The penthouse living room had been transformed into a miniature television set. Studio lights, cables snaked across the marble floor, and a high-definition camera hummed constantly. Facing us, seated with predatory elegance, was Elena Varga, the most feared gossip columnist in the country. Elena wasn't after gossip; she was after the truth, and she had an almost animal instinct for smelling fear.
Elias sat beside me on the leather sofa, his arm around my shoulders in a way that seemed protective, but which I felt was a warning. His hand rested near my neck, his fingers brushing my skin with a familiarity that sent shivers down my spine.
"Mr. Thorne, Mrs. Al-Fadi..." Elena began, a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "The world was shocked by your engagement. It was so... sudden. Almost as if it came out of nowhere."
"The best things in life often are, Elena," Elias replied with a chilling calm. He crossed his legs, looking like he owned the universe. "Zahra isn't someone you can plan. She just happens, and when she did, I knew my life would never be the same."
I forced a smile, resting my head lightly on his shoulder. The scent of his cologne enveloped me, giving me an anchor amidst the storm of flashes.
"It's very romantic," Elena said, jotting something down on her tablet. "But let's talk about the details. They met in Paris, at a gallery. Zahra, what was the first thing you thought when you saw the "Iron Bachelor" in front of a Monet?"
I swallowed. I remembered Elias's instructions: Paris, