Zayn’s POV
The frown carved into his face is almost art to me—raw, ugly, and deeply satisfying. He steps into the room, his shoulder slamming into mine. I let out a low scoff, the sound sharp in the silence.
“Alina!” he barks, voice reverberating through the walls. “Alina!” He calls her again, louder this time, as if her name is a weapon.
I close the door behind me with deliberate slowness, letting the soft click punctuate the moment. When I turn to him, his jaw is tight, his eyes burning.
“You can’t be here,” he spits, anger dripping from every word.
“Why can’t I?” My smile is deliberate—slow, devious, almost lazy. “I’ve been here for the past five years. So tell me, why is it suddenly a crime for me to be here now?”
The scowl deepens, and the sight feeds something dark in me. He sh
