The weeks passed like a blur, slipping through Zayn’s fingers without leaving anything solid behind, only fatigue, irritation, and a restlessness that refused to settle no matter how hard he pushed himself.
Nights were the worst.
When the city finally quieted and the noise of meetings, calls, and obligations fell away, he would find himself stretched on his bed, staring at the ceiling of his villa, the shadows moving slowly as if time itself had decided to mock him. He would close his eyes, determined to sleep, to shut down his mind, but the moment he did, she was there.
Dark hair spilling over white sheets.
Wide eyes filled with confusion and defiance.
Lena Pearson.
“Damn it,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face as irritation flared hot and sharp.
He had made his choice.
He
