I never wanted to come back here.
But my mother begged, and I caved. Now I was standing in the same house I’d sworn I’d never set foot in again. Everything looked too polished, too perfect, too suffocating.
And then there was him.
Zayan.
The reason I left in the first place. My stepbrother. My worst mistake. My biggest temptation.
I told myself I’d ignore him. That I’d slip through the house, avoid his stare, and pretend he didn’t exist. But the second I walked into the kitchen, he was there.
Leaning against the counter, black shirt stretching over broad shoulders, a glass of whiskey dangling from his hand. Tattoos inked across his forearm, veins standing out as he swirled the drink lazily. His eyes snapped to mine—dark, merciless—and a slow, crooked smirk curved his lips.
“Well, lo
