Raina Addams has always lived in the shadow of her father's political career. As the daughter of the US Ambassador, every move she makes is watched, every decision scrutinized. Her life is one of polished appearances and calculated diplomacy-until Z...
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It's candid. It's real.
It's us.
I swallow. "You want to post that?"
He shrugs. "It's already out there. Might as well show them what's real. No more soft launches."
I hesitate for only a second before unlocking my own phone. With a quick tap, I share the same photo to my feed. Within minutes, my notifications explode. The internet doesn't just notice—it combusts.
Zayn smirks at me, setting his phone down. "Guess we're really doing this."
I exhale slowly, feeling the weight of the decision settle over me. Then, surprising even myself, I smile.
"Yeah," I say. "We are."
The email comes through in the early afternoon, crisp and formal, carrying the weight of obligation I thought I had left behind.
"Ambassador and Mrs. Addams formally invite you to an intimate diplomatic reception at their residence. Attendance is expected. A plus-one is permitted."
The words alone make my stomach churn.
A plus-one.
Zayn.
I shut my laptop with a little too much force and rub my temples. The thought of stepping foot in my parents' house again after everything—after moving out, after Greece, after choosing my own life—fills me with an unease I can't quite name.
I know I can't avoid it. That's not how my world works. I can push boundaries, rebel in my own ways, but when my parents summon me, attendance is never really optional.
Zayn strolls into the kitchen where I'm sitting, shirtless and barely awake, ruffling his damp hair with a towel. "You're making that face again," he says, voice still rough from sleep.
I sigh. "I got an invite to a reception at my parents' house."
He smirks, leaning against the counter. "And you're going?"
I roll my eyes. "Like I have a choice."
Zayn watches me, eyes dark with understanding. "You do, though. You always have a choice."
I shake my head. "Not with them. You wouldn't get it."
His expression shifts—serious, patient. "Then explain it to me."
I exhale, gesturing vaguely. "They don't ask things of me, Z. They tell. And if I ignore them, it's not just a 'family tiff.' It becomes a problem in a way that goes beyond normal family bullshit. It's about reputation. Optics. A goddamn chess game where I'm just another piece on the board."
Zayn crosses the room, leaning down until we're eye to eye. "You're not a piece on anyone's board, Jaan," he murmurs. "Not anymore."
I close my eyes for a moment, steadying myself. "That's not even the worst part."
