Morning came wrapped in tension.
I was in the hallway, about to step into the study, when I heard voices inside.
Zayn's voice.
"I told you, this marriage is an arrangement," he said calmly. "Nothing more."
My steps froze.
"Then why does it look real?" the other voice asked.
"It only looks real," Zayn replied. "That's the point."
My chest tightened.
I should have walked away. I should have reminded myself of the contract, the rules, the distance he kept repeating.
But I stayed.
"I won't let emotions interfere," he continued. "I made that mistake once."
Once.
The word echoed painfully in my mind.
I backed away silently, my hands trembling. Every unspoken hope I had been holding onto cracked in that moment.
So this was it.
An act.
A performance.
Nothing more.
At breakfast, I sat across from him, quiet, distant.
"Is something wrong?" he asked, watching me carefully.
"No," I said without looking up. "Everything is… clear."
His brows furrowed slightly, but he didn't push.
Throughout the day, I kept my distance. No accidental touches. No shared glances. Just the perfect wife, playing her role flawlessly.
That evening, he finally stopped me near the stairs.
"You've been avoiding me."
I met his gaze, forcing calm into my voice. "I'm just following the rules."
"That's not what this is," he said.
"Isn't it?" I asked softly. "You said it yourself—this marriage is only an arrangement."
His expression changed.
"What did you hear?" he asked slowly.
"Enough," I replied.
Silence stretched between us, heavy and sharp.
"You heard part of it," he said. "Not all."
"But the part I heard," I whispered, "was enough to understand where I stand."
I walked past him before he could say more.
Behind me, he stood still.
For the first time, the distance between us wasn't forced.
It was chosen.
And that hurt more than any rule ever could.