The city air smelled different—too familiar and yet suffocating. Zayn leaned against the sleek black car parked just outside the arrivals, his sharp blue shirt catching the light of the late afternoon sun. His phone was pressed hard against his ear, his jaw tense, eyes scanning the crowd that bustled in and out of the airport terminal.
“I swear, Xavier, my flight landed more than two hours ago,” Zayn snapped, his voice clipped with frustration. “And guess what? I’m still here—alone. The boy you swore we could trust is nowhere to be seen. I told you this was a bad idea. Now, he’s just proving me right.”
On the other end of the line, Xavier’s voice came through smooth and irritatingly calm.
“Zayn, breathe. He’ll be there. I’ve tried calling him, but maybe his phone died or something. Just… be patient.”
“Patient?” Zayn hissed. “I’ve been standing here watching middle-aged tourists walk past me with those tacky hats, waiting for a boy who clearly doesn’t care. You really think this is the start we needed?”
“Chill your ovaries,” Xavier quipped. “The world isn’t ending. River’s gonna show.”
Zayn rolled his eyes so hard, he thought they might stick in place.
“You think this is funny? You’ve doomed me, Xavier. Absolutely doomed me—”
But before he could finish his rant, a voice called from behind him, sharp and all too familiar.
“Zayn!”
He froze. That voice. He hadn’t heard it enough to grow used to it, but it had just enough dramatics in its tone to be unmistakable. Zayn turned sharply, and there he was—River—dragging a scuffed rolling case behind him like it was his life partner. He was smiling like they were old lovers reunited at last, one hand lifting in a wave.
But he looked… different.
River was dressed in a fitted white t-shirt tucked into slim dark jeans, topped with a light aether jacket that gave him a casually effortless charm. His glasses were new, sleeker, framing his face in a way that actually made him—Zayn almost gagged at the thought—look good. And his hair… dear God. It was tied back neatly into a ponytail, and threaded through the brown strands were streaks of deep red highlights that shimmered when the light caught them.
Zayn’s grip on his phone tightened.
“Xavier, I’ll call you back,” he muttered before clicking off.
River was nearing him, pulling his bag dramatically, when—of course—fate intervened. His foot caught on something, and before Zayn could so much as blink, River tumbled forward with a loud, ungraceful thud that had heads turning. The case skidded, his glasses tilted, and he landed palms-first on the ground.
“Are you—” Zayn started, but River popped up as though springs had been attached to him. He pushed his hair back, adjusted his glasses, and squealed dramatically, “Lover!” His voice rang through the parking lot like some over-acted soap opera line.
Zayn raised an unimpressed eyebrow.
“Why are you late?”
River dusted himself off, his dramatics unbothered.
“Ask the driver. I wasn’t the one driving the bus.”
Zayn pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Of course. Naturally.” His gaze flicked over River’s hair, and his irritation spiked. “Wait—are those red highlights?!”
River grinned, winked, and tilted his head.
“Do you like it?”
“Are you insane?” Zayn snapped. “Which part of impressing my family didn’t you understand? Now they’re going to think I’m dating a drug addict!”
River arched a brow, his grin fading into something sharper.
“First of all, my personality alone could impress anyone. Second of all, I’ve always had highlights—it’s my signature look. I just couldn’t afford them when I was broke. You’re welcome.”
Zayn groaned.
“Whatever. We’re already late. We need to reach the resort now.”
River nodded with a dramatic sigh.
“Perfect. I’m ready… as soon as you put my bag in the car.”
Zayn stared at him. Then he laughed, short and humorless.
“You’re funny.”
But River didn’t move. He just stood there, arms crossed, expression stern.
“I’m not moving an inch until you put my bag in the car. You’re supposed to be my romantic boyfriend, remember?”
Zayn snapped.
“I’m not—”
“—last I checked,” River interrupted smoothly, “our relationship has already started. And if I’m not mistaken, we’re supposed to make it real.”
Zayn let out a groan so heavy it felt like it shook his whole body. Muttering curses under his breath, he snatched up River’s bag and shoved it into the trunk of the fancy black car. Then, with exaggerated annoyance, he stalked back, pulled open the passenger door, and gave an exaggerated bow.
“Anything else, your highness?” he bit out.
River’s lips curved into a mischievous smile.
“Nope. You’re such a lovely boyfriend.” He stepped toward the car—only for Zayn to suddenly push the door shut right in front of him.
