---
The Tour Begins
Haley's gaze danced between the two of them, that knowing smile she'd worn since dinner never quite leaving her lips. "Rayyan, why don't you show Dee around the house? If she's going to be here, she should know where she can get lost."
Rayyan leaned against the back of a dining chair, brow arched. "Are you suggesting my house is a maze?"
"No," Haley replied sweetly, "I'm suggesting your house is a maze you deliberately don't give people maps for."
Dee smirked, eyes glinting with mischief. "Sounds about right."
Rayyan gave her a narrow-eyed look — the kind that usually preceded either a challenge or a warning. "Come on then, since apparently I'm a tour guide now."
--
The mansion spread out around them like a secret, each room holding some quiet story that only Rayyan knew. The east wing was all light and opulence: marble floors polished to a watery shine, ceilings that seemed impossibly high, chandeliers dripping like captured starlight. Warm pools of lamplight softened the grandeur, spilling across rugs so intricate they looked like they belonged in a museum rather than underfoot.
"Do you actually use any of these rooms?" Dee asked, slowing in the doorway of a sitting room dressed in velvet armchairs and soft gold curtains.
"Sometimes," Rayyan answered, as though the word meant less than it should.
"Sometimes?" she repeated, turning toward him.
He shrugged. "Mostly when Mom forces me to sit still for tea with guests. Otherwise, no."
She shook her head, muttering something about rich people and wasted space.
They passed a conservatory where the night air drifted in, cool and perfumed by faint jasmine. The glass ceiling reflected the moonlight like a dark ocean overhead. Next came a library — cedar and old paper wrapping around them like a second skin — and then a hallway lined with family portraits.
Dee's steps slowed. Her eyes caught on a particular frame: a younger Rayyan, no more than ten, standing between his parents. His expression was already guarded, stubborn even then, as though someone had just told him to smile and he'd decided to do the opposite.
"Cute," she murmured under her breath.
Rayyan's head turned instantly, catching her tone. "Don't start."
"Oh, I'm starting," she said with a grin, her eyes flicking back to the portrait.
By the time they reached his room, she'd counted three grand staircases and at least twice as many chandeliers.
---
The moment the door opened, the air shifted.
Gone was the warm glow of the rest of the house. Rayyan's room was shadow and steel, sleek and deliberate. The walls were a deep charcoal gray, almost black where the light didn't touch. His bed was massive, dressed in a dark quilt, its edges sharp and clean. Heavy blackout curtains fell in perfect folds over the floor-to-ceiling windows, and the air smelled faintly — intoxicatingly — of his cologne.
The room wasn't just his. It was him.
"This explains so much about you," Dee said, stepping inside with slow curiosity.
"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, letting the door click shut behind them.
"You live like ghost "
His mouth flattened into a line. "Better than living like a princess."
"Not princess I really hate pink color especially the girly vibes" Dee says .
"Oh, sorry I forget that you are a boy to" Rayyan says .
Well, clearly I would says that maybe some things doesn't change look before your memory loss you hate pink and now it's same"
"I lost my memory not myself " Dee says .
"Fine as you says" Rayyan says .
She snorted and wandered further in, fingertips brushing over the spines of books on a low shelf. That's when she saw it — a flash of color against all the monochrome.
A photograph.
It was tucked between a sculpture and a stack of leather-bound volumes, almost hidden — but not enough to escape her eyes.
Rayyan at seven. Hair sticking up like it had been attacked by static, front tooth missing, grinning so wide it was almost shocking considering the man in front of her now.
Her lips parted. "Oh my god."
Rayyan turned at the sound of her voice. His gaze followed hers — and instantly, his posture tightened. His eyes sharpened, jaw ticking. "That's not supposed to be there."
Which, of course, was the exact wrong thing to say if he wanted her to ignore it.
Dee's fingers were already closing around the frame. "This is adorable—"
"Give it back."
"No," she said, clutching it to her chest.
His voice dropped, that low tone that made the air heavier. "Dee."
She tilted her head, daring him. "What's the matter? Afraid I'll see you used to be cute?"
"I said—" He moved toward her, quick, deliberate.
