.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。
—NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK

𝗔𝗬𝗟𝗔

"Okay, he loves you. Wait—no, not like that. You know what I mean," Kendall says, her voice barely audible over heavy music. We're sunk into the oversized couch in the penthouse, surrounded by luxury that feels almost surreal.

The party is unreal—easily over 200 people fill the space. Bodies are everywhere, dancing, singing, smoking, and drinking. It's chaos, but the glamorous kind you only see in movies.

I grip my water bottle tightly, taking small sips to steady myself every time the energy becomes too much. Kendall, on the other hand, is unfazed. She leans back casually sipping from a red solo cup. Which I am pretty sure is just water disguised as alcohol.

Everyone here seems older—polished, experienced, and intimidatingly cool. On our way in, I spotted many celebrities. My heart hasn't stopped racing since. Of course I'm nervous. How could I not be.

"Okay," I mumble, sinking deeper into the couch as my eyes drift over the crowd.

It wasn't surprising that I'd gotten disapproving looks on the way in—what else did I expect? My reputation wasn't exactly spotless in the media. Being here was only adding fuel to the fire.

"You're fidgeting," Kendall says, her hand landing gently on my knee. She sets her red solo cup aside and leans in, her voice concerned. "Are you okay? Do you want to leave?"

I straighten my posture, realizing too late that my knee was bouncing up and down—a force of habit. "I'm fine," I insist quickly, though the words sound fake, even to me. "I just... I don't want it to get out that I'm here."

Kendall exhales, her brow creased with worry, but before she can say a word, a voice cuts through the conversation.

"Babe, you made it!"

I turn toward the voice and see Harry striding through the crowd, a glass of whiskey in his hand.

Kendall glances at me briefly, her expression unreadable, before getting up and wrapping Harry in a warm hug. He responds by pulling her in tightly, lifting her off the ground for a moment as they both laugh.

Kendall comes back down with an easy laugh, and before I can look away, Kendall gestures toward me.

"Harry, this is Ayla."

Harry's head turns toward me, his lips curving into a warm smile. "Ayla Clermont," he says, "It's nice to finally meet you."

"Nice to meet you too." I smile, my hand reaching out to shake his.

"I'm surprised you came," Harry says, his eyes flicking between Kendall and I. "Kendall says you're not really into parties."

"I mean, it's not that I don't like them," I explain with a shrug. "I just don't see the appeal."

Harry's jaw drops, and he turns to Kendall in mock disbelief before looking back at me. "How do you not find this..." he asks, as he gestures around the penthouse. "Appealing?"

Before I can respond, someone slaps Harry's back hard, and he turns around, his body blocking whoever he's talking to.

"Thanks, man. How are you enjoying it?" the voice asks smoothly.

I glance at Kendall, who shrugs. She probably can't see the person in front of Harry either.

"Ouch, dude, that hurt," Harry replies, rubbing his shoulder theatrically. He then gestures around the party with a grin. "But yeah, this shit is awesome."

"Sick," the voice responds casually.

And then, without warning, Harry blurts, "Have you met my girlfriend?" He steps aside, revealing the mystery man behind him.

The moment our eyes lock, it feels like the air vanishes from the room. My chest tightens, and for a second, I forget how to breathe. It's almost ridiculous how one man can seem so unreal.

"Yo, Zayn?" Harry's voice cuts through the silence, his brows drawing together.

Of course, I know who he is. Who wouldn't? He's Zayn Malik—the type of person who makes headlines without even lifting a finger.

He's also exactly the kind of person Chandler would warn me to stay far, far away from.

Harry's gives Zayn a weird glance as he continues, "Anyways, Zayn, this is Kendall, my girlfriend."

Zayn finally breaks eye contact, his gaze shifting away from mine and landing on Kendall. His expression is polite, composed, but his eyes flicker back to me every few seconds.

"And to your left," Harry continues with a grin, gesturing in my direction, "is Ayla."

Zayn's gaze snaps back to mine, and for a moment, the room feels impossibly small again.

"Zayn, this is Ayla," Harry says, introducing the two of us. "Ayla, this is Zayn. He's the host of this party."

