That voice – it stirred something in Lily's memory, a half-forgotten echo that sent warning signals through her mind. Her hand trembled slightly around her glass as she turned, the crystal suddenly feeling too heavy in her grip.
The man before her knocked the breath from her lungs. For a surreal moment, she thought she was face-to-face with Zayn Malik himself – the same brooding intensity, those devastating cheekbones that could cut glass, and eyes so dark they seemed to swallow light. But no, this man was different. Somehow more dangerous, more predatory in his beauty. The resemblance was uncanny yet unsettling, like looking at a familiar painting where something was subtly wrong.