My stomach dropped. Zayne. Again.

A smirk tugged faintly at the corner of his lips as though he had rehearsed this moment and was waiting to see how I’d react.

“What kind of a creepy devil are you?”

He came fully to view. By the desk, then he raised a thick brow, “Creepy devil?”

“I guess my friend’s threat didn’t work on you. What are you doing here?” I shot the question at him. But he didn’t look fazed a bit.

“Well, that’s not how to say ‘Thank you’ for helping you out earlier.” His British accent sang.

I exhaled. “No one asked for your help. You are to stay...