CHAPTER 7
835 Words
The next morning arrived far too soon.
Sunlight crept through Zara’s curtains, slashing golden lines across the floor. She sat cross-legged on her bed, still in her pajamas, phone in hand. Her modeling post from last night had exploded—over a hundred shares, dozens of comments, and a few DM requests from stylists and photographers.
Her chest swelled with quiet satisfaction. She was finally being seen.
A soft knock on her door broke her thoughts.
“Zara?” It was her mother.
She slipped the phone under her pillow. “Come in.”
Mrs. Tunde stepped in, her eyes immediately scanning the room before landing on her daughter. “You’re not dressed. The Kareems are expecting us in the sitting room.”
Zara stiffened. “For what this time?”
“Further planning. Engagement date. Guest list. Colors.” Her mother paused, folding her arms. “And you’re the bride, Zara. It won’t kill you to show some interest.”
Zara sighed but didn’t argue. When her mother left, she got up slowly, washed her face, and threw on a loose kaftan. No makeup. No effort. If they wanted a cheerful bride, they’d have to look elsewhere.
Downstairs, the sitting room was already full. Her parents sat on the left couch, Chief Kareem beside them, beaming like this arrangement was his life’s greatest accomplishment. Regan leaned against the wall, phone in hand, as unbothered as ever.
“Zara,” her father said firmly, motioning for her to sit. “We were just waiting for you.”
She sat in silence.
Chief Kareem cleared his throat. “We were discussing a date for the engagement ceremony. How does the end of next month sound?”
Zara forced a polite smile. “Fine.”
Mrs. Tunde glanced at her. “Do you have a color in mind? Maybe lilac or champagne?”
“I really don’t care,” Zara replied flatly.
The room went quiet for a beat.
Then Regan looked up from his phone. “Champagne is fine.”
Zara shot him a sharp look, but he didn’t react.
“Perfect,” Chief Kareem said, clapping his hands. “This is how it should be. Unity. Agreement.”
Zara bit her inner cheek. Unity? They had no idea what they were talking about.
When the conversation finally ended, she stood to leave, but Chief Kareem held up a hand.
“One more thing,” he said. “Your father and I were talking, and we’ve decided to fast-track things. If all goes well with the engagement, the wedding will follow two months later.”
Zara froze. “Excuse me?”
“That way,” Mr. Tunde added, “we won’t have this thing dragging. Better to get it done before Regan returns abroad.”
Her heart thudded. “We already agreed on the one-year arrangement.”
“Yes,” her father replied. “The marriage will last a year, as you insisted. But we never discussed delaying the wedding itself.”
“You’re pushing this faster than I can breathe,” she snapped. “You said I’d have time.”
Chief Kareem’s voice grew firm. “Time is not a luxury when building dynasties, my dear.”
Zara’s eyes darted to Regan. His expression was unreadable, but he didn’t protest. Didn’t say a word.
She stood abruptly. “I need air.”
No one stopped her as she walked out, heart hammering. In the hallway, she leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. This was suffocating. Every decision was being made for her—even after she’d drawn a line.
Just then, footsteps echoed behind her.
Regan.
She didn’t look at him, but she heard his voice, low and calm. “You alright?”
“No,” she said. “But you don’t care, so don’t pretend.”
A pause.
“I do care,” he said finally. “I just don’t know what I’m allowed to show.”
She turned to him. “They’re speeding everything up. You heard them.”
“I did.”
“And you just sat there. Like it didn’t matter.”
Regan sighed, running a hand over his hair. “You’re not the only one this affects, Zara.”
“Really? Because you sure seem comfortable.”
“Comfortable?” His voice sharpened. “You think this is easy for me? Living in a stranger’s house, agreeing to a timeline I never set?”
She blinked, startled by his tone.
He stepped closer. “You wanted one year. I agreed. But maybe it’s time we both start acting like we’re actually in this together.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Zara looked away. “I don’t trust you.”
Regan gave a faint smirk. “Good. I don’t trust you either.”
And with that, he walked off—leaving her standing in the hallway with a head full of questions and a heart weighed down by truths no one wanted to speak out loud.
- Writer