“Insane,” Zayn said flatly. “You’re insane if you think I’m taking it that far.” He strode around to his side of the car, sliding in behind the wheel. “I’m leaving in thirty seconds with or without you.”
River rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath,
“Rude.” Finally, with a sigh, he opened the door himself and slipped inside.
The car pulled away from the airport, the cityscape opening up before them. For a brief, fleeting moment, there was silence—just the sound of the engine, the road beneath the tires, and the unspoken storm building between them.
Because this was only the beginning.
And Zayn was already sure he’d made a colossal mistake.
***
The drive along the coast unfolded like something out of a memory Zayn didn’t know he’d missed—familiar roads wrapped in the scent of the ocean breeze, the sound of the waves crashing faintly in the distance. The resort loomed ahead, majestic and sprawling—a cluster of white, glass-paneled buildings perched by the turquoise sea, surrounded by palm trees swaying lazily in the golden afternoon light.
As they drove up the curved driveway, the gates opened automatically, revealing manicured gardens, fountains, and the grand entrance lined with valets. The cool sea wind slipped through the open car window, brushing against Zayn’s neatly combed hair and fluttering the cuff of his crisp shirt.
He parked near the marble steps leading to the entrance, the tires crunching softly against the gravel. For a moment, he sat there, staring ahead at the familiar resort that carried both fond memories and the weight of a past he’d rather not revisit. Then, slowly, he turned to River.
Raising a finger, his voice firm and low, he said,
“Listen carefully. Don’t embarrass me. My family doesn’t know about this… arrangement. If it were up to me, you’d just stand there, smile, and cling to my arm quietly. Got it?”
River’s lips curved into a teasing grin.
“Yes, sir.”
Zayn exhaled, pressing his lips together.
“God, I already know this was a bad idea.” He ran a hand down his face before stepping out of the car.
The air outside was warm but breezy, carrying a faint smell of salt and orchids from the nearby garden. River got out, fixing himself, adjusting his glasses, and catching up to Zayn as they started walking toward the main entrance.
“Remember,” Zayn muttered, lowering his voice, “let me do the talking. I’ll handle introductions.”
River saluted playfully.
“Understood, boss.”
Zayn was about to retort when suddenly—
“ZAYN!”
The familiar, high-pitched squeal of joy came before the rapid clack of heels against marble. Both men turned to see a beautiful woman rushing toward them from the entrance, her silk lavender dress flowing behind her like a gentle wave.
“Mom,” Zayn breathed, his eyes softening.
Her dark brown hair was tied into a low bun, streaked with elegant strands of silver that only made her look more regal. Her almond eyes shone with tears and delight, her skin glowing with warmth, her smile radiant enough to make the entire courtyard feel brighter. Her name was Elena Monroe, and she was every bit the definition of grace and love that Zayn had carried in his memories.
Without thinking, Zayn rushed toward her, arms wide. She let out a soft laugh before wrapping him tightly in her embrace.
“My baby,” she whispered, her voice trembling with joy.
Zayn closed his eyes and hugged her just as tightly, inhaling the faint scent of jasmine that always clung to her. It had been years—too many—but in that moment, it felt like no time had passed at all.
River stood a few feet away, watching the scene unfold with a faint, wistful smile. The warmth between them reminded him of his own mother—the way she used to hug him tight before every semester began, before life had gotten hard and money had run out. For a moment, a dull ache stirred in his chest, but he pushed it away and smiled.
Elena finally pulled back and cupped Zayn’s face in her hands, her thumbs brushing his cheeks.
“Look at you,” she said softly. “My sweet boy—all grown up. You look so handsome. The pictures never do you justice.”
Zayn laughed, his smile genuine.
“Well, of course, I’m grown. You haven’t seen me in person for two years.”
“And whose fault is that?” Elena shot back, narrowing her eyes playfully. “Every time I asked, you had an excuse. But I’m not complaining—I’m just glad you came when I invited you.”
Zayn hugged her again, tighter this time.
“I missed you, Mom.”
Before Elena could respond, a cheerful male voice echoed.
“Well, well! Look who finally decided to show up!”
Zayn turned just as a tall man came striding down the steps, his arms open wide and his grin infectious. He was a little older, maybe by two or three years—broad-shouldered with sun-kissed skin and the kind of confident charm that made people naturally gravitate toward him. His hair was neatly trimmed, and his suit, though casual, spoke of effortless wealth.
