Bound by fate

Chapter 4: A battle of wills

Noor sat on the grand sofa in Faizol’s mansion, her fingers tightly gripping the armrest as she watched the servants scurry about, setting up her room. The air inside the house was cold, both literally and figuratively. It was a vast, modern mansion, but the emptiness of it made her feel like she was stepping into an ice palace.

Faizol had disappeared into his study as soon as they arrived, not even sparing her a glance. Noor had expected resistance, but his absolute indifference was worse.

Fine, she thought, lifting her chin. I’m not here to seek his affection anyway.

She had made a choice—to marry the man who wanted nothing to do with her, all for the sake of her revenge. But she hadn’t expected it to feel this lonely.

Her phone buzzed. It was a message from her friend, Aisha.

Aisha: How’s the first night as Mrs. Faizol?

Noor: Like moving into a haunted house, except the ghost is very much alive and wants me gone.

Aisha sent back a laughing emoji. You sure you can handle this, Noor?

Noor exhaled. I have to.

Just then, one of the maids, a woman in her forties with a kind face, approached her. “Madam, dinner will be served soon. Would you like to change?”

Madam. The word made Noor pause. She wasn’t used to hearing it, and definitely not in reference to herself.

“No, I’m fine,” she said, standing. “Where’s Faizol?”

“He usually takes his meals in his study,” the maid replied hesitantly.

Noor frowned. “Not tonight.”

With determination, she strode toward the study. This was her home now. She wasn’t going to let Faizol pretend she didn’t exist.

She knocked once, then pushed the door open before waiting for permission.

Faizol was behind his large oak desk, his sleeves rolled up, deep in concentration over some documents. The dim lighting cast sharp shadows on his chiseled face. He looked up, his dark eyes narrowing.

“What do you want?” His voice was clipped, impatient.

“Dinner.” Noor folded her arms. “I assume you eat?”

“I’m busy.”

“So am I, but I still make time for necessities like food,” she shot back. “Look, I know you don’t want me here, but let’s get one thing straight—I’m your wife now. And as your wife, I expect at least the courtesy of sharing a meal.”

Faizol leaned back, studying her. His gaze was unreadable, but something flickered in his eyes—annoyance, maybe curiosity.

Then, to her surprise, he stood.

“Fine,” he said. “But don’t expect this to become a habit.”

She followed him to the dining hall, where the long table was set with an elaborate spread. Noor sat across from him, picking up her spoon while Faizol remained silent.

“So,” she started, trying to break the ice. “Do you always eat alone?”

“Yes,” he said flatly.

“Sounds depressing.”

He shot her a glare. “It’s peaceful.”

Noor smirked. “I suppose that depends on your definition of peace.”

They ate in silence for a while. Noor wasn’t sure what to say to a man who had no interest in speaking to her. Then she noticed something—he was eating methodically, almost as if he were forcing himself to finish rather than actually enjoying the food.

“You don’t like the food?” she asked.

Faizol barely glanced at her. “It’s fine.”

“You’re lying.”

His hand froze mid-air. He looked at her, brow raised. “Excuse me?”

“I saw your expression,” she said. “You don’t enjoy this.”

“What does it matter?” he muttered.

Noor tilted her head. “Food is meant to be enjoyed, not endured.”

Faizol didn’t respond. Instead, he set his utensils down and leaned back. “You analyze everything, don’t you?”

“I like to understand people.”

His lips curled in a humorless smile. “Then you’re wasting your time with me.”

Noor held his gaze. “We’ll see.”

The tension between them crackled like an unspoken challenge. Noor wasn’t expecting warmth from him, but she wasn’t going to let him ignore her either.

Later that night

Noor walked into the bedroom, still trying to process the awkward dinner. It wasn’t exactly a victory, but it was something. At least he had sat with her.

The room was massive, decorated in sleek black and silver tones. A large king-sized bed dominated the space.

And there, on the couch in the corner, was Faizol, settling in with a pillow and a blanket.

Noor blinked. “You’re sleeping there?”

“Yes.”

“There’s a perfectly good bed right there.”

“You take it,” he said without looking at her.

Noor crossed her arms. “You act like I have some sort of disease.”

Faizol sighed. “We both know this marriage is just a formality. There’s no need for us to pretend otherwise.”

Noor clenched her jaw. “And what if I don’t want to sleep alone?”

That made him pause. His eyes met hers, dark and unreadable. “Why?”

She hesitated for only a second. “Because I’m not used to it.”

That was a half-truth. She wasn’t used to being in a house that felt this cold, this lifeless.

Faizol exhaled. “Noor—”

“I get it,” she cut him off. “You don’t want me here. But we’re married now, Faizol. You might not care, but I do.”

He studied her for a long moment before finally saying, “Fine. But don’t read into it.”

He moved to the bed, lying on his side with his back to her. Noor settled on the other side, the distance between them an invisible barrier.

As the room fell silent, Noor stared at the ceiling, thinking about the long road ahead.

Faizol might be a man of ice, but she wasn’t going to break so easily.

This was only the beginning.

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