10. Isla
CHAPTER 10
ISLA
I woke up to silence.
Not the strained kind that clung to tension like it was feeding it but the soft, golden kind that filled the air when the world hadn’t yet remembered to be loud.
The room was empty. I had half expected Zayn to slide in beside me last night, but he hadn’t, and I had slept undisturbed.
We hadn’t continued our conversation. I left him in the living area with Rye’s hoodie and wandered to the other side of the house, eventually going up the stairs. Of the five doors there, two were closed. I guessed Rye used one, and the other must be Zayn’s bedroom.
His housekeeper had her instructions to follow, but I would be surprised if Zayn’s door was ever unlocked. The man had too many secrets. One of the three remaining doors was a large bathroom, and the other two were guest bedrooms.
Or else I had seriously miscalculated how well I knew the man I’d been sharing a bed with for weeks.
The decor was neutral, and he seemed to prefer cool tones; however, the room I chose had a subtle warmth to the palette. Natural fabrics were selected, and the closet was simple yet modest, providing ample space for racks and shelving. The bathroom featured light-sand tones with double basin sinks and a walk-in shower, and I couldn’t help but smile when I saw the range of products for guests’ use.
Flowery shit like I liked.
I guess I picked the right room. I let my eyes drift closed for a moment longer, reveling in the deep sleep I had. I wouldn’t have thought it possible, but I had slept like a baby. My hand brushed against the other side of the bed, and my eyes opened when I felt the lingering warmth beneath my fingertips.
Had I been as alone as I thought I had?
Maybe it was the warm cocoon I was wrapped in, but the fact that maybe he had slept beside me didn’t upset me. It made me feel…held.
My hand moved from the heat, seeking out if I could trace a pattern—or body heat—when I noticed the folded note on the nightstand beside me, written in an annoyingly confident scrawl.
Went to the club. Don’t leave the house without Rye. He’s here. Watching. Like the creepy ghoul he is.
—Z
A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. I carefully folded the note and placed it in a drawer, pretending I didn’t want to reread it later.
The house was still quiet when I finally wandered out of the bedroom, padding barefoot across the cool floor. No shadows were lurking. No ghosts waiting to crawl out of corners.
Just…stillness.
And safety.
It startled me how much that mattered.
Rye wasn’t anywhere I could see, but I knew he would be in the house somewhere, tucked away, probably avoiding me. Zayn’s warning hadn’t been for dramatic effect. If he wanted to make sure I would remain undiscovered here, then either he or Rye would always be watching.
I brewed coffee in a huge, industrial machine that could serve an entire army. I wasn’t even sure I pressed the right buttons, but eventually, I found myself with a cup in hand and warmth enveloped me.
Holding my cup of coffee, I approached the glass wall in the living room and gazed at the trees bordering the property. There was no sound from passing traffic. No chaos. Just green, tranquility, and sunlit stillness.
How did someone like Zayn live in a place like this?
How did a man who thrived in the shadows build himself a sanctuary this quiet? This…beautiful?
This safe.
Maybe it wasn’t his? The idea popped into my head as I looked at the blue skies. Maybe the house was for him like it was for me—a temporary shelter in a world that demanded too much. But even thinking that, I didn’t believe it.
I sat there for a while, just soaking it all in. I didn’t check the time. I didn’t think of the many messages I probably missed on my phone.
I let myself breathe.
It was the first time in days…no, weeks…where I didn’t feel like I was holding my breath just to stay upright.
And God…that felt dangerous .
I was curled up on one of the ridiculously oversized chairs, cradling my second coffee, when I finally heard movement.
“Hi?”
Rye said nothing for a long moment and then ran his eyes over me. He was holding his own mug like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to humanity.
“I was beginning to think you were a ghost,” I said. “Silent, broody, armed.”
He gave me a sideways look. “If I was a ghost, you wouldn’t see me.”
“Comforting.” I offered a smile. “Zayn said you’d be here,” I told him. “Watching. Like the creep you are. His words, not mine.”
He sipped his coffee and didn’t deny it.
“Are you always this fun in the morning?” I asked, tipping my head toward him.
“Only when I’m babysitting people who talk too much.”
I gave him a sugary smile. “It’s not babysitting. It’s personal security. Very glamorous.”
“You’re going to be a pain in the ass, aren’t you?”
“I thought you already thought I was?”
I saw the corner of the corner of his mouth twitch like he wanted to smile, and I took that for the win it was.
We shared an easy silence for a few beats. “Delivery truck will be here soon,” he told me matter-of-factly. “Need you to stay in here or at the back of the house. Okay?”
“Oh…um. Of course.” I turned around fully to watch him as he watched me. “I didn’t think you would take deliveries here.” He raised an eyebrow, and I explained myself. “You said it was so… secret . A delivery truck seems the exact opposite. ”
Rye grimaced. “Yeah, well, your boyfriend thought you might like fresh clothes.”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“He has someone who does it fast, apparently.”
I stared at Rye, my mind not understanding what he was saying. “He ordered me clothes?”
This time, I definitely saw a smirk. “You planning on wearing the same shit every day you’re here?” Rye asked, gesturing up and down my body. When I shook my head, he gave a slight shrug. “Zayn thought that too, so he ordered you clothes.”
“I have clothes.”