“Damian,” Zayn said, breaking into a smile.
Behind Damian walked a stunning woman with caramel-toned skin, her black curls cascading down her shoulders like silk. She wore a flowing floral sundress that swayed with each step, her soft brown eyes glowing with kindness and quiet strength. Her name was Liana Cruz, and she carried herself with the poise of someone who knew she was deeply loved.
Damian reached Zayn first, pulling him into a tight hug that nearly lifted him off the ground.
“Man, I can’t believe you’re actually here!” he laughed, patting Zayn’s back. “You didn’t think I’d let my wedding happen without my best man, did you?”
Zayn chuckled, hugging him just as tightly.
“Like I had a choice. You’d probably have sent a search team if I hadn’t shown up.”
Liana smiled warmly as she approached.
“It’s so good to finally see you again, Zayn. Damian’s been talking non-stop about you.”
Zayn turned to her, smiling.
“Liana, you’re glowing. Guess Damian’s treating you well, huh?”
She laughed, linking her arm with Damian’s.
“I’d say so.”
The three of them fell into easy laughter and conversation, teasing and reminiscing like no time had passed. Elena watched them fondly, her hand over her heart, proud of her sons—one about to marry, the other finally home.
And through it all, River stood just behind them, hands tucked into his pockets, the faintest smirk on his lips. He didn’t belong here—not yet—but the warmth in the air, the laughter, the golden light dancing across their faces… it made something flutter quietly in his chest.
It was a family built on love—and soon, he was supposed to pretend to be a part of it.
Zayn was laughing with his brother when a high, lilting, and unmistakably dramatic voice cut through the courtyard air—
“Zaynie, darling!”
The entire group turned in unison. Striding toward them was a woman who looked as though she’d just walked off the cover of a luxury magazine. Her name was Veronica Monroe, Zayn’s aunt—his father’s younger sister—and she was every bit as glamorous as he remembered. Her hair was a soft champagne blonde styled into voluminous waves that framed her delicate, heart-shaped face. A pair of oversized sunglasses sat atop her head, and her flowing silk dress shimmered in hues of gold and cream as she moved.
Every finger bore a ring, and around her neck glittered a cascade of diamonds. She was accompanied by a man—tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in a tailored beige suit that hinted at quiet wealth. His hair was dark and tousled just enough to seem deliberate, and his sharp hazel eyes scanned the scene with polite curiosity. He was around Zayn’s age, perhaps a year older.
“Aunt Veronica,” Zayn said brightly, his lips curving into a genuine smile for the first time in a while.
“My darling boy!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around him before he could say another word. The scent of expensive perfume enveloped him instantly—something floral, intoxicating, undeniably her.
He laughed as she squeezed him tight.
“You haven’t changed one bit,” he said against her shoulder.
“Neither have you, though you should have called, written, something!” she scolded affectionately, pulling away just enough to hold him at arm’s length. “After all, you are my favorite nephew, and you left me hanging for years!”
Zayn chuckled and hugged her again.
“You’re still as dramatic as ever, Auntie Vee.”
She gave a playful scoff.
“Dramatic? Me? I’m merely expressive.” Then, turning slightly, she gestured to the man beside her. “You remember your cousin, Adrian? He just came back from his travels in Spain.”
Zayn smiled warmly and reached to hug Adrian, who clapped him on the back.
“Of course I do. You look… different. Taller maybe? Or just more smug.”
Adrian smirked.
“Confidence suits me.”
The group shared a laugh before Veronica linked her arm through Zayn’s again, clearly delighted to have her nephew back. They began catching up, her voice animated, hands fluttering as she talked about her travels and her latest business ventures.
Then—
“Zayn?”
The voice came from behind them—low, smooth, familiar enough to make Zayn’s laughter die in his throat. He turned, slowly, his heart giving a painful lurch.
A man was walking toward them across the courtyard.
He was tall, effortlessly striking, dressed in a crisp white shirt with the top two buttons undone, sleeves rolled to his forearms, and dark tailored pants that fit perfectly. His sun-bronzed skin gleamed faintly under the golden light. But it was the eyes—piercing brown, warm yet intense—that made Zayn’s breath catch.
Harry Smith.
Of all the people he could have seen that day, Harry was the last he’d expected—and the one person he wasn’t ready for.
“Harry…” Zayn whispered, his voice barely audible.
