Chapter 5: The Hidden Truth
The morning sun peeked through the gauzy curtains of Elira's room, casting golden patterns across the floor. But warmth had no place in her chest. Not after what she had read.
She sat on the edge of her bed, still dressed in yesterday's clothes, the creased letter clutched in her trembling hands. Her heart pounded like a war drum.
The letter wasn't addressed to her—it was to Zayn. But it revealed things that Elira was never supposed to know.
Zayn's coldness toward her wasn't only rooted in their arranged marriage. It went deeper, tangled in secrets and wounds she didn't yet understand. And now, she wasn't sure whether to confront him or stay silent.
She glanced at the mirror across the room. Her reflection was pale, eyes tired, lips pressed into a thin line. She barely recognized herself anymore.
Downstairs, the distant sound of footsteps echoed in the quiet mansion. She forced herself to stand, every step toward the truth heavier than the last.
***
Zayn sat at the dining table, flipping through the financial section of the newspaper. He looked up briefly as Elira entered. "You're up early."
"So are you," she replied coolly, her voice sharper than she intended.
He raised an eyebrow. "Didn't sleep?"
"Not really." She pulled out the chair across from him and sat down. "I found something."
Zayn stiffened. "What do you mean?"
Wordlessly, she placed the letter on the table between them. His eyes darkened instantly. He didn't reach for it—he didn't need to. He already knew what it said.
"I found it in the old study," Elira said. "I wasn't snooping. I just—"
"You shouldn't have read it," Zayn interrupted, his voice calm but cold.
"I had every right to. It concerns *us*, doesn't it?" she replied, trying to hold his gaze.
A long silence stretched between them. Zayn finally leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly.
"That letter is from my father. Written before he passed," he said, voice quieter now. "He wanted me to marry you. It was his last wish. Not for love, but for legacy."
Elira's throat tightened. "I figured. But why did you hate me for it? It wasn't *my* choice either."
Zayn stood and walked to the window, his back to her. "Because you reminded me of how little control I had. My father planned everything. My career. My marriage. My entire life. And I resented you for being a part of it."
His confession sliced through her like glass. But it was honest. Raw.
She rose from her seat and approached him. "I lost control too, Zayn. My family needed saving, and marrying you was the only option I had. Don't you think I felt the same?"
He turned toward her slowly. For once, the anger in his eyes wasn't directed at her—it was toward himself.
"I never hated *you*, Elira," he admitted. "I hated what you represented. But I see now that I never really *looked* at you."
A lump formed in Elira's throat. "Then maybe it's time you start."
They stood there in silence, just a breath apart, the walls between them showing their first cracks.
***
Later that day, Elira wandered through the Lancaster estate gardens. The air was crisp, and the flowers looked as if they were holding their breath—like even nature waited to see what would happen next.
She found Lyra sitting on the stone bench near the fountain, sketching as usual.
"You look like you didn't sleep," Lyra said gently, glancing up.
"I didn't," Elira admitted, sitting beside her.
Lyra closed her sketchbook. "You talked to Zayn?"
Elira nodded. "He finally opened up. A little. It's the first time he didn't look at me like I was just... a contract."
Lyra smiled faintly. "He's stubborn. But he's not heartless."
"Do you think he'll ever feel something for me?" Elira asked quietly, surprising even herself with the vulnerability in her voice.
Lyra reached over and gently squeezed her hand. "If he doesn't, he's a fool."
***
That evening, the mansion was unusually quiet. Elira stood at her bedroom window, watching as the sky turned from blue to burnt orange. A knock at her door startled her.
It was Zayn.
"I was wondering if we could talk," he said, eyes soft.
She opened the door wider to let him in. "About what?"
He hesitated before walking in. "About us."
They sat down on the small sofa near the fireplace.
"I don't want to keep treating you like a stranger," he said. "But I don't know how to undo the damage I've already done."
Elira looked at him, heart aching. "Then let's not try to erase the past. Let's start fresh."
He nodded slowly. "Alright. Fresh."
"Maybe even... friends?" she offered with a small smile.
Zayn chuckled. "Friends. That's a start."
They sat there for a long time, talking about everything except the pain between them. And for the first time since their wedding, the air between them felt light.
Like maybe, just maybe, something real could grow from the brokenness.
And in the corner of her heart, Elira allowed herself the smallest spark of hope.