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The studio lights are brighter than I expected. Not warm and flattering like podcast ring lights. Harsh. Surgical. Like I've accidentally stumbled into an operating theater, and my dignity's on the table.

I scan the crowd. Mostly men. Of course. Every other seat is occupied by a dude in a fitted blazer, Zayne disciple energy radiating from their pores. I spot one guy in a flat cap who looks like he microdoses and blames feminism for it.

And then Adrian Zayne strolls in, reeking of a four-figure cologne and main character syndrome.

Every woman glances. Every man clocks him. He doesn’t just enter a room—he adjusts the gravity.

Adrian looks at me and smiles.

My stomach flips. Not a crush. Just my nervous system confusing performance aggression with a mating call. Again.

And then it hits me—he’s doing it. The Look.

I’ve seen it in his videos. Heard the script.

“Look at a woman like she’s already yours.”

And damn it, it works.

Just for a second.

I feel myself reacting—back straightening, pulse skipping—like my body forgot I hate him.

Then I snap out of it so fast I’m amazed I don’t get whiplash. Nope. Not today. Not me.

“Emily,” he says, taking the seat next to me with relaxed grace .

“Adrian,” I reply. My inner critic is already pacing in heels, whispering, Don’t let him get under your skin. It’s oiled and slippery down there.

The host leans into the mic like he’s unveiling a new iPhone.

“Up next, we’ve got two powerhouse voices in the modern dating space. First up—he’s the bestselling author of The Zayne Method , host of a viral podcast, and the man behind the ‘Iron Mind’ movement—please welcome the one and only Adrian Zayne!”

Adrian gets a loud cheer. Of course he does. These guys have practically memorized his viral videos. They quote him on Reddit. Probably give each other high-fives for using his lines like they’re cheat codes for real life.

“And representing the ladies tonight, she’s the founder of Let Me Finish podcast, and a voice of reason for women navigating modern love—give it up for women’s dating coach and speaker, Ms. Emily Parrish!

I blink. Did he just call me a dating coach?

I lean toward the mic. “Just to clarify—I don’t coach women on dating. I help women figure out what they actually want—then decide if the guy deserves to be part of that picture.”

“I see,” the host says, blinking. Adrian immediately jumps in:

“So... are you single, Ms. Parrish?”

I stare at him, caught between a laugh and a lawsuit.

This isn’t a date. It’s not a panel about my love life. But somehow, the question always circles back, like a drunk at karaoke who keeps requesting the same song .

I turn towards Adrian. “I am—unless this panel ends in a marriage proposal. Otherwise, I’d prefer we stick to the topic.”

A few laughs. One woman near the front claps, loudly. I want to buy her a drink.

Adrian tilts his head, smiling like I just asked him out.

“Well, in that case, I’ll do my best to stay charming. Wouldn’t want to ruin my odds.”

I blink slowly. “Don’t worry. I did the math before I came.”

More laughter. Adrian gives a little mock bow.

The host clears his throat, trying to steer us back to the “discussion” part of this discussion.

“Right. So, let’s dive in—Adrian, tell us what you think is going wrong in modern dating.”

Adrian opens with his Greatest Hits.

“Men are lied to constantly. We’re told to be soft, vulnerable, empathetic—until the woman you're dating loses interest and sleeps with someone who texts her at 2 a.m.”

Applause. A guy in row four turns beet red.

Adrian Zayne is halfway through his manifesto and already looks like he’s auditioning to be the next Bachelor —if the Bachelor trauma-bonded via lightly coded misogyny. But a few women in the audience still gaze at him with swoony eyes. Honestly, betrayal on every front.

“To put it bluntly,” he says, flashing that godforsaken smirk, “eighty percent of women want twenty percent of men. It’s not about love—it’s about math.”

The crowd loves it. They eat it up like they’re watching a man explain the stock market to someone holding a PhD in economics. Which, coincidentally, isn’t far off from what’s happening .

I glance at the moderator. He gives me the nod—the your turn, sweetie nod. The one they give women right before sending them into war without body armor.

I adjust the mic and smile like I’m about to recite a bedtime story—with knives.

“What Adrian is describing isn’t a dating problem. It’s a branding problem. Men want credit for downloading empathy but never actually install the updates.”

There are some chuckles. Mostly women. Adrian raises an eyebrow like he’s letting me cook.

“We’re not rejecting you because you’re nice. We’re rejecting you because you’re nice like a job interview—polished, practiced, and trying to lowball us into thirty percent below the market.”

That lands. A few gasps. Adrian paces once, slow and deliberate, like he’s letting the silence marinate. Then he pivots, both palms raised like he’s offering a trade deal with the gods of enlightened masculinity.

“So what’s the fix? Let women run everything until men evolve into golden retrievers with bank accounts?”

“If your only options are alpha predator or golden retriever, maybe sit out the next evolutionary cycle.”

Laughter ripples.

Adrian presses a hand to his chest in mock offense.

“You wound me, Emily. I thought we were building rapport.”

“You don’t build rapport,” I fire back. “You run the playbook, then blame us for noticing it’s scripted.”

Adrian leans in like we’re at a dinner party no one else was invited to .

“So what do women want?”

“We want a partner, not a project. Ideally one who doesn’t quote Reddit like it’s peer-reviewed science.”

He nods, mock-serious. “So . . . not me, then.”

“Wow. You're catching up.”

Adrian leans back, hands up. “I surrender. You’re dangerous.”

“Only to men who fear the phrase we need to talk. ”

I smile like I’m offering dessert and a trap.

Adrian smirks back. “Is that for boyfriends, or do your male colleagues make the list too?”

“If they’ve ever interrupted me to say the same thing I just said—yes.”

Twenty minutes later, the segment ends. The lights dim.

We stand. I feel my knees shake—not from nerves, but from the sheer effort of staying balanced in a room where gravity favors him.

He turns to me. “You were good. Really. Just... you know. A little preachy.”

I smile. “And you were charming. Just... you know. Completely full of shit.”

He gives me a wink. “Admit it. You had fun.”

“Let’s call it a character-building experience.”

He grins. “Drinks after?”

I shake my head, biting back a smile. “I’d rather go out with the guy in row four. At least he blushed—like someone who still has a conscience.”

Adrian shrugs. “He’s probably in your DMs already. Starts with ‘You’re not like other girls’ and ends with a podcast link.”

I laugh despite myself .

He holds out his hand. “No hard feelings?”

I tuck mine behind my back. “Oh, all the hard feelings. But I’ll save them for my girlies group chat.”

He walks off looking entirely too pleased with himself.

I resist the urge to trip him. Barely.