Zayn's lips curl into the faintest of smiles, his eyes locking with mine. "Nice to meet you, Ayla," he says, holding out his hand.

"Nice to meet you too, Zayn." I manage to reply, taking his hand and shaking it. I tried to keep my voice steady, though my heart is thundering in my chest.

I curse at myself for being so awkward.

Zayn starts to say something, his lips parting, but before the words can reach me, a girl appears out of nowhere, cutting him off.

"Zayn, listen! It's your favorite song. " she exclaims, wrapping her arms around his neck in a way that feels both casual and overly familiar. "Come dance with me."

Zayn turns to her. He offers her a tight-lipped smile, but the kind that doesn't quite reach his eyes, and lets her pull him away. But just as she tugs him into the throng of people, Zayn glances back at me one last time.

The moment lingers until Harry's voice breaks it with an amused snort. "And that fucker thinks it's weird to date 18-year-olds," he mutters to himself, laughing under his breath which made me furrow my eyebrows.

Kendall hits Harry's arm, to which Harry responds with an exaggerated wince.

I think back to Zayn, the way he looked at me leaving an imprint I can't shake. I've seen him online, of course, and listened to a few of his songs. He's practically my opposite—tattoos covering his skin, a singer, and probably a huge partier. Hell, this is his party.

Then I wonder if he knew me. I was praying he didn't. Not that I'm embarrassed about being a ballerina—I just don't want him to see the kind of hate I get.

I don't know why I'm thinking about him. I shouldn't. And as Chandler always says, "Boys are the epitome of distraction."

"Ayla?" A voice pulls me from my thoughts, and I look up to see Harry waving his hand in front of my face.

"Sorry," I rush out. "What were you saying?"

"It's fine," Harry says, leaning against Kendall. "Kendall and I are about to dominate at cup pong. You want in?" His arm slides around Kendall's waist as he speaks.

I don't really like cup pong. I've never played it before, but I know I'm going to suck and embarrass myself.

I shake my head, smiling faintly. "No, I'm good. You guys go have fun."

Kendall groans, studying my face. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure." I insist. "Seriously, go."

Kendall doesn't look entirely convinced, but she offers me a smile. Harry, on the other hand, ruffles my hair as though I'm a child. "It was nice meeting you, Ayla," he says casually before turning to follow Kendall.

.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

It's been 20 minutes since I got here, and I've managed to talk to a few people I know. The rest of the crowd keeps looking at me like I've got 10 heads. I even overheard someone say, "Isn't she freshly turned 18? What's she doing at party like this?"

I tried to ignore them, but it's hard. The whispers and stares are impossible to block out completely.

I noticed my water had run out, so I excused myself from the conversation with Olivia and walked over to the massive kitchen.

The kitchen island was stocked with a variety of drinks, but there wasn't a bottle of water in sight. I let out an annoyed laugh at the irony—and, well, because I was genuinely frustrated.

I scanned the drinks on the table and eventually found a bottle that looked like water. When I picked it up and twisted the cap off to smell it, I was immediately hit with the disgusting stench of vodka.

I crinkled my nose in disgust and quickly put the bottle back down, sighing in frustration.

"Not much of a drinker?"

I hear a voice behind me and turn around, finding myself face to face with Zayn.

"Sorry?" I ask, not hearing him properly over the loud music in the background. I glance at him, noticing he's holding a glass of whiskey in his hand.

"I said, you don't drink?"

"Oh." I chuckle, glancing around before meeting his gaze. Besides the fact that he's standing pretty close to me and he's the host of this party, he's pretty intimidating. "No, I don't."

Zayn hums and nods, then turns to the nearest sink, takes his glass, and pours the liquid out into it.

I watch him with my brows furrowed. "You didn't have to do that. I don't mind when other people drink."

"I know, I kind of just wanted an excuse to talk to you."

"Oh." I say, chuckling nervously as I clasp my fingers behind my back, trying to avoid Zayn's intense gaze.

"So, I heard you're a ballerina."

Fuck.

"Yeah," I say, finally meeting Zayn's gaze. His eyes don't leave mine, which feels surprisingly intense.

"That's cool," he says. "My sisters watched you in Giselle."

