Hajara's POV
I hated it when Sofia cried.
Not the cute, dramatic movie cry with a single tear and romantic piano playing in the background. No — I'm talking about the kind that makes your chest tighten and your own eyes sting because someone you love is breaking and there's nothing you can do to glue them back together.
That's the cry I watched last night.
Sofia had curled up like a hurt kitten in her ridiculously expensive engagement dress, eyes swollen, cheeks blotched, makeup smeared across her skin like war paint from a battle she never signed up for. She didn't deserve any of it — not the betrayal, not the lies, not the forced marriage to a man she didn't even choose.
She cried herself to sleep on my shoulder. And I didn't leave.
Not because I'm some superhero best friend — please, I don't even do cardio — but because I couldn't leave. Not when that mansion of hers was filled with cold walls and colder people. I was afraid they'd hurt her again if I blinked. So I stayed. I watched over her like a mama hawk. A fashionable, sarcastic, slightly-judgy mama hawk.
Her room was quiet now, just the sound of her soft breaths and the occasional twitch of her fingers. Even in her sleep, she looked like she was fighting something — maybe the world, maybe herself.
I looked at her for a long time, my heart heavy and my fists clenched.
"Damn that old man of Amari," I muttered under my breath.
If my dad ever tried half of what Sofia's father did to her, let's just say… he'd be in the ICU sipping blended plantain through a straw. Not that I'd actually lay hands on my dad — but my imagination is very creative. And dark. Real dark.
I glanced at Sofia again and made a decision.
She wasn't going to wake up in this place again. Not if I had anything to say about it.
---
Sneaking her out was easier than I expected. Carrying a full-grown woman down three flights of marble stairs would normally be a problem, but who said anything about stairs?
I opened the balcony doors, took one look at the drop, and smiled.
Challenge accepted.
Sofia didn't even stir when I picked her up, wrapped in her silky pajamas and sadness. I jumped from the third-floor balcony, landed like a feather on the grass (okay, more like a very determined watermelon), and tiptoed across the lawn like a ninja with a mission.
Not one guard saw me.
If being the daughter of a diplomat didn't work out, maybe I'd have a future in espionage. Or circus acrobatics.
---
By the time Sofia woke up, we were back in my cozy apartment — the one with actual warmth and not just Instagram aesthetics. The curtains were drawn, a soft scented candle was burning on the table, and I'd made hot chocolate with extra whipped cream (because therapy, duh).
She stirred, blinked, and sat up like a confused squirrel.
"Wait… what— where—" Her eyes scanned the room, wild and panicked, until they landed on me.
I smiled from where I sat cross-legged on the couch. "Welcome to Hotel Hajara. All trauma survivors get free breakfast and emotional support sarcasm."
Sofia stared. "Did you… kidnap me?"
I took a dramatic sip of my cocoa. "Yes. Yes, I did. While you were sleeping. Carried you like a damsel in distress straight out of that toxic palace."
She blinked again.
"And now," I added, "I'm going to marry you."
That made her laugh.
Just a small one — a tiny curl of her lips, a sparkle in her tired eyes — but it was enough to make my heart bloom like it was spring inside me.
"There she is," I whispered.
She tucked her knees under her chin. "You really kidnapped me?"
"Yup."
"And jumped from a balcony?"
"With grace and athleticism Beyoncé would envy."
Sofia shook her head, laughing softly. "You're insane."
"I know." I handed her a mug of cocoa. "But I'm the kind of insane that saves your life, so you're stuck with me."
---
We sat in silence for a while, just sipping chocolate and pretending life wasn't falling apart outside those walls. For the first time in days, she looked at peace — or at least, not like she was drowning.
But peace only lasts so long with curious fingers and working Wi-Fi.
"I told you not to check your phone," I warned when I saw her reaching for it.
"I just want to see what—"
"The headlines are brutal, Sof. They'll chew you up and spit you out. Don't—"
But it was too late.
She tapped her screen, and the world unfolded in cruel headlines:
"Heiress Amari Ditches Fiancé Zayn Voss for Mysterious Brother at Scandalous Engagement Party!"
"Who is the Masked Man? Social Media Speculates After Viral Kiss Shocks City A."
"Voss Family Silent on Engagement Disaster — Sources Claim Secret Marriage Took Place!"
She scrolled. And scrolled. Her expression unreadable. Until—
She laughed.
I stared. "You okay? Or should I call a doctor because you're definitely having a breakdown."
She giggled again, then looked at me with teary eyes and a grin. "This is what it feels like…"
"What?"
She leaned back against the pillows. "To do what I want. To not care. To feel free."
My heart melted into mush. "Sofia Amari, ladies and gentlemen, finally breathing for herself."
She wiped her eyes. "Do you know how long I've lived under my father's rules? My family's expectations? Even Zayn — he wasn't a choice, he was an assignment."
"And Khalid?"
She blinked. "Khalid was a mistake."
I raised an eyebrow.
"But… maybe the only mistake that didn't feel like a cage."
Now that was interesting.
---
The rest of the day was a blur of snacks, gossip, and watching Sofia slowly return to herself. She wore my hoodie, ate two bowls of jollof rice, and made fun of my ancient playlist like she hadn't just been betrayed by half the city.
But behind her smiles, I saw the cracks.
She still hadn't processed everything. The kiss. The marriage. The betrayal. The cold, unreadable man she now shared a last name with. Khalid Voss.
If you ask me, he's hot. But also scary. Like, Batman vibes but with less talking and more brooding. He gives silent storm energy — the kind of guy who could burn a building down with one look and then deny it with a straight face.
And the worst part?
Sofia can't stop thinking about him.
I see it in her eyes. The way she zones out. The way her fingers twitch like she's remembering something that shouldn't matter but does.
A kiss at her own engagement party.
A stranger in a mask.
A name on a marriage certificate she didn't ask for.
Yeah, this isn't over. Not even close.
---
Later that night, I caught her staring out the window, moonlight painting silver shadows across her face.
"Are you okay?" I asked.
She nodded slowly. "Just… wondering if he regrets it."
"Khalid?"
She didn't answer.
And that was answer enough.
---
Let's just say this:
The Amari princess might be free for now, but this story?
It's just getting started.
And if anyone thinks I'm going to let her fight this war alone, they clearly haven't met Hajara.