The sound of her phone ringing cut through the house.
Upstairs.
Zayne paused mid-step, his attention drawn immediately to the unfamiliar vibration echoing from her room. He frowned slightly before heading toward the stairs.
In the bathroom, her heart dropped.
Her phone.
Her breath caught as panic surged through her chest, fast and hot. No. No, no, no.
Her mind didn't even give her options. It went straight to the worst conclusion.
Caleb.
Her stomach twisted violently as heat rushed through her body. She pushed away from the sink and bolted for the door, legs shaky as she rushed out of the bathroom and toward the stairs, every step fueled by dread.
"Wait." she gasped, but it was too late.
Zayne was already answering.
She froze at the bottom of the staircase, pulse roaring in her ears. Her thoughts spiraled wildly, He knows. He knows everything. I'm fucked. The guilt clawed at her throat, making it hard to breathe.
A few seconds passed. Then Zayne spoke again, his voice calm, almost puzzled.
"It was your mom," he said, lowering the phone as he looked at her. "Why do you look so worried?"
The room seemed to tilt, her chest heaved as she stood there, exposed, her fear still buzzing through her veins. She swallowed hard, trying to steady herself, trying to school her face into something believable, but the panic hadn't fully left her eyes yet.
It was your mom," Zayne repeated, his brows knitting together slightly. "Why do you look so worried?"
She forced a breath, then another, trying to cool the heat crawling up her neck. Her heart was still racing, but she managed a weak laugh, the kind that sounded almost convincing.
"I....I thought it was someone else," she said, shrugging as if it meant nothing.
"Someone important?" he asked casually, but his eyes stayed on her, sharp and attentive.
She hesitated just a second too long.
Zayne noticed.
He didn't push, though. Instead, he handed her the phone. "She said to call her back when you feel better."
"Thanks," she murmured, fingers brushing his as she took it. The contact lingered longer than she expected, grounding and unsettling all at once.
Silence stretched between them.
"You don't look okay," Zayne said finally, softer now. "You don't have to explain anything, but don't lie to yourself either."
That did it.
Her throat tightened, emotions threatening to spill over, so she turned away, pretending to busy herself with the phone. "I just need a minute," she said quietly.
Zayne nodded, stepping back to give her space, but not leaving. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, presence steady, unmovable.
She realized then that whatever she was running from, Caleb, the past, the truth—it wasn't going to stay buried much longer.
And Zayne, whether he knew it or not, was standing right in the middle of it.
Zayne's phone buzzed against the counter, sharp and insistent. He glanced down at the screen, his expression shifting instantly—focus snapping into place. He answered without hesitation.
"Yes."
A pause.
"I'm on my way."
He ended the call and exhaled slowly, already mentally elsewhere.
"I have to go," he said, reaching for his jacket. "Emergency at the hospital."
Her heart skipped. "Now?"
He nodded. "Yeah. They need me."
Something about the sudden distance unsettled her. Just moments ago, the house had felt heavy with unspoken tension. Now it felt hollow, like the air had been sucked out too quickly.
"Are you okay?" he asked, pausing at the door, eyes flicking back to her face. Even now, even with urgency pulling him away, he noticed.
"I'm fine," she said automatically. Too fast.
Zayne studied her for a second longer, then nodded once. "Rest. Eat something if you can."
A beat.
"I'll check on you later."
The door closed behind him, the sound final and sharp. She stood there long after he was gone, phone still clutched in her hand, thoughts spiraling. Relief washed over her, relief she didn't feel proud of. She hated that part of herself. Hated that she was grateful for the interruption, because now she didn't have to explain. Didn't have to choose. Didn't have to tell the truth.
Yet.
But as the silence settled in, she couldn't shake the feeling that this pause, this sudden escape was temporary.
And that when Zayne returned, things would be different.
The house was silent, too silent. She stood there for a moment, listening to the echo of Zayne's departure fade completely, her chest still tight. The space he left behind felt like permission and she hated herself for recognizing it as such.
Alone.
Her fingers tightened around her phone, 'Just one call', she told herself. Just to hear his voice.
She stayed upstairs, where Zayne left her to rush to the office. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she unlocked her phone and stared at the screen, her thumb hovering over Caleb's name, her heart pounded.
'What if he doesn't answer?'
'What if he does?'
She swallowed hard and pressed call. The ringing sounded louder than it should have, each tone stretching her nerves thinner, her stomach twisted, heat creeping up her spine as memories rushed in uninvited, late nights, unfinished conversations, the way things had ended without ever really ending.
One ring.
Then another.
She squeezed her eyes shut, already regretting it, already wishing she could take it back.
'Please don't answer.'
'Please answer.'
The contradiction burned in her chest. As the call continued, she realized this wasn't just about missing him, it was about needing answers she'd avoided for too long. About reopening something she wasn't sure she could handle, and somewhere deep down, she knew that once this line was crossed, there would be no pretending she was unaffected anymore. He answered.
"Hey," , Caleb said easily, like no time had passed at all.
"How are you? Did you eat?"
Her chest tightened. The casual concern soft, familiar hit harder than she expected. It felt wrong. Too normal. Too gentle for everything he'd left unsaid.
She didn't answer, Instead, the words tumbled out, sharp and unfiltered.
"Who was the girl that picked up your phone?", there was a pause. Just long enough. Then he laughed quietly. Not amused measured.
"Are you jealous?" he asked.
Her breath caught.
"Why would you be," he continued, his tone shifting, sliding into something colder. "When I'm just a playtoy to you."
The word landed like a slap, her mouth opened, but nothing came out. Heat rushed to her face embarrassment, shock, guilt tangling together until she couldn't tell which hurt most. She hadn't expected him to turn it around so cleanly, so cruelly. She felt exposed. Small. Misread. Without another word, she ended the call.
The silence afterward was deafening. She stared at her phone, heart pounding, shame crawling up her spine. That wasn't closure. That wasn't relief. It was confirmation, that whatever they were, whatever they'd been, had twisted into something sharp and unsafe.
And for the first time, she wondered if calling him had been less about love…
and more about needing to hurt in a familiar way.