Page 105 of Ruthless Regret

Taking a deep breath, I square my shoulders. Whatever happens next, whatever sleeping with him last night has caused, I’m going to face it head-on.

As I reach for the doorknob, I give myself one last look in the mirror. The woman looking back at me is determined, ready to face whatever comes next. The fear and uncertainty are still there, simmering beneath the surface, but I’m not going to let them control me.

It's time to go and face Zain, and with that thought firmly in mind, I open the door and go downstairs, prepared to facewhatever the day brings. The smell of coffee grows stronger as I descend, and I can hear Zain moving around in the kitchen.

My heart rate increases as I approach the kitchen, remembering the way he fled from our conversation earlier.

Will he shut me out again? Will I let him?

There’s only one way to find out.

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

ZAIN

After leavingAshley in the bedroom, I go to my own room and take a shower.

Not going to lie to myself … I ran away. Turned tail and fucking ran the second she mentioned last night. It was that or have her witness me have a stupid fucking panic attack.

Who the fuck has a panic attack because the girl you fucked wants to talk about it?

Me … that’s who. Apparently.

But even after washing, and changing into fresh clothes, the ghost of her touch lingers on my skin. The taste of her is still on my lips.

What the fuck was I thinking?

I make my way downstairs, almost hesitantly. I’m not sure how I feel about facing her again, but when I reach the kitchen it’s empty, and I’m confused by the mixture of relief and disappointment that goes through me.

What the fuck was I fucking thinking?

I grip the edge of the counter, and take in a deep breath, trying to ground myself.

Last night wasn't part of the plan … part ofanyplan. But I can't deny the way my body responds just thinking about her.The softness of her skin, the little sounds she made when I touched her. The way that I forgot about everything else. The anger, the bitterness, the lost years—it all faded away when I was inside her.

And that scares the shit out of me.

I've spent so long defining myself by my anger, by my need for revenge. Without it, who the hell am I?

The coffee maker beeps, jolting me out of my thoughts, and I pour myself a cup, then set about preparing a cup of tea for Ashley. I don’t even need to think about it. The familiarity of the action unsettles me. I know how she takes her tea, how she likes her eggs, what brand of shampoo she uses. All details I gathered while planning my revenge. Now, that knowledge feels invasive, a reminder of how fucked up this whole situation is.

I take a sip of my coffee, savoring the bitter taste. It's familiar, grounding. Unlike the mess of emotions I'm trying to sort through.

I want to go back upstairs, to lose myself in Ashley again. To forget about everything else and justfeel.But I can't. I can't let myself get distracted.

No matter how tempting the distraction might be.

My phone rings, cutting through my thoughts. When I take it out of my pocket, Rook's name is on the screen. I connect the call, grateful for something to take my mind off the woman upstairs.

"What have you got?"

"The coroner's preliminary report on Ramsey just came in," Rook says, his voice grim. "It's not good, Zain."

I brace myself. "Tell me."

"The bruising patterns don't match up with suicide. There are ligature marks on his neck, but they're inconsistent with the height of the beam he was supposedly hanging from. Plus, there are defensive wounds on his arms and hands."

"Fuck. So he fought back."

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