The rain outside roared like an endless prayer. Thunder cracked so violently it felt as though the sky itself might split apart.
Through the curtain of rain, headlights cut across the villa's long driveway. Tires ground against wet gravel, echoing through the night. The car slowed, then stopped at the grand entrance.
"Sahib… the guests have arrived," whispered the maid.
Her father nodded, adjusting his torso, pride swelling as if this night had been carved by fate.
The night was dark, thick with the kind of silence that carries secrets.
Liyana stood beside her father at the entrance, satin draped over her frame. Her presence was demanded, not requested. She had never cared for her father's endless guests, but tonight… he had made it clear: "Your presence is mandatory."
The bodyguard hurried through the storm, umbrella in hand, opening the sleek black car door.
One step down.
A thunderclap split the sky, shaking the windows. Her heart stuttered, as if heaven itself had sent a warning.
And then he emerged.
Zayd.
Tall. Composed. Rain sliding down the sharp lines of his black suit. His presence was suffocating, as though the storm itself had entered the villa. His mother followed silently, graceful—but the night belonged to him alone.
Her father's chest swelled as he stepped forward, voice full of pride.
"As-salamu alaykum, Zayd. Welcome. It is an honor to host you tonight."
"Wa alaykum as-salam, Uncle," Zayd replied smoothly, bowing his head with a respectful grace that cloaked the storm in his eyes.
Her father turned slightly, gesturing toward her.
"And this… this is my daughter. Liyana."
That was the moment.
Zayd's eyes shifted. Locking onto hers.
It wasn't a look. It was a chain. Dark, sharp, deliberate. His gaze pierced through her, unraveling every shield she thought she had. The hall blurred. The storm fell silent. Her father's words dissolved into nothing.
Her chest tightened. Heat surged under her skin. The air refused to fill her lungs. She wanted to look away—she tried—but her gaze refused to obey. It clung to his, as though he had stolen command of her very breath.
Her pulse thundered. Her knees trembled. The silk at her wrists dampened with sweat.
Her body no longer felt like her own.
When her father repeated his name—"Zayd"—it landed like a seal pressed into her chest.
The chandelier above swayed. The floor tilted. Her vision bled to black.
She stumbled—collapsed forward.
But before the marble could embrace her, his arms did.
Strong. Inevitable.
Her father gasped, rushing forward. "Liyana!"
But Zayd did not flinch. He held her against him like she belonged there—firm and protective to her father's eyes, but to her, it was a cage.
And then came the smirk.
Slow. Certain. Like a man who had just claimed victory in a game no one else realized had begun.
He shifted, lifting his gaze to her father. His expression changed in an instant—masking the storm, lowering his eyes quickly as though ashamed to even touch her. To everyone else, he appeared a perfect gentleman—polite, restrained, raised with honor.
Yet his grip on her only tightened.
Her father, blind to the storm beneath the mask, smiled with pride. "I will take her, Zayd."
Zayd hesitated. His jaw clenched. His eyes darkened. He did not want to give up what had fallen into his arms.
But then… slowly, reluctantly, he released her, placing her gently into her father's embrace. His gaze lowered again, humble, angelic.
To her father, he was flawless.
To Liyana, slipping into unconsciousness, the last thing she felt was not safety—it was the iron grip of a man who had just marked her as his.
Behind the mask of modesty, Zayd smirked.
He had already won.