ZAYN’S POV
The past has a way of clawing itself into the present, no matter how deeply you try to bury it.
I didn’t know what to expect when Julian called me to his house that night. His voice on the phone had been sharp and colder than usual.
Nothing—absolutely nothing—could have prepared me for what he showed me.
When I arrived, Julian was sitting in his room, with a glass of bourbon in one hand. The room was dimly lit and the only light that shined on his cruel face was from the laptop on his table.
“If this is about getting married to that girl, I—”
“Sit,” he interrupted, gesturing to the chair across from him.
I hesitated for a moment, my lips twitching into a snarl. “What’s this about?” I asked with growing impatience.
He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he turned the
