Strings and Schemes

Chapter 30

A/N: that photo makes me think of raina and z enjoying private beach time before the mess

I wake up to the sound of silence, which shouldn't be unnerving, but somehow, it is. After everything I've learned from my days with my diplomat parents, extreme silence usually means shits awry.

Zayn is already out of bed, but I can hear him moving around somewhere in the house. The distant hum of music, the occasional scrape of a chair. It should be comforting. It's not.

I reach for my phone, already regretting it before I even unlock the screen.

Trending: Zayn Malik. Raina Addams. Greece.

I stare at my name in bold letters, like it belongs there, like this is something I should be used to. Like I should be okay with the fact that my life—our life—is now an internet-wide guessing game.

After all the time I spent feeling so trapped, so controlled, so publicized, I'd never actually felt invaded by the public. I'll never admit that my parents were right about any of it, because they honestly weren't. But, in this case, sometimes the devil you know is better than the devil you don't.

I sigh and roll out of bed, pulling on one of Zayn's hoodies and padding into the living room.

He's in the kitchen, making coffee, scrolling through his phone, his brows furrowed in concentration. The tension in his shoulders tells me he's reading something he doesn't like.

I don't say anything as I grab my own mug, pouring myself some of the steaming dark liquid, but he notices me anyway.

"Morning, Jaan," he murmurs, setting his phone face-down.

I hum in response, curling onto the couch, tucking my legs beneath me. "You're already checking the damage, huh?"

He exhales sharply. "Had to. My team called first thing."

I roll my eyes. "Your team. That sounds... excessive."

He looks at me like I've just said the dumbest thing in the world. "You know I have a team, Rain."

"Yeah, but it just makes everything feel so... calculated." I frown, taking a sip of coffee. "Like I'm being managed."

Zayn tenses. "That's not what this is."

"Isn't it?" I glance out the window, at the too-blue sky, at the world we're not really experiencing because we're stuck inside, hiding. "I don't know, it just feels—off. I don't like it."

He studies me, his expression unreadable. "What don't you like?"

I gesture vaguely. "This. Feeling like I'm suddenly some asset to be protected, not a person who gets to just be with you."

The tension in the room thickens, settling between us like a physical thing. The silence stretches long enough that I wonder if he's actually going to say something, but instead, he just watches me—his expression unreadable, his fingers drumming against the counter in slow, measured beats.

I exhale sharply, shaking my head. "You keep saying this isn't about control, but you have a team watching my every move, strategizing how I fit into your life. What happens to my life in all of this?"

Zayn stiffens, jaw locking. "That's not fair."

"Isn't it?" I push, gripping my coffee mug a little tighter. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like I'm being handled."

Zayn sets his own mug down with a dull thud. "No one is handling you, Rain. I told my team to be prepared, not to manage you."

I laugh humorlessly. "And you don't think there's a difference? You don't think it changes things when you have people planning for my existence in your life, like I'm some variable that needs to be accounted for?"