Zayn stood still while the servants finished getting him dressed. They buttoned up his dark jacket, adjusted the silver pins on his collar, and straightened the heavy ceremonial sash across his chest. The outfit was stiff and uncomfortable, meant to impress, not to move in.
He hated it.
Across the room, Victoria twirled in front of the mirror. Her red dress hugged her body and sparkled at the edges. It was bold, low-cut, and made to grab attention—and she knew it. Her lips were painted deep red, her hair piled up in perfect waves. She looked like royalty and acted like she already belonged at the top.
“You look like you’re heading to a funeral,” she joked, walking over with a smirk. “Relax. It’s a celebration.”
Zayn didn’t answer. He fixed the edge of his cuff and stared out the window. The road leading to the estate was lined with banners, and guards were already standing at attention. Everything had been cleaned and polished for the big arrival.
A visit he never wanted.
