14. Isla
CHAPTER 14
ISLA
I didn’t hear him leave. I woke up to an empty bed and the faint smell of Zayn’s cologne in the air. The kind of scent that stayed with you long after the man was gone.
His absence shouldn’t have made the place feel colder, but it did. My body ached in a good way, yet it still ached. Twice with him before my shower and then again once Rye left. We started downstairs in his study, paused on the stairs, and finished in the bedroom. At this rate, the man was going to kill me.
Definitely wear me out.
I took another shower, and then I went looking for caffeine. Or wine. Whichever came first. The house felt cool, so I grabbed his hoodie for the chill. At least, that’s what I was telling myself.
In the kitchen, a wineglass and a corkscrew were waiting for me, and a note was scrawled in his quick, sharp handwriting .
Elixir needs to see my face. I’ll be back tonight. The doors are locked. They won’t open unless it’s Rye or me. – Z
I stared at the note for longer than I should have, my fingers brushing the edge. It wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t sweet. But it was Zayn.
Practical. Direct. Protective.
And suddenly, I hated that I missed him the second I realized he was gone and I was alone in the house.
With a generous glass of wine poured, I wandered back to the living room, knowing I should be a responsible adult and eat some food, but the oversized chair by the window beckoned, and I sank into it with the promise I would go looking for food soon.
The house was quiet in that strange, deliberate way. It didn’t creak. It didn’t groan. It was like the walls themselves knew not to make noise.
I should have taken the time to rest. Instead, I sat there, curled up in his hoodie, sipping wine and replaying every decision that had brought me to this point.
Getting involved with Zayn. Finding out about Julian’s mess. Did I trust the wrong people? Did I not ask the right questions soon enough? Or at all?
Was all of this my fault? It felt like it, but part of me knew it wasn’t all my fault. But there had to be accountability on my part. Right?
My eyes closed, and I leaned my head back, the chilled wine a familiar comfort in my hand.
In the silence, I faced the truth of my dilemma. It wasn’t the fear of the other night I couldn’t shake. It was the doubt .
Not about Zayn.
About myself.
My judgment. My instincts. My need to hold everything together even when the foundation was already crumbling.
Zayn said I had a blind spot.
What if I was the blind spot?
“Jesus, Isla, you’re going to need a helluva lot more wine before you touch that .” I looked around the large room. Where the heck was the TV?
I sat up straight. Seriously…where was the TV? Armed with my wineglass, which I topped up along the way, I went in hunt of the downstairs to find the den, TV room, or whatever the heck Zayn had here.
I had been here for three days, and I hadn’t seen any TV, laptop, or gaming console. What did he do out here? Read? My heart fluttered at the thought of him in his study reading.
“You’re embarrassing yourself,” I whispered harshly.
I was back at the bottom of the stairs. I hadn’t found a TV. Zayn had set my replacement phone up for me, even though I hadn’t used it yet. Taking my phone out of his hoodie pocket, I debated about asking a perfectly normal question—“How do you turn the TV on?”—rather than what I actually texted.
Rye, is there a TV I can watch?
Why are you texting me?
Because I don’t care if you think I’m stupid and can’t find the TV.
Do you know or not?
TV room .
Asshole.
The basement, Isla.
I refused to ask where it was. I simply went hunting for a door that led to the basement.
The sharp knock on the front door shattered the quiet.
My heart jumped into my throat as I turned too quickly, the wine sloshing over my hand. I pulled the phone back out of my pocket, checking for messages or a missed call. Nothing.
I inched toward the front door, remembering his note. Only Zayn or Rye would be coming through it. I peeked through the side panel.
It wasn’t either of them.
It was Julian.
His hands were jammed into his coat pockets, his head down, while he paced. He looked…tired. Nervous. Smaller than I remembered.
I should’ve walked away. I should’ve kept the door closed and left him outside. Instead, I pulled it open just far enough to see his face.
His eyes lifted, meeting mine. “Isla…”
His voice cracked like we hadn’t spoken in years.
“Not here,” I said coldly, stepping aside. “Inside. Now.”
He blinked, surprised, but obeyed without a word. As soon as I shut the door behind him, the air changed. He turned to speak, but I cut him off with one raised hand.