Harry’s lips curved into that same smile Zayn remembered, the one that used to melt him instantly.
“So,” he said, stopping right in front of him, “are you just going to stare at me the whole time—or are you going to give me a hug?”
Zayn blinked, as if waking from a trance. His heart was pounding in his chest, his pulse roaring in his ears.
“I—uh—”
Harry didn’t wait. He stepped forward, wrapping Zayn in a warm, confident embrace. Zayn froze for a moment, breathing in the familiar scent of cedarwood and something distinctly Harry before the man pulled back just slightly to press a soft kiss on his cheek.
Zayn’s throat tightened.
“W–what are you doing here?” he asked, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.
Veronica smiled proudly.
“I invited him, of course. Isn’t it a wonderful surprise?”
Zayn blinked.
“A surprise, yeah…”
She laughed lightly, oblivious to his discomfort.
“I knew you’d be happy to see him—especially with the history you two share.”
Zayn’s face flushed slightly, his mouth opening to respond—but before he could say anything, a pointed ahem sounded from behind him.
He turned to see River standing there, a few feet away, holding his hands together and watching with the kind of expression that screamed what are you doing? River’s eyes narrowed slightly as he took a step closer, and before Zayn could react, River slipped his arm through Zayn’s and leaned his head lightly on his shoulder.
Zayn froze again, momentarily thrown off—but one look at River’s face, that silent remember why we’re here glare, pulled him right back to reality.
Zayn cleared his throat and forced a smile.
“Ah—right. Pardon my manners, everyone. I almost forgot…” He took River’s hand, intertwining their fingers tightly. “I came with someone.”
River’s lips curved into a bright, dazzling smile, and he gave a little wave with his free hand.
“I’d love for you all to meet him,” Zayn continued, his voice steady now though his heart felt like it was performing acrobatics. “This is River. My… loving boyfriend.”
For a long moment, no one said a word.
Veronica blinked, visibly processing the words. Damian’s eyebrows shot up. Liana’s mouth parted in surprise. Even Elena—Zayn’s mother—looked taken aback, though she quickly recovered, her expression softening into one of cautious curiosity.
But the most noticeable reaction came from Harry. The warmth drained from his face, that charming smile fading almost instantly. His jaw tightened ever so slightly as his eyes flicked between Zayn and River’s joined hands.
“Oh,” Veronica finally said, her painted lips curving into an incredulous smile. “Well, isn’t that something.” Her gaze swept over River, assessing him openly. “Where did you get this one, Zayn? He doesn’t exactly seem like your… usual type.”
River’s smile wavered. He chuckled awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck as he glanced at Zayn, silently begging him to say something.
Before Zayn could respond, Elena stepped in smoothly, her tone firm but kind.
“Veronica, that’s enough. The kids just arrived. They must be tired from the trip.” She looped her arm through Zayn’s and smiled at River. “You two should freshen up. Dinner will be served soon, and I’ll make sure the staff prepares something special.”
Zayn exhaled in relief.
“Thanks, Mom.”
“Come along,” Elena said warmly, guiding him toward the resort’s grand entrance.
River followed a few steps behind, feeling the weight of several stares burning into his back—especially Harry’s.
As the doors closed behind them, River exhaled slowly, muttering under his breath, “Well… that went well.”
Zayn shot him a glare. River smirked faintly.
Zayn frowned, confused.
River gave a knowing glance back toward the courtyard, where Harry was still standing, expression unreadablebAnd for the first time since he arrived, Zayn’s heart skipped—not from fear, but from something else entirely.
Something dangerous.
***
The room was nothing short of breathtaking. Gold-framed mirrors lined the cream-colored walls, and warm sunlight spilled through sheer curtains, bathing the space in a soft, honey-like glow. A huge queen-sized bed sat in the center of the room, draped with crisp white linens and plush pillows that looked like clouds. The balcony doors opened to a sweeping view of the ocean, waves crashing rhythmically against the distant rocks. Everything—from the faint scent of sea salt to the faint hum of the air conditioner—felt luxurious, a far cry from the world River was used to.
The moment they stepped inside, River’s jaw dropped.
“Holy shit,” he breathed, his eyes gleaming as he threw his small overnight bag on the chair. “This is the kind of place I could live in forever.” Before Zayn could say a word, River dashed across the room and flung himself onto the bed with a loud plop, bouncing once before sprawling face-down with a grin stretching across his face. “Oh my God,” he groaned, muffled by the sheets. “This mattress feels like heaven. Are we sure this isn’t some kind of dream?”
