Zayn’s POV
“Here — have this.” I drop the bag in front of him, hard enough for it to thud against the floor. He scoffs, pulls the cigarette from his mouth, and eyes the bag like it’s a joke.
“What is this?” he asks, amusement curling his lip.
“A million dollars,” I snap. “Payment for the house. Payment for you to get the f**k out of my life.” Anger coils tight in my chest; I can feel it in my throat.
He laughs. Not a small chuckle — a full, bright laugh, like I’ve handed him a gift. He stands up slowly, still smiling.
“Zayn, you’re giving me money?” he says, as if the idea itself is hilarious. “You’re really giving me money.”
“There’s been enough.” My voice is flat but cut with annoyance. “You’ve been around too long. It needs to end. I don’t want you near me or Alina. Leave us the f
