The next morning, Zara awoke to silence.
No maids. No movement. Just the heavy stillness of the Alhassan mansion pressing against her skin like a second layer.
She sat up in bed, her head still spinning from last night's events. Rami's warning, Ameer's threat, the folder she never got to read—it all churned inside her like a storm waiting to break.
She dressed quickly in a cream blouse and fitted jeans—nothing flashy, just enough to feel like herself again.
Downstairs, the dining table was already set, gleaming under the golden lights. Ameer sat at the head, sipping black coffee like a man who hadn't just threatened his wife the night before.
"Good morning, Mrs. Alhassan," he said without looking at her.
She ignored the mockery in his voice and sat opposite him.
A long pause.
Then he added, "You'll be attending a charity gala with me tonight. Wear something red."
Zara blinked. "I don't remember agreeing to play dress-up."
"You married me," Ameer said, his eyes finally meeting hers. "You agreed to everything that comes with it. Including appearances."
"Is this about showing off your latest trophy?" she snapped.
He smiled, sipping his coffee. "If you behave, you might become my favorite one."
Zara stood up, her hands trembling with fury. "You know what, Ameer? I may be wearing your ring, but you don't own me."
He stood slowly, his calm slipping. "I own this house. I own your father's freedom. And whether you like it or not—you belong to me now."
The room crackled with tension.
She didn't back down. "You may have married me, Ameer. But you'll never have me."
A cruel smile tugged at his lips. "We'll see."
---
That evening, a stylist was sent to her room with a custom red gown. It fit perfectly—off-shoulder, satin, with a slit that reached dangerously high. Ameer wanted her to look like arm candy, but she would use his game against him.
If she had to be seen as his wife, she'd make sure the world looked twice—and remembered her face.
When she came downstairs, Ameer's eyes widened for a split second. Just one flicker. Then the mask returned.
"You clean up well," he said quietly, offering his arm.
Zara didn't take it.
At the gala, flashing lights, wine glasses, and whispers filled the air. All eyes turned as they walked in.
The power couple. The perfect lie.
Zara smiled at the cameras, but her mind was elsewhere—searching, scanning for clues.
And then she saw him.
Rami, across the ballroom, watching her with that same amused look. But this time, he wasn't alone.
Beside him stood a woman… and she looked exactly like Ameer's late ex-fiancée.
Zara's smile faded.
Was she seeing a ghost?
Or had Ameer's secrets just gotten deeper?