Zayn's POV
"Darling, look at this pink dress—don't you think it suits me better than the champagne one from earlier?" Sylvie twirled gracefully before the floor-length mirror, the delicate blush satin of her low-cut gown catching the light with every movement. When met with my silence, she let out a small huff and marched over, her kitten heels clicking against the polished hardwood. "Honestly, you've been glued to your phone this entire time. Do I even exist to you right now?"
Sunlight streamed unimpeded through the boutique's arched windows, painting the lavish interior in golden hues. I stood amidst racks of couture gowns, my fingers tightening around the device displaying Elijah's latest medical report before shutting it off with a decisive click.
Sylvie's perfectly sculpted brows drew together as she studied my face. "Still worrying about Elijah?" she ventured, her manicured nails brushing my forearm.
A noncommittal hum was all I could muster.