I smile, thinking back to that performance. It was the first time I had the lead, and even though the practices were some of the toughest moments of my life, it was all worth it when I finally stepped on stage.

"Do they do ballet?" I inquire, my face lighting up.

"God, no, they just like watching it." Zayn snorts. He paused for a moment before speaking again. "They called you pretty."

His comment catches me off guard. I blink, then smile slightly, trying to shake off the surprise. "Well, tell them I said thank you. How old are they?"

"Well, I have one older sister, Doniya—she's just a year older than me. Then there's Waliyha, who's 14, and Safaa, who's 10," Zayn explained. "But Safaa's your biggest fan, though."

"Really?" I laugh.

"Yeah, she kept saying you were pretty, which I can't disagree with."

I try to suppress a smile, biting my lip.

Then I suddenly snap back to reality.

What am I doing?

Chandler's words echo in my mind: "Boys are the epitome of distraction". I internally facepalm myself. The moment I started earning Chandler's trust, I go behind his back, disobey him, attend a party, and end up talking to a guy.

Which is Zayn Malik—the exact type of guy Chandler warned me about.

"Ayla, you okay?" Zayn's voice snaps me out of my thoughts.

I look up and nod, but I slowly take a step back from him. He notices, and his expression shifts to one of confusion.

"Is it something I did?" he asks, taking a step forward but quickly realizing it was the wrong move and stepping back to his previous spot.

"I... I just can't," I exhale, rubbing my temple with my hand.

Zayn blinks, his expression shifting to a mix of confusion and disappointment. "Why not?"

I let out another exhale, debating whether I should tell him or not. After a moment, I decide I should—he'll understand, and then I'll have a valid reason to never speak to him again.

"My instructor, Chandler, says I shouldn't get distracted with boys right now. Especially with performances coming up and everything. He thinks it'll interfere with my ability."

His face instantly hardens at the mention of Chandler, and I can't help but wonder if he knows him.

"You're really letting someone—someone like him—dictate your life?" he says, his voice laced with disgust.

"He's my instructor," I correct him, my voice raising a bit in defensiveness.

Zayn lets out a humorless chuckle. "Don't you fucking read articles about yourself? How do you not notice that the bastard is taking advantage of you? It seems like everyone knows except for you."

My face hardens at his words. Well, I guess he does know me. I thought he was going to be understanding, but no, he's not. This—this was the reason why I didn't want to get involved in anything like this.

Zayn suddenly lets out a breath and runs a hand down his face. "I didn't mean—"

Then I say the thing I wanted to say the second those words came out of his mouth.

"Fuck you."

I look at him one last time. He's biting the inside of his cheek as he slowly nods. I quickly storm away from him, trying my best to find Kendall in the crowd of people.

I finally spot her standing next to Harry on the balcony, where everyone is laughing and playing cup pong. As much as it pains me to snatch Kendall away from him, I really want to leave, and we came in her car.

Kendall spotted me before I even reached her, quickly wiggling out of Harry's grasp and walking toward me.

"What happened?" she asked, her eyebrows furrowing.

"Can we leave?" I mumbled, my gaze scanning the party. It was the only thing I wanted to do right now—leave.

"Yeah, of course, I was getting bored too," Kendall says with a laugh, though I know it's a lie—she's just trying to make me feel better. She slips her hand into her pocket, rummaging around before pulling out the keys. "Okay, let me just say bye to Harry, and then we'll head out."

I nod, and Kendall turns around to walk over to Harry. I stand off to the side, waiting for her to come back.

A few moments later, I hear that same voice—the one that led to me leaving in the first place.

"Ayla..." Zayn's voice cuts through the noise of the party, but my back is still turned.

Kendall finishes saying goodbye to Harry and walks over to me. She looks behind me, furrowing her eyebrows, "Hey, Zayn. What are you—"

Before she can finish, I grab her arm and speed walk towards the elevator, eager to leave everything behind.

"What was that for?" Kendall asks, her face puzzled. "Zayn was calling for you."

I let out a frustrated huff as we reach the elevator and press the button, watching the doors close.

"Well, Zayn's a bitch."

©𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐞