Zachary’s POV
The bitter scent of cigarettes hung heavy in my room. I stared down at the photo in my hand, the corners of my lips tugging into a faint smile. It was a picture of Isabella and me. The way she looked at me in it—soft eyes full of love—it said everything. She used to love me deeply. If I hadn’t been so damn stupid, she would still be mine.
I tapped the cigarette against the ashtray, watching the ash fall, then stood up.
“Isabella,” I murmured to the empty room, “I’ve done everything to get you back, but you still won’t fold. Will I stop? No.” A smirk crept onto my face. “I’ll keep going until you’re mine again.”
A sudden knock at the door cut through my thoughts. Before I could respond, the door creaked open.
“Zachary, you really need to quit smoking,” my mom said, coughi