She darted around the bed. "Oh, this is so going on the internet."
---
The next moments blurred into motion and laughter and the kind of adrenaline that tasted sweet on the tongue.
He lunged, she dodged. He caught her wrist, she twisted free. The dark quilt of his bed became a makeshift barrier as they circled it like opponents in a strange, playful war.
She made the fatal mistake of leaping onto the mattress, standing tall and holding the photo above her head like a trophy.
Rayyan followed, all fluid strength and determination. His hand caught her waist — and the world tilted. The bed dipped beneath their combined weight, and gravity took its chance.
They fell.
---
Dee landed on her back, the soft quilt swallowing her gasp. The photo was still clutched in her fingers, pressed between them.
Rayyan braced one knee on the mattress beside her, his other leg bent, palm flat against the pillow near her head. The movement had knocked loose a lock of hair that now hung over his forehead.
For a second — maybe longer — neither of them moved.
The room was silent except for their breathing. Hers, quick and unsteady. His, deeper, slower, like he was controlling it deliberately.
---
Up close like this, his face was something else entirely. His usual composure — the cool, unreadable mask — was gone. In its place was something raw, unguarded.
Rayyan's gaze met hers, and the world stilled. The space between heartbeats seemed to stretch into infinity.
Her eyes — warm, rich brown, flecked with gold where the light touched — pulled at him like gravity. The kind of pull you don't fight because some part of you knows you'd lose anyway.
For Rayyan, it was like standing on the edge of something dangerous. A cliff where the ground crumbles under your feet, but you lean forward anyway because the view is too intoxicating.
Her lips parted slightly, and the smallest breath escaped her — not enough to be a sigh, but enough to make his chest tighten.
---
"Move," she said, her voice quiet, almost steady. Almost.
His lips curved slowly. "What if I don't?"
She narrowed her eyes. "Then I'll kick your ass."
He laughed once, low, under his breath. "Let's see."
The photo was gone from her hands before she could blink, tossed carelessly onto the bed beside them. His fingers closed gently but firmly around her wrists, guiding them above her head, pinning them against the pillow.
Then his legs shifted, trapping hers beneath his.
Her breath caught — not from fear, but something she wasn't ready to name.
"What are you doing?" she asked, but it came out softer than she intended.
"What we're supposed to do now," he murmured, leaning closer, "alone in this dark room."
Her cheeks burned. "Shameless."
"Maybe." His voice was barely above a whisper now, his gaze dropping briefly to her mouth, then back to her eyes.
For a moment, the air was heavy with all the things neither of them said — all the questions, all the almosts.
---
The door opened.
They both turned their heads — though Rayyan didn't actually move away — and found Haley in the doorway, one brow raised.
Her eyes flicked from Rayyan's position to Dee's flushed face. A beat of silence stretched just long enough to be mortifying.
"Wrong time," Haley said finally, her tone light, amused. "Carry on, don't mind me." She shut the door.
Dee's mouth fell open. Rayyan… actually laughed.
---
He rolled off her, lying back on the bed with his hands behind his head as though nothing had happened. Dee sat up fast, smoothing her dress and pushing her hair back with slightly trembling fingers.
"I'm going to… check on your mom," she said quickly.
He smirked. "You do that."
She got off the bed, walking briskly to the door before practically fleeing down the hall.
---
Out in the corridor, Dee stopped, pressing her back to the wall. Her heart was still hammering against her ribs. She could still feel the ghost of his hands on her wrists, the solid weight of him above her, the way his eyes had locked onto hers like he was trying to read every secret she'd ever had.
She pressed her palms to her cheeks. They were still warm.
And Haley. God. She was never going to survive that.
---
Back in his room, Rayyan lay staring at the ceiling. He hadn't meant for the moment to go that far. He hadn't meant to let himself look at her like that.
But he couldn't stop replaying it — the way her breathing hitched when he leaned closer, the exact shade of her eyes from that distance, the stubborn tilt of her chin even when she was clearly flustered.
For someone who prided himself on control, he was losing it around her — and that was both dangerous and addictive.
One thing was certain.
It wasn't over.
---