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Not even three hours have passed since I experienced the worst terror of my life, yet it feels as though something inside me had been dragged through years of fear and left permanently altered.

I was sure some images would stay burned into my mind for the rest of my life.

And I was right.

They will.

But they won’t be the images of him with those women.

Those memories hurt. They still do.

Yet now I know they were never the worst thing I could see.

The images that will haunt me are the ones from today.

The twisted metal.

The wrecked car.

The flashing lights.

The blood.

The ambulance pulling away with him inside.

The unbearable silence as we waited outside that door, thinking that somewhere on the other side, Zayn was fighting to stay alive.

Those are the images I will carry with me.

Because for the first time in my life, I came terrifyingly close to discovering what it feels like to lose the person you can no longer imagine living without.

FIFTY-EIGHT

Zayn

“Yes, we identified the cars,” our head of security, Will, informs us.

We all wait for him to say what we already know deep down. We just need to hear the confirmation.

“Same person as the first attack.”

“He’s dead,” Colt says, pushing himself off the couch.

We made it back to my place, and now everyone is gathered in the living room. The moment we walked back through the door, the place looked like a crime scene. A chair knocked over in a corner, the couches out of place, pillows scattered across the floor. The TV was still on, replaying footage of my crash over and over.

And right in the middle of the chaos were Serena’s toys—the only innocent thing in the entire room.

The guys quickly cleaned everything up, trying to restore some semblance of order to the mess surrounding us.

I’m stretched out on one of the couches, with Selene practically glued to my side.

Ever since she walked into my hospital room, she hasn’t stopped touching me for a single second. Her fingers finding my arm, my chest, my hand, as if she needs to reassure herself again and again that I’m really here. That I’m breathing.

Every time I catch her staring at me, there’s so much fear in her eyes, such raw terror at the thought of losing me, that my heart aches.

I try to calm her by running my hand along her neck, pressing soft kisses to her temple, and reminding her that I’m okay.

But I can still feel the faint tremor running through her beside me.