ZAYLA

There was something about the way he looked at me, something about the way he spoke that always clawed at my chest and set my body on fire.

"You weren't in the room," my voice came out thin, stating the obvious.

He said nothing, puffing his smoke impatiently, like he was waiting for me to go straight to the point.

The point. Which point?

I bite down on my lip. Then smiled, awkwardly. "Do they always sleep off like that after taking whisky?" I asked, hoping he wouldn't answer, because why did I ask that.

"Zayla," His fingers paused close to his lips as his gaze drank me in....