The morning sun streamed through the attic windows with an aggression that stung my eyes. I hadn't slept more than three hours; every time I closed my eyes, I felt the phantom trace of Elias's fingers on my back. I put on a cream-colored tailored suit, somewhat professional but screaming "trophy wife," and went down to the dining room.
Elias was already there, hidden behind a mountain of financial reports and a cup of black coffee steaming in the frigid air. He didn't even look up when I sat down.
"The lawyers will be here in ten minutes," he said, his voice as sharp as glass. "Remember our agreement about Paris? We met at the Galerie Vivienne, in front of a Monet painting. I offered you a glass of wine, you played hard to get. It's a classic story, boring and, therefore, believable."
"How romantic," I said sarcastically, pouring orange juice into my glass with trembling hands. I love how you plan our "love story" like it's a corporate merger.
He finally looked at me. His blue eyes showed no trace of the man who had almost touched me the night before. They were pure steel.
"It is, Zahra. Never forget that."
Punctual as a Swiss watch, three men with leather briefcases and funereal expressions entered the room. They were the executors of Arthur Thorne's will, Elias's grandfather. They sat at the long table, unfolding sheets of paper that smelled of old ink and decisions that would change my life forever.
"Mr. Thorne, Mrs.... future Mrs. Thorne," began the lead attorney, a man named Miller with hawk-like eyes. "We've reviewed the engagement paperwork. Everything appears to be in order for the transfer of the principal shares. However, there is one detail in the codicil of the will that we must emphasize before the final signing."
I felt a chill run down my spine. Elias frowned, placing his pen on the table.
"What detail, Miller? The will was clear: marriage before thirty. I'm getting married in two months. I'll fulfill the condition."
Miller cleared his throat, glancing sideways at Zahra and then back at Elias.
"Her grandfather was a man of values… traditional ones, to put it mildly. He didn't just want her to get married. He wanted to ensure the continuity of the Thorne line. The will stipulates that the full and final transfer of ownership of the company will only be completed after the birth of a male heir. Or, failing that, after a period of uninterrupted cohabitation of three years with evidence of a consummated marriage."
The silence that followed was absolute. I felt the ground give way beneath my feet. Heir? Three years? The original contract I had signed with Elias said one year. One year of pretending, one year of formalities, and then freedom.
Elias stood up so quickly his chair hit the floor with a clatter. His knuckles were white as he braced himself on the table.
"That wasn't in the initial draft," he roared, his voice thick with a barely contained fury that made the lawyers back away.
"It was a last-minute addition from your grandfather, sir. He suspected you'd try to make a temporary arrangement. He wanted to make sure the marriage was real. If the marriage dissolves before three years without offspring, eighty percent of the shares will go to the charitable foundation, and you'll lose control of the board."
I looked at Elias. He was livid. Then he looked at me, and for the first time, I saw a crack in his armor: fear. Not fear for me, but fear of losing the empire for which he had sacrificed his humanity.
"We need a moment alone," Elias said, his voice promising violence.
The lawyers practically ran out. I sat there, my heart pounding against my ribs like a caged bird. Elias began pacing, like a trapped predator.
"Three years," I whispered, my voice cracking. "Elias, the contract said one year. My father… my father's debts were to be paid off in twelve months. I can't stay here for three years. I can't live this lie that long."
He stopped in front of me. His presence was suffocating.
"You have no choice, Zahra. If I lose the company, the deal is off. Your father will go to jail, and you'll be out on the street before the week is out."
"I'm not an incubator!" I shouted, jumping to my feet. "You can't force me to have a child so you can have your precious company!"
"No one's talking about children yet," he said, though his eyes scanned my body in a way that sent shivers down my spine. But the three years are non-negotiable. You'll have to stay. We'll have to make this marriage seem so real that even those vulture lawyers won't have any doubts.
"And what exactly does that mean?" I asked, backing away until I hit the glass wall.
Elias moved closer, invading my space with that dangerous slowness he used to intimidate his enemies. He placed a hand on either side of my head, trapping me. His scent, that whiskey and wood, enveloped me again, clouding my judgment.
"It means there will be no more separate rooms, Zahra," he murmured, his face so close I could see the silver flecks in his blue eyes. "It means the world has to see us going in and out of the same bedroom. It means that every time we're in public, I want people to think we can't keep our hands off each other."
"This is insane," I said, though my breathing was becoming erratic.
"It's the price of your freedom," he replied, his gaze dropping to my lips. "Three years, Zahra. Three years of being mine in front of everyone." Can you handle this, or are you going to let your family fall apart for a little bit of pride?
I closed my eyes. I felt like I was signing with the devil for the second time, but this time, the contract wasn't written on paper, but in the intensity of his gaze. I knew that if I agreed, I wouldn't get away unscathed. Elias Thorne didn't just want my time; he was going to end up consuming everything I was.
"Three years," I repeated, opening my eyes. "But with one condition."
"What?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.
"Don't touch me unless there are cameras present. In this house, we're still strangers."
Elias let out a dry, humorless laugh and walked away.
"Deal, Zahra. But be careful what you wish for. Sometimes, cameras are the least of our worries."
He left without signing anything, leaving me alone with the view of the city that now felt more like a prison than ever. Three years. One thousand and ninety-five days of pretending to love a man who didn't have a heart. As I stared at my reflection in the glass, I wondered how long it would be before the line between acting and reality blurred completely. Or worse, how long it would be before I started wishing the cameras would never stop rolling.