Alina’s POV
“I think we should leave,” I whisper the moment Zayn arrives.
He pauses mid-step, a takeout bag in his hand. “I just got our food… why should—oh.”
His eyes land on my father across the restaurant, and his expression falls. “I’ll pack this to go.”
“I’ll meet you outside.” My voice is steady, but my chest is shaking.
I walk out before my father can speak. Our eyes meet for a split second—his mouth parts as if to call my name—but I wrench my gaze away and push through the door. The cool air outside hits my face, but it does nothing to calm the storm inside me.
I’m halfway to the car when a hand wraps around my wrist.
“Alina, please. Just listen to me.”
I spin around, yanking my hand free. “Are you out of your mind?” The anger in my voice cracks like a whip. “Don’t touch me
