Khalid'sPOV
I know what you're thinking.
I kissed her to ruin Zayn.
To steal what was his.
To get revenge.
Yeah, maybe that was the plan… once. Back when I thought Zayn was still the golden boy and I was just the shadow behind his shine. But the moment her lips brushed mine — even if it was soft and accidental and drunk on confusion — everything shifted.
That kiss?
That kiss woke up something I thought was dead.
You think I'm exaggerating?
I'm not.
Before Sofia, nothing worked. I'm talking numb. I'd been to specialists. Blood tests. Brain scans. Energy healers in Bali. My body just didn't respond to women — not physically, not emotionally, nothing.
But then this girl — this trembling mess of fire and confusion — pressed her lips to mine, and suddenly...I felt everything.
I didn't flinch.
I didn't pull away.
I didn't even breathe.
I just stood there like an idiot, heart slamming against my ribs like it was trying to break out of me. I felt alive for the first time in years.
So yeah.
Zayn lost her, but I didn't steal her.
She chose me — even if she didn't know it yet.
And the moment I saw that contract her father dumped on my desk — signed in her handwriting but clearly under duress — I knew I was going to sign it. Not because anyone could ever force me. C'mon, I'm Khalid Voss. I am the K.H Group. I own boardrooms and bury enemies with a single call.
But I signed it.
Not for business.
Not even for revenge.
I signed it because the moment my body reacted to her, she became mine.
My Mrs. Voss.
--
I don't do panic.
I don't do hesitation.
I don't chase.
But I stood outside that apartment door like a man waiting for judgment.
When she opened it — hoodie swallowing her frame, bare feet, hair messy like she just survived a hurricane — I knew I was in deeper than I admitted.
She looked at me like I was a stranger.
Correction: like I was the stranger who ruined her life.
Fair.
Still, it hit.
"Sofia," I said, keeping my voice steady.
Three syllables. That's all I could afford without unraveling.
"Can we talk?"
She didn't answer immediately, but the way her eyes darted, the way her fingers clutched the hem of that ridiculous hoodie — she was scared. Not of me. Of what I represented.
Marriage. Chaos. Change.
Me.
She let me in, barely. Her friend — Hajara, the one with the spine of steel — stared me down like I was a demon wearing Prada. When she threatened me with public exposure and malls, I almost smiled.
Almost.
Instead, I glanced at Sofia again. She mumbled, "She's being polite," and for a moment, I imagined a version of my life where that voice whispered sarcasm in my ear every morning.
Focus, Khalid.
I stayed standing.
Because this wasn't a visit.
It was a retrieval.
"I came to take you home," I said. Plain. Direct. Nothing soft about it — because softness wasn't safe for people like me. It made things leak out. Things better left buried.
She flinched slightly. "You mean your home."
I looked at her then — really looked. Pale. Tired. Brave in that stubborn, broken way.
"It's ours now," I said.
I meant it. Not romantically. Not even kindly. Just fact. From the moment I signed that contract, from the moment her lips touched mine, she became tethered to me in a way I couldn't explain.
She whispered, "I… I'm not ready."
"I'm not asking you to be."
But we both knew we couldn't keep hiding. Not with the media storm. Not with our families. Not with what was already done.
I glanced at Hajara. The tension between us eased slightly — maybe she saw the flicker of truth behind my eyes. Or maybe she was just giving me rope to hang myself with later.
"I'll give you a moment to change," I said, and walked out before I could say anything stupid.
---
Waiting in the hallway felt like waiting for trial. I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes.
I could still smell her.
Still see that look in her eyes.
Still hear the crack in her voice when she asked, "Then what are you?"
Hell if I knew.
I'd spent years building walls so thick, no one even knocked anymore. Not Zayn. Not my father. Not the board. Not the women I was supposed to want but never could touch.
Then she crashed in like a damn hurricane in bunny slippers.
---
When she finally stepped out, she was changed — in clothes, in posture, in fire.
Lilac top. Soft, delicate. Like the girl beneath the war paint. Her eyes didn't meet mine, but she still walked with purpose. No more hiding.
I opened the car door.
She didn't thank me. Didn't have to.
---
The ride was silent. I drove like I was threading a needle through the chaos of this city. She stared out the window like the sky had answers.
I couldn't take it anymore.
"I'm not your enemy," I said quietly.
She turned. "Then what are you?"
And for the first time in years, I didn't have an answer. Or rather, I had too many.
Someone broken.
Someone angry.
Someone who kissed you and hasn't stopped thinking about it since.
"Someone who didn't ask for this either," I said instead.
Wrong move.
She pulled back like I slapped her.
"Oh," she muttered, turning away again. "Good to know I'm not the only one forced into this marriage."
I wanted to scream. To explain. To tell her that I signed that contract not out of obligation — but because for once, I felt something.
Instead, I clenched my jaw and said nothing.
Silence is safer.
Silence doesn't betray you.
---
When we got to the penthouse, she looked surprised. I don't know what she expected — a cage? A cold marble box?
She stepped in cautiously, taking it all in.
I showed her the guest room. Her space. Her rules.
She looked at the note I left on the pillow.
You can sleep here. You don't owe me anything.
She didn't say a word. Just stared at it like it spoke louder than I ever could.
Truth is, I wanted to say more.
Wanted to tell her that if she asked me to burn the whole world down and start over, I would.
Wanted to tell her that she's the first storm that ever made me feel clean.
But instead, I said goodnight.
And walked away.
Before I could betray the ice I've lived inside for years.