“Don’t,” I said, walking back to the living room, knowing he was following me. “Sit down. You’re going to listen to me before you say a single word.”
His lips parted, but he nodded.
I felt the anger rising in my throat like smoke, and this time, I wasn’t going to swallow it. The anger I thought had faded surged back in a wave that crashed over me without warning.
Julien sat stiffly on the edge of the couch, his knees close together, his hands clasped between them. He looked like a boy who’d been called into the principal’s office.
But this wasn’t school.
And I wasn’t a teacher.
I was the collateral damage.
He looked like he didn’t know how to be in his own skin anymore.
Good.
I didn’t know how to be in mine either.
I didn’t sit. I stood across from him, my arms folded tightly, like it was the only thing keeping me together.
“I used to think,” I said, “that if the world fell apart you’d be the one person who’d still be standing beside me. That no matter what happened, I had you.”
“Isla—”
“Quiet.” I inhaled deeply. “You’re my best friend. I’ve told you things I never told anyone else. You know everything about me.” My voice cracked. “You were my constant, Julian. And now I look at you, and I don’t even know who I’m looking at.”
His lips parted like he wanted to speak. I shook my head sharply.
“I need you to listen first.”
He looked down at his hands. “Okay.”
I took a breath, but it didn’t help. My chest still ached. “You know what the worst part was?” I asked, my voice low. “It wasn’t the fear. Not really. It wasn’t the car or the hands or the threats.”
His head snapped up. “Isla?— ”
“No.” I cut him off sharply. “You don’t get to speak yet.”
His jaw snapped shut.
“It was knowing someone I trusted put me in that position. Someone I’ve known since I was old enough to spell my own name. That the one person who always told me I was safe…lied.”
His shoulders hunched, and his face filled with shame.
“You didn’t tell me about the debt. You didn’t ask for help. You just…spiraled. And then they came for me. Me , Julian. Not you. Not your car. Not your money. Me. ” My breath was shaky. “You lost money,” I said. “Fine. People make mistakes. But you didn’t stop. You borrowed. You bet again. You lost control. And when it got bad, you came to me. To use me to go to Zayn.”
“I didn’t know they’d touch you, Isla. I swear to God, I didn’t think?—”
“No, you didn’t think,” I snapped. “That’s the point. You didn’t fucking think. You gambled with your life , but it turns out it wasn’t just your life, was it? You dragged me into it. You made me the one who had to get dragged into a strangers car.”
Tears stung behind my eyes, but I didn’t let them fall.
“Isla, I swear, I didn’t know this would happen?—”
“You did know!” I shouted, the words ripping out of me before I could stop them. “You knew who you owed. You knew what kind of people they were. And you still kept playing fucking cards.”
The silence rang louder than my voice.
“I was taken , Julian. Thrown into a car by men I didn’t know. Held in a room that was in complete darkness with someone else’s blood drying on the walls. Do you understand that? Do you actually hear what I’m saying?”
Julian flinched. He didn’t try to interrupt this time .
“Do you know what it’s like to sit in a locked room for hours, knowing that every second could be the one where they decide you’re not worth keeping alive?” I watched him as I spoke. Watched him squirm against the truth of my words. “When I knew the debt that you owed them was more than you could pay?”
He blinked fast, eyes wet. “I don’t. I—God, Isla, I’m so sorry.”
“He told me exactly why I was there,” I continued because he needed to feel it. “He told me you were the reason. That I was a message . A pawn. That if you or Zayn didn’t pay, then it was going to be really fucking bad for me.” I fought back the tears. “And the whole time, I kept wondering how I ever let myself care so much about someone who could gamble me away without even realizing it.”
Julian’s face was pale, his throat working as he swallowed hard. “I didn’t know they’d come for you.”
I ignored him. “Do you know what it’s like to realize that you did that to me?” My voice dropped to a whisper. “Because I do. I have to live with that now. I have to carry it.”
“Isla, please, I didn’t know that this would happen. Please, you need to believe me.”
“That’s the problem,” I said. “You never know. Because you don’t think ahead. You think everything works out if you just stay charming and throw enough apologies around.”
He dropped his head into his hands. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“But you did.”
The words sat between us like shattered glass.
The silence that followed was suffocating. I finally sat down—not next to him—across from him, where he had to look me in the eye.
