Chapter 4 Room 214

ASHLEIGH

PRESENT DAY, 2025

Zayn has been avoiding me.

He spent the entire day glued to Maya, laughing at her stupid jokes, letting her run her fingers down his arms.

I can’t even pretend I’m not jealous.

He won’t look at me.

I walked past them in the parking lot—the place everyone hangs out after lectures—pretending to scroll through my phone, and he didn’t even look in my direction.

I hate it.

How dare he fuck me that good last night and then ice me out the next morning like I’m nothing?

Men.

Never beating the allegations.

I force myself to look away, but my eyes keep straying to them.

Maya is standing in front of him, her arms around his waist, staring up at him with those dreamy, lovestruck eyes.

I almost feel sad for her.

Zayn isn’t someone you get dreamy over.

He’s not the chocolates-and-love-notes type. He’s rough edges, dark moods, and high, rocky walls you can’t climb.

Mum and Dad are always worried about him, even now that we’re in college.

I’m about to leave when warm hands slide over my eyes from behind. The scent of coffee and clean laundry gives him away instantly.

“Guess who?” Carl’s voice is all sunshine and rainbows.

I force a smile before he even lets go. “Carl.”

He laughs as he steps in front of me. “Hey, baby.”

Carl is always so genuinely happy to see me, and it twists something in my chest because I hate that I’m hurting him without him even knowing.

I should end it.

I know I should.

But ending it would give Zayn exactly what he wants.

It’s selfish and awful using Carl like this, but… well, it is what it is.

He lifts me off the ground in one of those loving hugs that make people around us go “aww” and spins me.

I giggle despite my shitty mood.

When my feet touch the ground again, I catch Zayn watching us from over Carl’s shoulder.

He’s staring again. Like he wants to pummel Carl's face.

Maya’s still talking at him, oblivious to what's going on.

I'm happy that he's angry and jealous.

He doesn’t get to ignore me and then act territorial.

Meanwhile, Carl's grinning at me like I’m the best part of his day.

I beam up at him. “How was the project presentation?”

“It was amazing,” he says proudly. “Professor Watkins literally said it was the best he’s seen all semester.”

“That’s my man.” I touch his chest lightly. “I'm proud of you.”

Carl’s eyes go soft. “Thanks, babe.”

He leans in to kiss me, and I give in, wrapping my hands around his neck.

Out of the corner of my eye I watch Zayn’s fists clench so hard his knuckles go white.

Two can play this game, big brother.

Just as Carl pulls back from the kiss, I see Zayn and Maya leave the parking lot, his hand on her waist as they disappear through the doors of the Crawford building.

My stomach flips.

Where are they going?

Carl is still talking about his group members and deadlines for another project, but I'm not even concentrating.

“Hey, are you okay?” He touches my shoulder gently on noticing my distraction.

I blink, forcing my smile back into place. “Yeah, sorry. I'm just starving.” I lie.

He brightens up and tugs me toward the taco truck parked by the library lawn, where we grab food and sit on plastic chairs.

I nod along when he tells me about his day, but my eyes keep darting to the building doors.

Ten minutes pass. Fifteen.

Still no sign of them.

The anxiety is killing me.

My thoughts are interrupted when Carl kisses my cheek. “I’ve got to run, babe,” he says apologetically. “I have a meeting with the coach and two more group members. Rain check on that movie tonight?”

“Sure,” I reply, already standing. “Go.”

He kisses my cheek and leaves.

The second he’s gone I’m moving towards the Crawford building, which is huge, by the way.

I open the tracking app on my phone, and the little blue dot that’s labeled Z appears on the second floor, east wing.

Yes, we have each other’s locations.

Zayn’s clingy ass was the one who installed it “for safety” the first time we hooked up, and never turned it off.

I’m speed walking by the time I reach the corridor. Door after door is either locked or empty, until I spot one cracked open at the far end.

Room 214.

I push the door and step in, only to freeze.

Maya is on her knees.

Zayn’s back is to a desk, his ripped jeans pushed down his waist.

One of his hands is in her tinted red hair while she eagerly sucks his cock.

The sound she makes knocks me in the face, causing anger to crawl all over me.

“What the fuck?!” The words leave my mouth before I can stop them.

