Chapter Fifty-Five – Lines Drawn
Natalie's room was quiet in a way that made her skin itch.
The curtains were half drawn, letting in weak afternoon light. It painted pale lines across the bed where she lay with her ankle raised on two pillows, wrapped neatly in white gauze. The injury looked real enough. Swollen. Tender. Anyone who saw it would feel sorry for her.
But sympathy was not what Natalie wanted.
She wanted belief.
Zayn stood near the window with his back to her, arms crossed over his chest. He had been there for almost ten minutes now, saying nothing. Just staring outside like the world beyond the glass was more interesting than the woman behind him.
Natalie shifted slightly, letting out a small hiss of pain.
"My ankle still hurts," she said softly.
Zayn did not turn. "You fell down the stairs."
"You know that is not how it happened."
He exhaled through his nose, slow and controlled. "That is how it looked."
