/Zane's POV/
I think I was out of my mind for a second. Why the fuck did I even do that?
I kept asking myself that, even when Madison said to forget it if I didn't want to talk.
Her irritation and discomfort were clear—the stiffness in her voice, the way her shoulders subtly tensed, the faint pinch at the corner of her mouth.
Later that night, I saw her by the balcony twirling a cigarette with a pensive look on her face. The glow from the city lights brushed the side of her cheek, outlining her silhouette as the cold night breeze tugged at her hair.
I could tell she had a lot on her mind, and I found myself getting curious.
With every flip of that unlit cigarette tucked neatly between her strong, fine fingers—the soft click of her nail tapping it, the rhythmic motion—was she thinking about me? Or someone else?
