Zayn’s POV
Alina’s father sat across from me, his fingers gripping the edge of the table as though it were the only thing anchoring him to the ground. The silence between us was suffocating, thick enough to choke on. His eyes searched mine — pleading, cautious — but I didn’t bother masking the irritation brewing beneath my calm exterior.
If he called me here to waste my time, I’d make him regret it.
Finally, he exhaled, voice trembling as he said, “I want my daughter back.”
I leaned back slowly, studying him like he was some desperate insect crawling toward a flame. “You called me here for that?” My voice dripped with amusement, but the sharp edge underneath it was unmistakable.
“Life hasn’t been the same since she cut me off,” he continued, ignoring my tone. “She won’t answer my call
