CHAPTER EIGHT
968 Words
*ZARA’S POV*
The phone rang just after breakfast. I was still sitting in the kitchen, staring at the untouched toast Zayd had placed in front of me before disappearing into his study again like always.
“Mom” lit up on the screen.
I hesitated. I hadn’t spoken to them since the wedding day. Since I came back to this big, cold house, with its quiet hallways and a husband who gave me a separate room like we were polite strangers, not newlyweds.
I took a deep breath and answered.
“Hi, Mom.”
“My beautiful bride!” Her voice was bright and full of excitement. I could hear Dad laughing in the background. “How’s everything? How was your first night as a married woman?” she added teasingly.
My stomach twisted.
I gave a small, practiced laugh. “Everything’s fine, Mom.”
“You sound so shy! That must mean it went really well,” she chuckled. “Your dad and I were just saying we want to invite some family over for a post-wedding dinner. Nothing big, just something casual this Friday.”
Friday.
I glanced toward the hallway, where Zayd’s study door remained firmly shut. How was I supposed to explain this dinner to him?
“That sounds nice,” I said quickly. “I’ll talk to Zayd and let you know.”
“And Zayd? Is he treating you well?”
I swallowed. “Yes… he’s respectful. We’re still adjusting.”
“Aww,” she sighed. “I’m glad. You sound so grown-up, Zara. This marriage is going to shape you in ways you can’t imagine.”
I smiled faintly.
After the call, I leaned back in my chair and stared at the ceiling. Everyone thought I was living a dream.
But I am pretending.
Pretending to be happy.
Pretending I am in love.
Pretending that I ain't sleeping in a completely different room from my own husband.
And now, I had to keep up the act at a family dinner where everyone would be watching.
I stood up slowly from the dining chair, the silence pressing against me like a second skin. The toast was still there. .....untouched, just like my heart in this marriage. I carried the plate to the sink, not because I was hungry, but because I needed something to do. Anything to keep me from overthinking.
Why did I agree to this?
Was it the pressure? The illusion of being chosen? The fairy tale I painted in my head?
I wasn’t stupid. I knew love wasn’t always fireworks and roses. But this....this felt like a contract....it is a contract!. I don't know what I am supposed to feel. I have never been in a relationship before, and now I am someone’s wife.
A wife with a separate bedroom.
A husband who gave me rules instead of affection.
And now, a dinner where I’d have to smile and lie through my teeth.
I walked to my room ...my room, not ours...and closed the door quietly behind me. I dropped my phone on the bed and stared at the wall. I hated this feeling. This longing. Not even for love, necessarily. Just to feel seen. Acknowledged. Like I mattered.
Because the truth was, I ain't used to this.
All my life, I've always been admired. Respected. Protected.
But now I am living with a man who looks at me like I am a problem he hadn’t figured out how to solve yet.
And the worst part?
I thought I could just endure. Ignore him, do my thing, and wait out the six months like we agreed. But it isn't that easy. Because this is my first romantic anything . First commitment. First… heartbreak, if I am being honest with myself.
And I don't even know what I am doing wrong.
Am I not attractive enough for him? Not interesting? Am I too naive, too soft, too… Zara?
My eyes burned, but I blinked the tears away. I ain't going to cry over a man who couldn’t be bothered to look at me.
But I can't help but wonder…
If he doesn't want me....truly want me ,then why did he marry me?
Am I a placeholder?
I don't have answers.
It started with the sound of the doorbell.
I glanced at the time...2:17 PM. Zayd had left since morning but he would never ring the door bell to enter his own house , and the house had slipped into its usual silence. So when the door rang again, I hesitated before heading downstairs.
I opened it slowly.
Standing there was a tall, effortlessly handsome guyndark hair tousled like he hadn't bothered with a comb, sleeves rolled up casually, eyes a shade lighter than Zayd’s but still sharp. He looked at me, then blinked. Clearly surprised.
“Oh,” he said. “You’re… not the housekeeper.”
I almost laughed. “I’m not.”
He tilted his head, a slow smirk forming. “Let me guess ...Zayd's mysterious wife?”
My smile faded slightly. “Wife?yes ....mysterious? no...And you are?”
“Aiden. His half-brother. I’m guessing he doesn’t talk much about me.”
He stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, looking around like he owned the place. There was something about him relaxed but observant, playful but careful.
“Nice ,” he said. “Cold as always. He still keeps it at freezer level?”
I didn’t respond. I just folded my arms, unsure what to make of him.
He glanced at me again. “You look… young.”
“I'm nineteen.”
He raised a brow. “Right. And he’s what...twenty-four?” He snorted. “Sure.”
I felt my cheeks flush
Before I could respond, a voice echoed from the hallway behind us. “Aiden?”
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