his back to the door, whiskey in hand, still looking infuriatingly pleased with himself.
“You’re unbelievable.”
The corner of his mouth tugged up. “I’ve heard that before.”
I stepped too close, my voice low and sharp. “You bastard.”
“Now, now, Isla. You knew my parents.”
I took a slow breath, keeping my shoulders relaxed and my expression neutral. So that’s what he wanted; he didn’t want a confrontation—he wanted a performa n ce .
He wanted to play games.
Fine. I’d play his fucking games.
I took a step back, letting out a slow smile, even as I wanted to rake my nails across his face. “You really couldn’t help yourself, could you?”
He sipped his drink, watching me over the rim of his glass. “Help myself?” His gaze swept over me. “Help myself to what?”
I ignored the blatant sexuality emanating from him. “You took credit for something you had nothing to do with.”
His eyes darkened slightly. “That’s where you’re wrong, Is.” He saw me become still. He leaned forwards, his voice dipping low. “I gave you a venue. I gave you access. I let you use my space, my resources, my people.” He let the words settle over me. “I never said you were in control.”
Each word stung, but I refused to let him see it. Instead, I lifted my chin. “I thought it meant you were honoring our agreement.”
Zayn chuckled softly. “I honored our deal. The gala happened, didn’t it? It was very successful.”
I clenched my jaw, furious at how casual he was. He was completely unaffected. “You’re a piece of work, McCabe.”
His lips quirked. “And yet you’re still standing here.”
I wanted to argue. I wanted to demand why he was such a hateful dick. I wanted to pretend none of this mattered. But it did. And he knew it.
I hated how this had happened, how he had pulled the rug out from under me, how he had let me believe I was the one running the show, only for him to remind everyone that this was his kingdom.
And the very worst part? He wasn’t wrong.
This was his club, his empire. How would I have ever had control of that? It was a bitter pill to swallow. I took a slow breath, stepping back, gesturing to the door, letting him know I wanted out. “Enjoy your victory, Zayn.”
The gleam in his eyes didn’t fade. “I always do.”
I needed out of there. “Let me out.”
“No.” He downed his whiskey, placing the glass on a shelf.
I blinked, my stomach tightening. “Excuse me?”
He didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. He just watched me, his eyes sharp, unreadable, filled with something that sent heat curling in my stomach.
“No,” he repeated, slow and deliberate. He slid his hands into his pockets like he had all the time in the world, leaning back against the door. “We’re not done.”
I exhaled sharply, forcing control back into my voice. “This isn’t funny, Zayn.”
He tilted his head slightly. “Do I look like I’m joking?”
The weight of his gaze pressed against me, daring me to react, to push, to step back. I refused. I wouldn’t be pushed around by him anymore. I pulled my hair over my shoulder, tilting my chin. “I’m done here.”
His eyes gleamed dangerously, and I hated how good he looked. “Are you?”
The way he said it, low, mocking, dangerous, sent that familiar tingle skittering down my spine. I clenched my fists at my sides. “Yes.”
He let out a quiet laugh, moving off the door, moving closer. “I think that’s a lie.”
My breath caught. The space between us was shrinking too fast, too effortlessly. The warmth of his body was inches from mine now, and the scent of whiskey and the hint of something unmistakably darker that was him surrounded me.
My pulse betrayed me, jumping beneath my skin. “I hate you,” I whispered.
He smiled widely. “No, you don’t.”
His fingers brushed against my exposed collarbone, the lightest touch, yet my skin burned. I should have stepped back. I should have told him to move, to let me out, to avoid whatever the hell this new game was.
But I didn’t.
Because despite the fury still burning inside me, despite knowing he had played me, manipulated me, controlled me from the start…I was still aching for something I had no business wanting.
Zayn saw it.
His eyes flickered to my lips, slow and deliberate. My breath hitched.
“Say you don’t want this,” he murmured, his voice silk and sin. “Say it, and I’ll let you walk out the door.”
I parted my lips—ready to say it. Ready to lie.
But before I could speak, he moved.
Soft. Slow. Calculated.
His hand skimmed down my arm, then gently back up, his fingers curling at the base of my neck, his thumb brushing the edge of my jaw as he tilted my chin upwards.
I stopped breathing.
Zayn’s lips hovered above mine—not touching, not yet—just close enough for the heat of his breath to tease, to torment, to remind me who was in control.
He didn’t kiss me.
He waited.
Waited for me to close the distance. Waited for me to break.
I hated him for it. I hated myself more.
Because I almost did.
I was in his office the night I almost gave in, and just like that night, I almost tipped forwards, almost gave in to the unbearable heat that burned between us, almost let him take what we both knew we wanted.
He knew how close I was to breaking. That slow smirk brushed his lips and told me he knew exactly how close I was falling.
But I didn’t.
Instead, I tore myself out of his grip, stepping back, my body on fire.
Zayn’s chuckle was low and dark, just like him. “I told you, Isla,” he murmured. “We aren’t finished.”
I swallowed hard, refusing to let my hands tremble as I smoothed them down the front of my dress. “You should be more careful,” I said, forcing to keep my voice cold and controlled. “You keep playing games and you might lose.”
Those steel-gray eyes flashed with amusement. “I don’t lose.”
Leaning past him, I grabbed the door handle. When I opened the door, I forced him to step back. Moving past him, I made myself walk out of the there before I did something incredibly stupid. Before I forgot why Zayn was the last man on earth I should ever want.
Before I let myself believe—even for a second—that this wasn’t just another game to him.
“You looked beautiful tonight.”
My step faltered. I turned my head to look at him, and he was leaning his shoulder against the door frame, his gaze hot and heavy as his eyes caressed my body.
“Next time you wear that dress, I promise you it’ll be on my bedroom floor.” The promise in his eyes took my breath away.
My heart was thumping. “Goodnight, Zayn.”
I walked back into the event and kept walking right out of the door and down the staircase, not caring that I hadn’t finished my job there.
Let them deal with the cleanup. It was their event, after all.
The victory felt small. Petty.
I had no illusion that I had won anything by the way I had left Zayn or the club.
There was no battle to be won here, not when he’d already won the war.
But that realization didn’t take away the small sense of victory I felt. I had walked out on my own terms. Despite everything, that small win made me smile as I hailed a cab and headed home, ready to leave this night and Zayn behind me.