Maya pulls off, her wine-colored lipstick smeared. She doesn't get off her knees but glares at me.

“Can’t you see we’re busy?” She snaps.

Zayn’s eyes don't look away from mine, watching me in what I assume is satisfaction.

Something inside me snaps.

I cross the room over to where they are, push Maya by the shoulders—hard enough that she falls onto her ass—then swing at Zayn with everything I’ve got.

My palm connects with his cheek so loud and so hard, his head snaps in the other direction.

The sound rings off the walls.

“You fucking bastard,” I hiss through my teeth.

He looks down at me, saying nothing, but the ticking in his jaw tells me everything.

Maya scrambles up, adjusting her clothing. “Whoa, calm down, Ashl…”

I’m already storming out of the room before she can finish, slamming the door after me.

I know I overreacted. Normal sisters don’t slap their brothers for getting head.

Normal sisters don’t feel like their heart is being ripped out watching it.

But my hand freaking hurts all the same. My eyes burn, and my heart feels like it’s been ripped out and stomped on.

I shouldn't be feeling all this.

I told him to go to Maya and be with her. What I didn't expect him to do was ice me out and then run into her arms the next day.

What the fuck?

I get into my car and drive home, fighting back tears.

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Zayn’s jeep rolls into the driveway, but I don’t move from where I am. I stay curled in my bed like a fetus.

Normal girls cry over boyfriends. I’m crying over my brother. How do you even say that out loud?

A few minutes later, I hear his heavy boots coming up the stairs. They stop right outside his room, and I can feel him looking toward my door, debating whether he should knock.

I hold my breath hoping he does, although

I don’t even know what I’d say if he did.

But his door opens, then slams.

The silence that follows feels worse than before.

I lie there for hours before finally dragging myself out of bed, determined to numb the pain in the only way I know how... by digging out the bottle of cheap rosé hidden behind my shoeboxes and blasting music loud enough to bring down the walls of the house.

I drink and dance half-naked in a baggy T-shirt and panties, my hair sticking to my sweaty neck. My mind flashes back to the first time Zayn and I fully crossed the line, that rainy night we took each other’s virginity.

I remember feeling like it was the best thing that happened. Then morning came, and the disgust crashed in.

I laid there beside him, staring at the ceiling, thinking, what kind of sick person feels that good about something so wrong?

I hated myself. I hated us. I swore it would never happen again.

But it did. Again and again and again.

I drink from the bottle once more, chasing the memory away, and continue dancing to the loud music until I’m past caring who I’m disturbing.

Mum storms into my room looking furious.

“Ashleigh Grace, what on earth… Turn that off right now!”

I roll my eyes but reluctantly press the pause button.

Her glare drops to the bottle in my hand, and she immediately reaches for it, but I jerk it away.

“I’m twenty-one, Mum. Back off.”

“What is wrong with you?” she demands. “I will not tolerate this behaviour in my house. You wouldn’t dare act like this if your father were home.”

Dad travelled out of the country early this morning on a business trip.

Pretty convenient, honestly.

“Well, he’s not,” I snap. “And neither you nor Dad gets to police me tonight.”

The words are rude… unlike me. I hate that they leave my mouth because Mum doesn't deserve it. But I’m not myself.

I'm losing my shit because I'm in love with my brother, and I’m hurting a boy who genuinely cares about me.

I feel disgusting. Broken.

Mum stares at me like she’s seeing a stranger wearing her daughter’s face before turning her head toward my open door.

“ZAYN!” She calls out sharply.

My stomach churns, and I take another swig.

“ZAYN!” she calls again, louder. “Get in here.”

“No, Mum, seriously… don’t.”

She ignores me.

Ugh. He's the reason I'm like this.

I don't want him in here because I know I’ll either scream at him or end up begging him to fuck me, and both would destroy everything.

God, I'm so screwed.

I hear Zayn’s door fling open, then his footsteps.

He appears in my doorway looking irritated, wearing joggers and a white singlet that clings to his chest.

“What?” he asks dryly.

“Get your sister under control. I don’t know what’s gotten into her.”

With that, she turns and leaves the room, shutting the door after her.

We’re alone.

Zayn moves closer, looks at the bottle in my hands with those dark, unreadable eyes, then at me.

“Hand it over,” he says calmly, holding his hand out.