The contract lay on the table between us.
White pages. Black ink.
So simple—yet heavy enough to decide my entire life.
Zayn stood beside the window, his back to me, hands in his pockets. He looked calm. Too calm. As if this marriage, this arrangement, was just another business deal.
"Read it carefully," he said without turning around. "I don't repeat terms."
I picked up the papers, my fingers trembling slightly.
Clause one: This marriage is temporary.
Clause two: No emotional involvement.
Clause three: Privacy must be maintained at all costs.
Clause four: We will present ourselves as a perfect couple in public.
Perfect.
I let out a quiet, bitter smile. Nothing about this felt perfect.
"And if I break a rule?" I asked softly.
Zayn finally turned to face me. His eyes were sharp, unreadable.
"Then the consequences will follow," he replied. "For both of us."
I looked up at him. "You speak as if feelings are a crime."
"They are," he said flatly. "In arrangements like this."
Silence filled the room again.
I signed the papers.
The sound of the pen scratching against paper echoed louder than it should have. With that one signature, Ayla Noor disappeared a little more.
Zayn signed next.
"It's done," he said. "From today onward, we live as husband and wife."
I swallowed. "Only on paper."
His gaze lingered on me for a second longer than necessary.
"Yes," he said. "Only on paper."
That night, we stood on opposite sides of the bedroom.
"This room is shared," he stated. "But not the bed."
I nodded quickly, relief washing over me.
Rules without feelings.
I lay awake long after the lights were turned off, staring at the ceiling. My heart refused to follow the rules I had just agreed to. Every sound he made reminded me that I wasn't alone—that I was married to a man who treated emotions like weakness.
As sleep finally claimed me, one thought remained clear in my mind:
I had signed a contract with a man who didn't believe in love.
And somehow…
I was terrified of the day he might break his own rule.