Zayn exhaled sharply, loosening his tie and setting his phone on the nightstand.
“Could you not act like a ten-year-old for one minute?” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.
River rolled over, propping himself on his elbows.
“At least I’m acting like a kid,” he shot back with a teasing smile. “You, on the other hand, look like a man who just saw the ghost of his first love walk out of his past and into the lobby.”
That made Zayn stop in his tracks. He ran a hand through his dark hair, his jaw tightening as he sat on the edge of the bed.
“I didn’t expect to see him,” he said quietly. His voice, usually sharp and commanding, now carried a hint of something else—hesitation. “Harry being here… it’s complicated.”
River tilted his head, studying him.
“You think?” he asked dryly. “The way he looked at you—yeah, there’s definitely history there. The kind you don’t just brush off. So tell me, how do you want me to play this? Do I smile? Act jealous? Keep my mouth shut?”
Zayn looked over his shoulder, his eyes narrowing slightly.
“It’s not your burden,” he said firmly. “Whatever happened between me and Harry is in the past. I’ll deal with it.”
River let out a low laugh.
“You sure about that? Because from where I’m standing, the past just walked in wearing designer shoes and the kind of smile that still makes your heart trip over itself.”
Zayn glared at him, but River didn’t back down. Instead, he crossed his arms and added,
“Look, whatever you do, just don’t blow our cover. If something goes wrong between you two, it’s not just you who gets embarrassed—it’s me too. And I don’t like losing out on two hundred grand, remember?”
Zayn sighed heavily.
“I said I’ve got it handled.”
“Good,” River said with a smirk. “Because right now, you look like the one who’s gonna slip, not me.”
Zayn ignored him, standing to take in the view from the balcony. The ocean breeze hit his face, cool and salty, but even that couldn’t calm the churn in his chest.
“It’s not Harry I’m worried about,” he said after a long pause. “It’s my father.”
River blinked.
“Your dad?”
“Yeah.” Zayn’s tone softened, the arrogance stripped away for a fleeting moment. “We haven’t spoken properly in years. The last time I saw him… we didn’t exactly end on good terms.”
River sat up on the bed, listening more carefully now.
“He wanted me to end my gay follishness,” Zayn continued, his fingers tapping the balcony rail. “I didn’t want that. I had my own plans, my own life. And when I left, he said if I walked out that door, I’d do it without his name behind me.” He looked down, eyes dark and distant. “So I did. And now, I’m walking back in pretending to have my life figured out—with a fake boyfriend on my arm.”
River’s expression softened.
“Hey,” he said, getting up and walking toward him. “You’re doing this for a reason, right? You want that inheritance. You want to prove yourself. So stop doubting it. Just… play the role.”
Zayn met his gaze.
“Easier said than done.”
River shrugged, his voice light but sincere.
“That’s what actors do, baby. Pretend until it feels real.”
Zayn chuckled dryly.
“Don’t call me baby.”
River grinned.
“But it fits the role, doesn’t it?”
Zayn rolled his eyes and walked back to the bed
“Dinner’s in an hour,” he said. “We need to look the part. That means you—” he pointed at River “—need to wear something that doesn’t make you look like you just came from a dive bar.”
River looked at his jeans and tee with mock offense.
“What’s wrong with this?”
“Everything,” Zayn replied flatly. “This is a five-star resort, not an open mic night.”
River smirked, strolling toward the closet where a few of Zayn’s extra clothes hung.
“Guess I’ll have to borrow something from my loving boyfriend, then.”
“Just don’t stretch it,” Zayn muttered.
River winked, already pulling out a crisp linen shirt.
“Relax, pretty boy. I’ll make you proud tonight.”
Zayn didn’t answer. He just watched River’s reflection in the mirror—carefree, reckless, but strangely comforting—and wondered, not for the first time, whether this whole act was going to be his salvation… or his biggest mistake yet.
Outside, the waves crashed against the shore, the sun dipping low behind the horizon, as two men—tied by a lie—prepared to walk into a dinner that would change everything.
***
The grand dining hall was bathed in soft golden light from the chandelier that hung above the long mahogany table. The air smelled faintly of sea salt and roasted lamb, mingling with the elegant perfume of the women and the cologne of the men who occupied the table. Laughter and conversation filled the room—at least until the double doors opened.
