It was already past midnight, and Zylan still hadn't returned. Naomi paced back and forth in the dimly lit room, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as if to shield against the turmoil churning in her chest. Her fingers twisted together in a desperate attempt to calm her restless mind, but nothing seemed to help. How had things come to this? Why did everything feel so wrong?
Was this the universe's way of telling her that she and Zylan were never meant to be? That their paths, however briefly entwined, were destined to unravel?
Her throat tightened as she replayed the events of the past few hours. She couldn't forget the way he had looked at her before leaving—his gaze cold, almost hateful. It wasn't the Zylan she knew. No, this man had been a stranger.
