Lily’s spoon slipped from her hand and clattered to the floor.
Her heart pounded in her chest. Her knees hit the ground beside his chair as she dropped in front of him, head bowed, hands trembling as they gripped the hem of his pants.
‘Please. Don’t make me go.’
She didn’t have a voice, but everything in her posture—her trembling fingers, her wide, desperate eyes—screamed the words she couldn’t speak. She kept shaking her head, pleading to not go.
Zayn looked down at her, frowning.
“Get up,” he said quietly.
She shook her head fiercely, tears already spilling down her cheeks. She then grabbed his boot tight, trying to stay grounded, trying to plead. Her lips moved, trying to form words that wouldn't come.
“This isn’t a choice,” he said firm and cold, “You will attend whether you like it or not. That is an order.”
