Hell Sweet, Kayla

58

Zayn's heart pounded in his chest like a sledgehammer as he rushed through the hotel corridors, frantically searching for any sign of Kayla. Her sudden disappearance had left him reeling, his mind racing with worst-case scenarios. What if something terrible had happened to her? His thoughts churned with guilt and fear, regretting every second he had let her out of his sight after their intense encounter in the bathroom.

As he approached the hotel security, he barked orders without hesitation. "Find her. Check every CCTV footage, every exit. Now!" His voice cracked with urgency, his usual composure shattered by the dread gripping his soul.

"Why didn't I tell her?" Zayn muttered to himself, his steps quickening down the hallways. "Why didn't I say it?" The words caught in his throat as he recalled Kayla's question about love. He had evaded it, dismissing it as irrelevant to his life. But now, faced with the possibility of losing her, he felt the weight of those unspoken words like a vice around his heart.

Love was a foreign concept to him, a sentiment he had buried deep in the shadows of his ambitions and desires. Yet, Kayla had breached those defenses, leaving him exposed and vulnerable in ways he never thought possible. "Damn it, Kayla," he whispered, his voice laced with anguish and longing.

As he scanned the crowded lobby, his eyes darted from one face to another, searching desperately for a familiar glimpse of her. The anxiety gnawed at him, each passing minute stretching into an eternity of uncertainty.

Finally, a security guard approached him with a tablet in hand. "We found something, Mr. Bottega," the guard said, gesturing for Zayn to follow. They hurried to a security office where footage from various cameras played on screens.

There, on one of the monitors, was Kayla. She appeared hurried, distressed, speaking to someone just out of frame. Zayn's heart skipped a beat as he watched her, his eyes fixed on her figure, willing her to be safe, to be unharmed.

"Enhance that," Zayn commanded, pointing at the screen. The guard quickly zoomed in, revealing a faint figure lurking in the background, following Kayla discreetly. The realization hit Zayn like a physical blow.

"She's being followed," he muttered, his mind racing with possibilities. "Find out who that is. Now!"

As the security team scrambled to track down the unknown pursuer, Zayn paced the room, his fists clenched with frustration and worry. His thoughts swirled with questions, each more agonizing than the last. Why hadn't he protected her better? Why hadn't he told her how much she meant to him?

Love, he thought bitterly, was a weakness he couldn't afford. Yet, here he was, consumed by it, unable to escape its grasp.

Zayn stood alone in the cold, empty warehouse, the echoes of his footsteps mingling with the shadows that danced across the dusty floor. The dim light filtering through broken windows cast long, haunting shadows, reminiscent of the shadows that had haunted his past.

In the solitude of that moment, memories from Sicily flooded his mind. He recalled his parents—Giovanni and Maria—radiating joy and love amidst the sun-kissed vineyards of their estate. Their laughter, their embraces, their unwavering devotion to each other had painted a picture-perfect existence. But all that shattered on the day fate dealt its cruel hand.

He vividly remembered the accident—the screech of tires, the sickening crash, and the sight of his father's lifeless body. It was a scene etched into his memory like a scar, a reminder of how swiftly and mercilessly life could change.

His mother, once vibrant and full of life, withdrew into herself after that day. Grief had transformed her into a ghost of her former self, her laughter silenced, her heart closed off. She shut out the world, including Zayn, drowning in sorrow and regret.