Zayne’s POV
I should’ve blocked Pierce’s number.
That’s what I tell myself as I stare at his clinic’s glass doors, the reflection staring back at me, hair styled, jacket half-zipped, eyes shadowed from too little sleep.
Five days. That’s how long I’ve been ignoring his messages.
But Pierce doesn’t take silence well. He never has. And moreover ever since that b***h Celeste ratted me out, my headache has become worse than before.
I push through the door, the sharp scent of antiseptic greeting me. Everything in here looks too clean, too still. The receptionist gives me that polite little smile like she knows exactly who I am and exactly how often I miss appointments.
“Dr. Pierce will see you now,” she says.
Of course he will.
His office hasn’t changed, same leather chairs, same clinic
