Strings and Schemes

Chapter 34

The dinner stretched on, each course another opportunity for my parents to prod, to test, to remind Zayn that this was my world, not his.

They masked it well—my mother with her poised, elegant curiosity, my father with his cool, quiet judgment—but I knew them too well to miss the undertones. They weren't just testing Zayn. They were reminding me of my place.

"Relationships are about more than just passion," my mother said at one point, her voice soft but firm. "They require sacrifice. Commitment to something greater than yourself."

I bit the inside of my cheek. I knew what she was doing.

Zayn's fingers brushed against mine under the table, grounding me, as he answered, "I agree. But commitment goes both ways. It's not just about sacrifice—it's about choice."

My father hummed, as if considering his words. "Interesting perspective. Though, in some cases, there are no choices. Not really."

The air in the room tightened.

My grip on my wineglass turned stiff. He wasn't just talking about relationships anymore. This was bigger. A reminder of the world I'd been born into—the one that demanded compliance, that dictated my future before I even had a say in it.

I glanced at him, searching for something beneath his composed expression, but he had already turned back to his food.

Zayn shifted beside me, sensing the change in me. He didn't push, didn't ask. But he knew.

The moment passed, and the conversation moved on, but the weight of it clung to me like an echo.

The dinner finally ended, the guests slowly filtering out. My mother kissed my cheek, her fingers lingering just a second too long in a silent warning.

My father shook Zayn's hand, holding his gaze for just a beat longer than necessary. "It was good to meet you."

A neutral statement. But my father never said anything that didn't carry weight.

Zayn met his gaze evenly. "Likewise."

I turned before I could say something I'd regret, before I could let my frustration crack through the mask I'd spent years perfecting.

The embassy doors swung open, and the humid night air wrapped around us as we stepped outside. A sleek black limo waited at the curb, the driver already holding the door open.

Zayn didn't say anything until we slid inside, the soft leather cool beneath my legs. The door shut with a quiet thud, and the silence stretched between us, thick, charged.

Then, finally—

"What the hell was that?" His voice was low, controlled, but there was an edge to it.

I exhaled, tilting my head back against the seat. "That was my parents reminding me that I don't get to make my own choices."

His jaw flexed. "That's bullshit."

I let out a humorless laugh. "Tell that to them."

Zayn shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "The way your dad was talking... it felt like more than just disapproving parents. It felt like a warning."

I turned to him, my throat tight. "Because it was."

Something dark flashed in his eyes, his fingers curling into a fist against his thigh. "Rai..."

I didn't let him finish. I reached for him, pressing my lips to his before he could keep asking questions I wasn't ready to answer. His hesitation lasted all of two seconds. Then he was kissing me back, hard and deep, fingers threading into my hair, his body shifting closer.