Zadie’s POV
The plane ticket sat untouched on my nightstand for three days. I stared at it every morning. I wondered what kind of twisted game Lazaro was playing, if it really was him behind that new name, if that funeral I held was nothing more but a grand performance to escape the life he refused to leave behind.
But I couldn’t sleep, unable to breathe. Because even if there was just a one percent chance that he was alive... I needed to see it for myself.I flew out with nothing but a duffel bag, a gun, and all the anger I buried with his name.
The town was small. Quiet. The kind of place where time forgot to move. People stared at me like I didn’t belong, and I didn’t. But one word whispered at the right café, one crumpled note handed to a taxi driver, and suddenly I was standing in front of a beachside villa tucked between palm trees and secrets.
I slammed the iron gate open, a dog barking somewhere. The wind howled, and then… He stepped out onto the patio. Lazaro. Or Kendrick. Or whoever the hell he was pretending to be now. Alive. My vision tunneled.
“You son of a-”
I was on him in seconds. My fist connected with his chest, then another shoved to his shoulder. I didn’t care. I hit him again, this time with everything I’d been holding in, grief, betrayal, madness.
“Zadie-!”
“You faked your death?” I screamed, shoving him again. “You let me bury you! I held a goddamn funeral!”
“I had to,” he hissed, catching my wrists. “I had no choice!”
“No choice?” I tore free from his grip, breath ragged. “You had a hundred choices! You could’ve told me. You could’ve said something! But no-you let me fall apart thinking you were dead!”
“I was trying to protect you!” he yelled back, eyes blazing. “You think I wanted this? You think I didn’t watch that funeral from afar and nearly lose my mind seeing you cry over an empty casket?”
“Then why?” I choked, voice breaking. “Why let me go through that hell?”
“Because it was the only way I could let go of that life,” he said, quieter now. “I needed to disappear. For good. You told me to walk away from it all… and this was the only way.” My knees buckled, but I didn’t fall. My pride wouldn’t let me.
“You’re selfish,” I spat. “You don't get to fake your death and then act like it's some romantic sacrifice. You broke me.”
“I had to burn every bridge,” he said, stepping closer. “Every identity. Every account. If they even suspected I was alive, they would’ve come for you too.”
“You don’t get to decide what I can handle.”
He reached out, brushing a tear I didn’t even know had fallen. “I couldn’t risk losing you.”
“You already did.” Silence. His hands dropped to his sides. I could see the guilt in his face, the raw, open wound he tried so hard to hide. But it wasn’t enough.
“I hate you for what you did,” I whispered. “I hate you for dying. I hate you for being alive.”
“I know.”
“I should kill you right now for what you put me through.”
He didn’t flinch. “Then do it.” I pulled the gun from my bag, hands steady. I aimed it straight at his heart. His expression didn’t change.
“I didn’t fake my death to survive, Zadie,” he said calmly. “I did it so we could. If that means dying for real by your hand, then so be it.”
I held the gun there for ten seconds. Maybe longer. Long enough for the pain in my chest to blur my vision, for the weight of what I was feeling to crush my lungs. Then I lowered it, before punching him in the gut. He grunted, stumbling back.
“You deserve that,” I muttered.
“I do.”
“And you’re going to spend every damn day proving I made the right choice by not pulling that trigger.”
He gave a small, pained smile. “I can live with that.”
I stepped back, wiping my face. “You have one shot, Lazaro or Kendrick or whoever you are now. Screw it up, and I swear I’ll make your fake funeral look like a vacation.”
He raised both hands. “Noted.” We stood in silence as the ocean whispered behind us.
“I’m not forgiving you yet,” I added.
“I’m not asking you to,” he said gently. “I’m just asking you to stay.”
I looked at the villa. Then at him. And for the first time in weeks, I exhaled. “I’ll stay,” I said. “But I’m staying mad.”
His lips twitched like he wanted to laugh, but there was nothing funny about the way he looked at me. That look he always gave when he wanted to devour me whole. And suddenly the tension between us, the fury, the grief, it all started to shift. Burn hotter. Deeper.
“I can work with mad,” he said lowly, taking a step closer.
I didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Let him close the distance between us until I could smell the salt on his skin, feel the heat radiating off him. My fists were still clenched, my chest rising and falling with every breath that hurt to take. But I didn’t pull away.
“You think one apology fixes this?” I asked, voice barely more than a whisper.
“No,” he murmured. “But maybe I can remind you how much your body still wants me.” He kissed me hard.
There was no hesitation, no softness, just heat, teeth, and tongue. He grabbed the back of my neck, pulling me to him like he’d been starving for this, for me. I didn’t hold back either. I kissed him like I hated him and loved him in the same breath, like I wanted to bruise his lips for every second he made me cry.
I shoved his shirt open, buttons scattering to the floor. My nails scraped down his chest and he growled lowly, like an animal. He lifted me effortlessly, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carried me inside, barely making it through the front door before slamming it shut behind us.
He laid me on the couch like a man on a mission. My tank top was off in seconds, my bra unclipped with practiced fingers. He stared at me, breath ragged, eyes glazed with something wild.
“Still mad?” he rasped.
“Furious,” I breathed.
“Good.” He dropped to his knees.
His hands slid up my thighs, thumbs brushing just where I needed him, and I gasped. He didn’t wait, he dragged my shorts and panties down in one motion and buried his face between my legs like it was the last thing he’d ever do.
“Lazaro-” My back arched as his tongue flicked over my clit, slow at first, then deeper, firmer. He groaned against me, like the taste of me was salvation. My hands gripped his hair, thighs trembling around his head as he sucked, licked, teased. He knew every inch of me. Every weakness. Every rhythm that made me forget how to speak.
I moaned, loud, shameless. “Don’t stop-don’t you fucking dare-” He didn’t. He slid two fingers inside me while his mouth stayed locked on my clit, curling them just right. I cried out, legs shaking uncontrollably, pleasure building like a tidal wave I couldn’t outrun.
“Come for me, Zadie,” he growled. “Let me feel it.” I was shattered.
My climax hit me hard, white-hot and blinding. My hips bucked, breath ragged, and I screamed his name as I came, grinding against his mouth until the world stopped spinning. He kissed up my stomach, over my chest, until he was hovering above me again. Eyes dark. Hungry.
“You done hating me for tonight?” he whispered.
I grabbed his belt. “Take your pants off or I’ll hate you more.” He smirked, then obeyed.And when he sank into me, slow and deep, my body forgot how to hold on to anything but him.