Zayn and River stood there, both neatly dressed but not overdressed. Zayn wore a clean, open-collar white shirt tucked into navy slacks, sleeves rolled halfway up his arms, while River had borrowed one of Zayn’s cream shirts that fit him surprisingly well, paired with simple dark trousers. Together, they looked decent—polished enough to fit in but still comfortable enough to be themselves.
The chatter dimmed the moment they stepped inside.
At the far end of the table sat a man whose very presence commanded the room—Leonardo Monroe, Zayn’s father. His silver-streaked hair was perfectly combed back, his sharp features framed by a neatly trimmed beard that gave him an air of distinction and control. His suit was dark, tailored, immaculate. He leaned slightly forward, one hand resting under his chin, the other tapping against the polished wood of the table as his piercing grey eyes fixed on Zayn like a hawk sizing up its prey.
Zayn’s steps faltered. His throat went dry. For a moment, the confident façade he’d maintained all day cracked, and he looked like a boy again—small beneath his father’s gaze.
“H–hi, Dad,” he stammered, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Leonardo didn’t return the smile. His tone was smooth but sharp as a blade.
“It’s rude to keep everyone waiting for you, Zayn.”
Zayn swallowed hard.
“I—I’m sorry, we—uh—we took a little longer freshening up—”
“I don’t want to hear excuses,” Leonardo cut him off coldly, his eyes narrowing.
“Yes, sir,” Zayn said softly, lowering his gaze. The tension in his shoulders was visible, and River felt a twist of something—pity, maybe even anger—form in his chest.
Across the table, Harry let out a nervous chuckle and waved lightly.
“Hey, Zayn. Over here—come sit with me.”
River’s eyes flicked toward him, and before Zayn could take a step, River reached out, coiling his arm around Zayn’s. His tone was low but steady.
“He’s sitting with me,” he said, offering a small smile that was both charming and defiant.
Zayn looked at him in surprise, then managed a grateful, fleeting glance before they both moved toward the opposite side of the table. They sat near Damian and Liana, who greeted them warmly.
“Glad you made it,” Damian said, flashing a grin. “I was starting to think you’d chickened out.”
Liana nudged her fiancé playfully.
“Leave your brother alone,” she said, then smiled kindly at River. “It’s nice to finally meet you, River. We’ve heard… well, nothing, really. Zayn likes to keep things private.”
River chuckled nervously.
“That’s probably for the best,” he said lightly, earning a quiet laugh from Liana.
Soon, the servers began to move gracefully around the table, placing dishes of steaming food before everyone. The clinking of cutlery filled the room as conversation resumed—though Zayn’s father remained mostly silent, his gaze occasionally flicking to River, unreadable.
Halfway through the meal, Veronica, Zayn’s aunt, cleared her throat. She was seated two chairs away, draped in a silk blouse, her makeup immaculate as always.
“So,” she began, her voice sweet but laced with curiosity, “River, was it? Where are you from?”
River froze for a second, caught mid-bite.
“Uh—”
“We met three years ago,” Zayn cut in quickly, placing his fork down. “At the movies. Total coincidence.”
Veronica turned her head slowly toward Zayn, her smile polite but sharp.
“That’s sweet,” she said. “But I was asking him.” She tilted her chin toward River, eyes glinting with amusement. “He just seems… different from your usual type.”
“Elena,” Zayn’s mother, shot her sister-in-law a look. “Veronica, we’re having dinner. Can we not interrogate the poor boy?”
“It’s not interrogation,” Veronica said smoothly, swirling her wine glass. “It’s conversation. The best way to get to know someone is to talk during dinner. Especially someone new. After all, Zayn is like a son to me, and I’d hate to see him waste his time with someone who doesn’t suit him.”
The room grew noticeably quieter. River felt his pulse quicken, but before he could speak, another voice—smooth, deep, and familiar—cut through.
Harry leaned back in his chair, his lips curved into a half-smirk.
“To be fair, Aunt Veronica’s got a point,” he said, eyes darting toward River. “I mean, no offense, River, but you don’t exactly scream Zayn Monroe. You seem a little… out of his league.”
The words hung in the air like a slap.
Zayn froze, his jaw tightening. Damian frowned. Liana looked down at her plate awkwardly.
River felt the blood rush to his face, his fingers tightening around the fork. His heart thudded painfully in his chest, but he forced a smile, one that didn’t quite hide the sting.
