—Natasha's POV—
I opened the door with a shaky exhale, my pulse already racing. For the past hour, I’d been pacing the room, half expecting the low growl of an engine beneath my window. Enzo had promised he’d come by before the race, and some foolish part of me clung to that promise as if it could ground me, keep me tethered to something real in the chaos spinning inside my head.
“Enzo,” I began, relief rushing to my lips like air to drowning lungs. “You’re already here? What about your bike race.....”
The words died on my tongue. It wasn’t Enzo.
Zane leaned lazily against the doorframe, rain dripping from his leather jacket in thin, glistening trails. His hair was wet and mussed, dark strands clinging to his forehead, and his eyes, those sharp, merciless eyes, glinted like twin blades