“You don’t have clothes here ,” Rye said patiently, glancing at his watch. “You will in approximately twenty-seven minutes.”
“Twenty-seven minutes is very precise for an approximation,” I mumbled.
He made a quiet noise in the back of his throat—somewhere between a laugh and a grunt—and joined me on the couch.
Rye leaned back and studied me. “You’re in his house. Zayn’s not the type to let you wear the same hoodie for three days straight even when it is his.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Wait—you knew I was wearing your hoodie?”
His face finally broke into a grin. “It smelled like my laundry detergent. Didn’t take a genius.”
“Oh my god.” I groaned, burying my face in my hands. “This is what rock bottom feels like.”
“It’s not rock bottom. You’ve got coffee, clean clothes, and nobody’s trying to kidnap you today. I’d call that a win.”
I peeked at him through my fingers, his words too sobering to pretend the impact didn’t land heavy. “Do you ever get used to it?”
Rye’s expression was casually blank. “Used to what?”
“All of it.” I gestured vaguely around the space. “This? With its security, and the silence, and the danger that just sort of…lives underneath everything.”
He was quiet for a second. Then he said, “You don’t get used to it. But you’ll learn when to pay attention and when to breathe through it.” He saw my look. “Ignore it,” he explained.
I nodded slowly, letting that sink in. Would I?
“Zayn breathes through it?” I asked softly.
Rye looked at me like he wasn’t sure if he should answer. He broke the stare. “When it’s about you? No. I don’t think he can.”
My throat went tight, but I nodded. I didn’t know what to say to that.
“I can’t figure that bit out,” he admitted as he watched me.
“Figure what out?”
“How long you’ve been this distraction to him?” He looked me over. “I think there’s more history than I know. Am I right?”
I was already shaking my head in denial. “My history with Zayn is limited. We weren’t buddies.”
“Made up for that now, haven’t you?” he asked slyly.
I stood up off the couch, putting distance between us. I looked over at him. “You think this is a mistake?”
He held my gaze for a moment, then looked away, taking another slow sip of his coffee before answering. “Doesn’t matter what I think.”
It was my turn to raise my eyebrows. “That’s not what I asked. ”
Rye’s jaw flexed, and I didn’t think he would answer me. Finally, he said, “You make him…careless.”
I gulped. Careless ? The word echoed in the silence louder than I liked.
“I didn’t ask him to come for me.”
Rye gave a low chuckle. “In that, I believe you.”
“But?” His face was stoic, and I wanted to yell at him but restrained myself barely. “Come on, Rye. There’s always a but.”
“But…” He shot me a flat look. “It doesn’t change the way he looks at you. Or behaves when he is with you. Or the fact that the people who matter most in Gracemont may have already noticed it.”
I turned to look out the window. “You think I’m the liability.”
He didn’t answer right away, but when he did, his voice was low. “I think Zayn has worked hard to build something most people can’t even begin to understand. I’ve watched them try to tear him down for years and fail.” I heard his soft exhale. “And I think you’re the cracks in the wall he didn’t have before.”
“Cracks don’t always mean weakness,” I whispered.
“They do.”
I turned to look at him over my shoulder, my stomach twisting. “That’s not fair, Rye.”
“It’s never about what’s fair, Isla,” Rye said simply. “It’s about control. Our world, Zayn’s and mine, is a world where control is everything. It’s why your friend Julian doesn’t belong in it,” he added with no venom. Just a simple statement. “And you…”
He didn’t need to finish the sentence. “I never asked to be part of it.”
“Yes, you did,” Rye said with that same easy simplicity. “ The moment you decided to compete with Elixir, with Zayn, you asked to be let in.”
I crossed my arms. “I was never competing with all of what Elixir is.”
“Maybe not.” He stood, picking up both empty mugs. “But now you are part of it as much as we are.”
I watched him as he walked away, disappearing back into the quiet of the house like he’d never been there at all. A ghost as Zayn had said.
Rye’s words lingered long after he was gone.
I hadn’t asked for this. I hadn’t wanted to be part of this. I had never thought I was anyone’s weakness. Was I really Zayn’s? If I was, I would have no idea how to undo that if I even wanted to.
But somehow, I think I already knew it was true.
The sound of a rumbling engine pulled me from my thoughts. Rye never opened the door, but I saw the boxes being unloaded, and I stopped myself from pressing up against the glass to see how deliveries were made. Did they just dump them on the doorstep like the couriers did at my apartment? The truck rumbled away, and when Rye never appeared again, I went looking.
I didn’t find him, but I found three black boxes in my bedroom. The packaging was pretty. Too expensive. Even the light-blue ribbon had a weight to it.
I undid it slowly. I was half expecting something ridiculous. But when I lifted the lid, my breath caught.
Soft knits. Crisp fabrics. Neutral tones that I favored. Every single item was exactly my style—only better. Tailored, elevated, refined.
With a sense of giddy excitement, I opened the other boxes. I stood over the boxes for a long moment, staring at the layers of tissue paper like they might snap at me .
They were beautiful. Luxurious. Enviable.
My gut tightened.
It wasn’t the clothes.
It was what they meant .
Zayn had not just guessed my sizes. He’d known them. As I stared at them, I saw them for what they were: a message delivered in silk and tailored designs.
A message that said you’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’d lost . 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 and shouldn’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.