“Out of his league?” he repeated softly. “Well, I guess that depends on how you define league.”
Harry’s smirk deepened, his gaze challenging.
“I’m just saying, Zayn’s got… a certain taste. And you—well, you don’t look like it.”
The air in the dining hall had gone heavy. Forks scraped softly against plates, but most of the family was watching, waiting—like spectators at the beginning of a duel.
River sat there, feeling their stares, the subtle judgment that came not from words but from glances that lingered too long. His chest tightened, but he forced himself to breathe. He’d grown up being underestimated. It shouldn’t have stung this much—but tonight, surrounded by wealth, control, and arrogance wrapped in designer clothes—it did.
His voice came out calm, deceptively so.
“So, Harry,” he began, his eyes lifting toward the man across the table, “what exactly does Zayn’s type look like? You?”
The words drew every eye in the room. Harry blinked, caught off guard for a second before recovering with a lazy shrug.
“Well…” He let out a short, low hum that sounded like amusement—or condescension. “What do you think?”
River tilted his head slightly.
“I think you just answered my question.”
A small ripple of whispers spread down the table, but before anyone else could speak, Veronica leaned back in her chair, swirling her wine glass with that smug, effortless grace that only came from old money and a lifetime of being untouchable.
“What Harry means,” she said sweetly, “is that the Monroe boys—especially Zayn—tend to date a certain kind of person. Someone polished. Someone who knows how to blend in with… well, us.”
She smiled tightly at River, her eyes glinting like glass.
“You, sweetheart, don’t exactly look the part. I’m just being brutally honest—it’s a family trait.”
River’s lips parted slightly. The sting was sharp and real, but he wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of seeing it. He set down his fork, hands clasped neatly before him.
“I understand what you’re saying,” he said quietly, looking directly at her, “but at the end of the day, Zayn chose me. And what’s important isn’t how I look or where I come from—it’s that we love each other.”
Zayn tensed. He didn’t know whether to smile at River’s bravery or wince at the landmine he’d just stepped on.
Harry chuckled, low and derisive.
“Love, huh?” he said, his brown eyes glinting. “Is it really love—or are you just following him for the money? I mean…” He gave a casual shrug, his smirk widening. “Everyone’s got a reason for being where they are. And it’s not hard to guess yours.”
River’s heart pounded, but he didn’t react. He just gave a small, tight smile.
“You think that because you measure everything in money. Not everyone does.”
Harry’s smirk faltered for a second, and then Veronica’s voice—soft, dangerous—cut through again.
“Don’t take it the wrong way, darling,” she said. “We’re just trying to make sure Zayn doesn’t bring a gold digger home. You know how things go—people with less tend to… attach themselves to those with more. Nature’s way of survival.”
The blood drained from River’s face. He didn’t even think—his words came before reason could stop them.
“Well,” he said with a soft chuckle, his tone polite but his eyes sharp as glass, “you must be the self-proclaimed Queen Bee, then.”
Veronica blinked, her smirk unwavering.
“That would be accurate,” she said, tilting her head proudly. “And a queen’s job is to protect her hive.”
River smiled faintly, but there was no warmth in it.
“Funny thing about bees,” he said quietly, his voice steady and cutting. “Pull off their stingers… and they drop dead.”
The entire table went still.
The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on. Forks froze mid-air. Someone coughed lightly at the far end, but even that sound died quickly. Veronica’s expression cracked for a split second—her nostrils flared, her painted lips parting slightly in disbelief.
Zayn’s eyes widened. Oh, hell.
Leonardo slowly looked up from his plate, his gaze settling on River. His face was unreadable, but his eyes—cold, commanding—made the younger man’s stomach twist.
River suddenly realized what he had just said.
His breath caught in his throat as the weight of the silence pressed down on him. He swallowed hard, his voice low but trembling slightly.
“I—apologize,” he said, bowing his head a little. “It seems the air here isn’t poisoned with salt, but with hatred. Perhaps… we’ll meet again under more favorable circumstances.”
He rose from his seat. Every eye followed him as he straightened his shirt and gave a polite nod to Elena, then one to Leonardo, whose expression hadn’t changed. Veronica was breathing sharply through her nose, her manicured hand gripping the stem of her wine glass so tightly her knuckles whitened.
Without another word, River turned and walked out of the dining hall. His footsteps echoed in the silence, soft but steady.
