Tethered Hearts

There was something uniquely humiliating about being escorted into a boardroom like a corporate prisoner, especially when you were wearing vintage Chanel and had your name trending on Twitter for all the wrong reasons. Aamira had done a lot of uncomfortable things as a celebrity, but nothing had prepared her for this. The door to the glass-walled room shut behind her with an almost final click. Aamira straightened her spine, slipping her phone into her clutch and adjusting the sleeves of her satin blouse. She wasn't going to let them see even a flicker of discomfort. Not him. Not his father. And definitely not the PR team waiting to smooth out the mess her life had become over the last seventy-two hours. Across the room, sitting like he owned the air she breathed, was Zaydan Khalid. Billionaire. CEO. Unbothered. And annoyingly unreadable. He didn't even look up from the file he was flipping through, his sharp jaw clenched in thought. His suit was the kind of dark grey that cost more than most people's rent. Everything about him screamed control; his posture, his watch, the precise way he took a sip of black coffee like it was fuel and not a beverage. God, she hated him already. "Aamira," his father greeted with forced warmth. "Thank you for coming on such short notice." "Not like I had a choice, Uncle Kareem," she said with a sugar-sweet smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Getting ambushed by your father isn't something I schedule, but here we are." aydan finally looked up. His eyes-cold, calculated-met hers without flinching. "You're late." "I like to make an entrance." "No one was impressed." "Speak for yourself," she shot back. Uncle Kareem cleared his throat. "Children-" "We're not children," Zaydan said, folding his hands neatly on the table. "But she's acting like one." Aamira's eyes narrowed. "If I wanted condescension, I'd read your interviews." "Good. Then you've done your research." He gave her a razor-sharp smile. "Makes this easier." She blinked. "What makes this easier?" The air shifted. Aamira felt it in her gut, like standing at the edge of a cliff, knowing the fall was inevitable. Uncle Kareem stood and pulled out a thick manila folder, sliding it across the table to her. "Your father and I agreed years ago-" "No." She stood up, pushing the chair back. "No way. You're not serious." "It was signed when you were sixteen." "I was sixteen. I didn't even know what taxes were." "And now you're twenty-four, at the center of a scandal," Zaydan said smoothly. "Your brand is suffering. Sponsors are pulling out. A marriage alliance with Khalid Holdings would fix that image overnight." Aamira stared at him, incredulous. "And what about you? What do you get from this circus?" Zaydan leaned back in his chair, expression unreadable. "Peace of mind. Board approval. And my mother off my back about finding a wife." "You make it sound so romantic." He raised an eyebrow. "Isn't this the life you signed up for? Lights, cameras, deals?" She opened her mouth-and closed it again. Because he was right. Her image was bleeding. The leaked photos, the headlines, the accusations. It wasn't even her fault, but the damage was done. This marriage would put her back on top. It would rebrand her as elegant, mature, respectable. It would wipe her slate clean. And she hated that it made sense. Still, she crossed her arms. "So what? You marry me, parade me at events, and then we live in separate wings of your glass palace?" "Something like that," Zaydan said. "I don't need affection, Aamira. I need order." "And I need PR repair, not a lifetime contract." Uncle Kareem interrupted gently. "We're not asking you to stay forever. One year. After that, if you want out, it's clean and mutual." Zaydan nodded. "Twelve months. No emotions. Just business." Aamira hesitated. Then, quietly: "And what if someone falls in love?" Zaydan smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "You won't." Her stomach twisted, not from hope, but from challenge. That smug certainty, that dismissive confidence; it made her want to throw her clutch at him. "Don't worry," she said, voice cold. "You're not my type anyway." He stood, buttoning his jacket. "Good. Then we won't have to pretend." Aamira signed the contract the next morning. Not out of desperation. Not because she believed in it. But because she refused to let Zaydan Khalid win. If she had to spend a year in the same space as him, she'd do it on her terms. This wouldn't be a love story. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But it was the beginning of something. A battle. A deal. A stage set for war in suits and heels. And in her world, battles were just another way to steal the spotlight. And when she got home that night, she stared blankly at her phone, at her scandals charting the top headlines and for the first time in a long while, her thoughts were full. Of him. The stranger in the suit. However, it wasn't the usual sweet and flustering thoughts, but sheer loathing. She hated the thought of getting married and worse of all, having to live with the egoistic arrogant Zaydan for one year. She muttered curses under her breath and sighed, resigning to fate.