For several long seconds, Zayn stood rooted to the spot in the middle of his office, his breath uneven and his thoughts cutting through him like shards of glass.
The echo of Lena’s words—“I was a virgin… you i***t!”—kept reverberating inside his skull, each repetition sharper than the previous one, slicing through his pride and every last bit of certainty he thought he had about her.
He dragged a hand through his hair as if he could shake loose the chaos in his head, but the storm only intensified—guilt, shock, desire, disbelief, anger at himself—everything merging into a suffocating pressure in his chest.
His body still burned from what had happened, but his conscience felt like it had been flayed raw.
“f**k!” he cursed again.
He forced himself to move, stumbling toward the minibar
