Dinner with a Twist

Zaire’s POV

I’d been dreading this dinner for days. My mom, Kate, had been on my case non-stop about setting up a dinner with Tamara, her friend’s daughter. She insisted it would be a perfect opportunity for me to “meet” someone despite my making it clear multiple times that I wasn’t interested. But there was one thing my mom knew how to do—she knew how to get what she wanted.

When she called me that morning, she was practically beaming. “I’ve got everything set up for tonight,” she said with a sense of finality. “It’ll be a nice, quiet evening. Just the family and Tamara. You’ll see, Zaire. She’s perfect for you.”

I could feel the stress in my chest, but I knew there was no way out of it. I wasn’t about to disappoint her, so I reluctantly agreed.

As soon as I walked into the dining room, I could feel the atmosphere was off. There was tension in the air, thick as smoke. Mom had set the table beautifully—crystal glasses, polished silverware—but it wasn’t the decor that made me uneasy. It was the fact that Tamara was sitting there, smiling at me like she’d already won. And my mom, well, she had that knowing look in her eyes, like she was preparing to force something to happen.

I sat down next to Miyah, who was giving me a soft smile, but I could see the nervous energy radiating off her. I hated seeing her like this. She didn’t deserve any of it.

"Zaire," my mom started, her voice filled with sweetness, "I’m so glad you could join us tonight. I think tonight will be special for all of us. Tamara has so much to offer—she’s educated, successful, and a perfect match for you."

I could see Miyah stiffen beside me, her fingers tightening around her glass. I wanted to say something, but the moment my mom glanced at her, I knew things were about to take a turn.

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Miya's POV

I was doing my best to keep it together. I didn’t want to make a scene, especially not in front of Zaire’s family, but the way his mom was going on and on about Tamara—her “perfect match” for him—was making my blood boil.

I tried to focus on my food, but it was hard when I could feel her eyes on me, like she was sizing me up, comparing me to this perfect woman she’d put in front of Zaire. It didn’t help that Tamara was sitting there, throwing me fake smiles and glances, as if she had already won Zaire’s heart.

I wasn’t having it.

I took a deep breath, setting my fork down. I turned to Kate and spoke slowly, my voice laced with steel. “You’ve made your intentions very clear tonight, Mrs. Kingston. But let me make mine clear, too. Zaire and I have something real, something you clearly don’t understand. I’m not going anywhere. No matter how hard you try to push me out.”

Kate’s face faltered for a second, but she quickly masked it with a smile. “Oh, Miyah, I’m sure you do. But Zaire needs someone with a future, someone who can help him with his businesses. Someone who knows how to carry herself.”

My chest tightened, but I wasn’t going to let her disrespect me—not now, not ever.

“You don’t know me, Kate,” I said, my voice low but firm. “I’ve been through more than you can imagine. And I don’t need you to tell me who I am or what I’m capable of.”

I could feel the heat rising in my veins as I looked over at Zaire. He was staring at his mom, his jaw clenched, clearly upset by how this was going. But he didn’t speak up, so I did.

“Do you think this is how you’re going to get Zaire to choose her over me? By embarrassing me in front of everyone? Making me feel small while you praise her?” I turned to Tamara, who was sitting there, looking completely uncomfortable but trying to act like she belonged. “You think your presence is enough to break what Zaire and I have? You’re wasting your time.”

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Zaire’s POV

I couldn’t believe what was happening. My mom had pushed Miyah to the edge, and I could see it in her eyes. She was done playing nice, and I didn’t blame her. But what irritated me the most was that my mom was still trying to orchestrate something that wasn’t going to happen.

I wasn’t about to let her push Miyah around like this.

I stood up, slamming my hand on the table. The clink of the silverware startled everyone into silence.

“Miyah is my choice,” I said, my voice low and commanding. “And if you can’t respect that, then you’re going to have a serious problem with me, Mom.”

Kate’s eyes widened, her face blanching. “Zaire, you can’t be serious…”

“I am serious. This nonsense ends now. If you can’t accept Miyah, then we’ll have to reconsider how much time we spend together, period.”

My mom’s mouth hung open in shock, but I wasn’t done.

“Tamara,” I said, turning to her. “You’re a beautiful woman, but I’m not interested. Please respect that.”

Tamara nodded quickly, her face flushed. She hadn’t expected this turn of events, and I could see the relief on Miyah’s face as she relaxed beside me.

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Miya's POV

I couldn’t believe Zaire had just said that. He stood up for me, right there in front of everyone. And it wasn’t just about the words; it was the way he said it. The conviction in his voice told me everything I needed to know. He wasn’t backing down. Not for anyone.

I stood up, too, and walked over to him, wrapping my arms around his waist. For the first time in a long while, I felt like I was where I belonged.

“Thank you,” I whispered in his ear.

Zaire looked down at me, his hand resting gently on my back. “I meant it, Miyah. You’re the one I want. Don’t let anyone make you feel otherwise.”

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Kate’s POV

I couldn’t believe my ears. Zaire had just threatened to cut me off for defending what he wanted. My son, the one I’d raised and fought for, was choosing her over everything I had envisioned for him.

But as I looked at them—Zaire standing tall and confident, Miyah by his side, completely unbothered by the drama I had tried to stir up—I realized something.

Maybe I had been wrong.

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Zaire’s POV

The dinner ended on a tense note, but I didn’t care. Miyah and I left the table together, hand in hand. As we walked out, I could feel my mother’s eyes burning into my back, but I didn’t care. I had made my choice.

And I was done with the games.

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