Strings and Schemes

Chapter 25

I set my glass down deliberately, meeting my father's gaze with a cool detachment I don't quite feel. "Interesting," I say, tilting my head slightly. "I don't recall you ever being this concerned about who I was 'tied to' before."

The words land between us like a match on dry kindling.

My mother exhales sharply, reaching for her wine glass with practiced grace. My father doesn't flinch, but his jaw tightens—just enough for me to know the hit landed.

"Before," he says evenly, "we didn't have to be concerned. Because we knew where your loyalties lay."

My fingers curl against the cool marble of the table. "Ah." I nod slowly. "So, it's not about me, then. It's about control."

Silence.

My mother's eyes flicker toward my father, waiting to see how he plays his next move.

"We've always ensured you were protected," he says, voice measured, diplomatic, as if he's spinning a press statement rather than speaking to his own daughter. "That's hardly the same as control."

I let out a quiet laugh, shaking my head. "Right. Protected." I glance between them, my voice steady despite the storm rising in my chest. "Is that what we're calling it now?"

The unspoken words sit heavy in the space between us.

Because before, they dictated who I was allowed to be tied to.

My mother exhales sharply, setting her glass down. "Raina, we're not telling you who to see. We just want you to be mindful of the... optics of it all."

"Optics," I repeat flatly.

My father leans forward slightly. "You're a smart girl. You know that every move you make reflects back on this family."

I smile, though there's nothing kind about it. "Do I? Because for a long time, I thought the rules only applied when it was convenient for you."

His jaw tightens. "We have spent years ensuring you would never be dragged into scandal."

I tilt my head. "Is Zayn a scandal?"

He hesitates. "He's a... complication."

How diplomatic of them. Always finding a way to say what they mean in the most flowery of language.  It's always the same. Anything outside of their perfectly curated world is a complication.

My mother sighs. "We simply think that you should be careful."

I press my lips together. "And by careful, you mean compliant."

She flinches.

My father exhales, his patience thinning. "This isn't about control, Raina. It's about strategy. You can't afford to be reckless."

"Reckless?" I laugh, shaking my head. "Do you hear yourselves? I moved out, I built something for myself, I'm finally making choices for me—and that's reckless?"

Silence.

Then, my mother softens her expression, her voice turning softer. "Darling, we're just looking out for your future."

I set my fork down carefully.

"You mean your version of my future."

My father watches me closely, waiting for the moment I bend, waiting for me to fall back in line.

But I don't.

For the first time in my life, I feel absolutely certain that their version of love—their brand of concern—isn't love at all. It's ownership. I don't belong to them anymore.