“I know I fucked up,” he said finally. “I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness. But you have to believe me—I would never, ever, put you in danger on purpose.”
O n purpose. That was the problem. He hadn’t thought about his actions at all.
“It doesn’t matter,” I whispered. “Because it happened. Whether you meant to or not.”
Julian wiped his hands across his eyes, his look pleading. “Tell me how to fix it.”
“I’m not asking you to fix it,” I said softly. “You can’t. This damage is done. But if you ever put me in that position again…” I let the sentence trail off, but the message was clear.
Julian looked up at me, his face pale. “Zayn’s going to kill me, isn’t he?”
I tilted my head as I studied him, and something inside me hardened. He was still only thinking about himself. With a huff, I looked away from him. “If he wanted you dead, you wouldn’t be sitting here.”
Julian gulped as I spoke the harsh reality. “And you?” he asked.
“I don’t want you dead,” I whispered. “But I don’t know if I want you in my life either.”
His face crumpled. “I’m sorry.”
“I know,” I said. “I just don’t think it’s enough.”
He stood like he was going to come closer. I rose to my feet at the same time.
“Don’t,” I said quietly. “Not right now.”
His hands dropped to his sides. “Are you going to tell Zayn we talked?”
Was that all he car e d about? The repercussions from Zayn?
“He’ll find out.” I paused. “But not from me.”
“Isla…” His voice was barely more than breath, but he saw the look in my eye. “You’re right, I need to talk to him.” He rubbed his jaw, glancing at me, and I could almost hear what he was thinking.
“I’m not doing it for you, Julian. This time it’s all you.”
“I fucked up,” he said as he watched me. “I don’t want it to be like this between us, Isla.”
I nodded, a lump rising in my throat. “Neither do I.” I cleared my throat. “You should go now.”
“I—Isla, please?—”
“You should go.”
His mouth opened. Closed. Then, with shaking hands, he stood and walked to the door slowly, like he wasn’t sure his legs would carry him.
He paused just before opening it, and he said the one thing that almost broke me.
“I never thought I’d lose you.”
I didn’t answer. Because I was scared that he already had, but I refused to cry.
The door clicked shut behind Julian, yet the weight of him lingered in the air. I listened for the car to drive away.
I didn’t move. Not for a long time. I stayed rooted in place, the ghost of our conversation echoing in my ears—his voice breaking when he said he didn’t know how to fix it.
God, I didn’t either.
I wandered back to the living room, sitting down slowly, curling into the edge of the couch like it might offer answers I couldn’t find in my own head. My hands twisted in Zayn’s hoodie, the sleeves far too long, but I took comfort in wearing it.
I had told Julian Zayn wouldn’t hear about him coming here from me. And I meant it when I said it.
But now…
Now I wasn’t sure .
Because I also had been the one who agreed to no more secrets between Zayn and me.
“Fuck.”
One visit from Julian, and I was in a dilemma about talking to Zayn all over again, but this time for a very different reason.
I dropped my face into my hands and groaned.
I didn’t owe Julian anything anymore. He’d lost that right the second he made me someone’s leverage. But part of me—the part that remembered birthdays and sleepovers and every broken heart he helped glue back together—still hesitated, because I couldn’t cut ties so easily and I knew that. Zayn knew that.
And I was sure that Julian was counting on it.
I needed to tell Zayn he was here, but if I told Zayn… Christ, I didn’t even know what he would do.
But if I didn’t tell Zayn, how could I expect him to trust me when I wasn’t showing him that I trusted him?
I knew what the right thing was. But I also knew what Zayn was capable of when it came to the people he cared about.
I stood suddenly, too restless to sit still. I paced the length of the living room, bare feet silent on the cold floor. Maybe there was a way to soften it. To tell the truth without him freaking out.
Or maybe there wasn’t.
Maybe Zayn would go batshit because it was pretty obvious Julian had waited until he knew they both weren’t here.
Obvious now that I thought about it. My heart was hammering against my chest.
I exhaled slowly and glanced toward the clock. He wouldn’t be back for a few hours. That left me time to think. To decide.
But deep down, I already knew.
Zayn would find out.
And when he did…it needed to be from me . And I couldn’t afford to wait.