I glare at Zoan while shoveling more pasta into my mouth, but he doesn’t notice me.
It’s confirmed that he doesn’t see me as his sister. But that doesn’t mean he sees me as anything else either. Most likely, he just treats me as a responsibility. Or maybe he simply has affection for me, because why wouldn’t he? He respects Mama and Daddy, so of course, he’d have affection for their daughter.
I sigh silently. My overthinking brain is never a good place to linger.
Daddy speaks, his tone unusually serious. “Avi, we need to discuss something with you.”
“About what?” I ask.
He rises from his chair. “First, finish your dinner. Then come to the sitting room.”
He and Zoan leave the table. I turn toward Mama. “What is this about?”
She frowns slightly. “I have no idea,” she says, and that’s rare.
“I used to think you lived inside Daddy’s stomach.”
She gives me a light slap on the head.
After dinner, Mama and I walk into the sitting room. Daddy and Zoan are already seated on the main couch, a glass panel is hovering in front of them, projecting images into the air. The glow from the screen reflects off Zoan’s unreadable profile, turning him into something more statue than man.
“What’s it, Daddy?”
“You know, pumpkin,” he begins, “these days if you marry someone before turning twenty, it’s considered first grade. Wait too long, and you end up dangling with second-grade stuff.”
I tilt my head. “Are you, by chance, suggesting that I get married?”
He nods.
My eyes flick to Zoan. His face remains carved in stone—nothing new, yet tonight it cuts sharper.
“And how am I supposed to find this… first-grade stuff?”
“You can go on blind dates.”
Again, I glance at Zoan. Is he really fine with this arrangement?
Daddy adjusts the projection, turning it toward me. “Zo selected some nice men for you. Take a look.”
My heart plummets, splintering into pieces I can barely hold together. He selected men for me. He wants me to marry someone else. What dreams had I been living in, to believe he might want me for himself? How could I have been so foolish, so damn delusional? It was always a stupid, one-sided love, never meant to be reciprocated.
I clench my jaw, swallowing the taste of iron in my throat. “Send me all of their details,” I say flatly. “I’ll pick someone.”
I catch his icy gaze fixed on me from the corner of my eye, but I refuse to look back. I rise from the couch and walk out of the living room.
My phone pings in the pocket of my shorts just as I reach my room. He’s sent me all the details himself. Of course he has.
I open his chat, my eyes skimming over the old messages between us. Here too, it’s all one-sided. I write long paragraphs, while his replies are nothing more than a handful of words, one-line sentences.
The pressure in my throat builds, I try to swallow it down. I will not cry. I won’t shed tears over this stupid, useless love.
Forcing my focus, I open the file on my desktop and place a video call to Wen.
“Heyy,” she greets, then freezes, her expression sharpening. “What happened?”
“Zoan wants me to marry someone else.”
She jerks forward, fury flashing across her face. “What! Has he lost his head?”