Zayn sat frozen for half a second before he stood abruptly.
“Excuse me,” he muttered, ignoring the eyes that followed him as he rushed after River.
Behind him, the air was still heavy with tension. Damian exhaled slowly, rubbing his temples. Liana whispered something under her breath.
Harry looked down at his untouched plate, a ghost of a smirk playing at his lips.
“Well,” he murmured, “dinner just got interesting.”
And at the head of the table, Veronica’s eyes gleamed with fury as she whispered to no one in particular,
“That boy has no idea who he’s dealing with.”
But River didn’t care.
He was already halfway down the hall, heart pounding, every word replaying in his head—his anger, his shame, and his refusal to be stepped on.
And somewhere behind him, Zayn’s footsteps grew louder, chasing him into the night.
***
Zayn shut the door behind him with a heavy thud, the echo of it bouncing against the cream-colored walls of the beach villa bedroom. The tension from the dinner table still clung to his chest, hot and tight, like the humid night air pressing in from the open balcony doors. His eyes immediately landed on River, who was standing by the bed in an oversized white shirt that fell just above his knees. He looked soft, harmless—if you didn’t count the way his jaw was set like a blade.
Zayn’s gaze dropped lower, catching sight of what River was doing. Two huge pillows. Right down the middle of the queeb-sized bed.
“What are you doing?” Zayn’s voice came out strained, his disbelief caught somewhere between irritation and disbelief.
River didn’t even look up.
“Building a wall,” he said quietly, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
Zayn blinked.
“A wall?”
River finally turned to him, meeting his eyes.
“Yeah. You stay on your side, I stay on mine. Keeps things… civilized.”
Zayn’s control snapped. He crossed the room in two long strides, his expression dark.
“River, are you out of your damn mind?”
River raised a brow, clutching the last pillow to his chest like a shield.
“Why? Because I spoke the truth?”
“Truth?” Zayn’s voice was sharp now, incredulous. “You insulted my aunt in front of everyone. Do you even realize what you did down there?”
River blinked, expression unreadable.
“Apparently I told her something she didn’t want to hear.”
“Something she didn’t—” Zayn groaned and ran his hand through his hair. “God, River! Do you even know who Veronica is? That woman is practically the spine of this family. She raised me when my mother couldn’t. She built the Monroe name alongside my father. She—”
“It’s obvious,” River cut in flatly.
Zayn froze.
“What?”
River looked him dead in the eye, his tone calm but cold.
“It’s obvious she raised you. The arrogance, the entitlement, the way you think people should just bow because someone in your family has money.”
Zayn’s nostrils flared.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Maybe,” River said, tossing the pillow onto the bed and finally sitting down. “But I know people like her. People who think kindness is a weakness and humility is beneath them. And if you came here to tell me to apologize, don’t waste your breath. I’m not doing it.”
Zayn stared at him, momentarily speechless.
“River, she’s—she’s family.”
“And I’m not here for her,” River interrupted, his voice firm. “I’m here for you. Or at least, I thought I was. But if your definition of love means letting people humiliate me and smiling through it, then maybe I misunderstood the assignment.”
Zayn felt the sting of that like a slap.
“You— You can’t just talk to people that way and expect everything to be fine!”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t have brought me here,” River said quietly, pulling the sheets back and slipping under them. He turned his back to Zayn, voice muffled now. “I don’t need to impress your aunt, Zayn. I need to impress your parents. And if they can’t see who I am beyond what she thinks I should look like, then maybe they’re not worth impressing either.”
Zayn stared at him in disbelief, chest rising and falling with frustration.
“You’re unbelievable.”
River didn’t reply. He reached for the lamp beside the bed and switched it off, plunging the room into a soft glow from the balcony lights outside.
“Goodnight, Zayn,” he said evenly. “And don’t cross to my side.”
Zayn stood there for a long moment, just watching the curve of River’s back beneath the sheets. The faint sound of the ocean waves filtered through the open doors, mingling with the silence that hung between them like a ghost.
He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know whether to shout or to laugh or to apologize. He just knew that something had cracked between them—something small, but deep enough to make him wonder if he’d made a mistake bringing River here.
Zayn sank down on the edge of his side of the bed, eyes fixed on the dark line of pillows dividing them. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled over the ocean.
And as the lightning flickered faintly across the glass doors, Zayn’s mind whispered one haunting question—
Had he just started a war he couldn’t win?
To be continued....
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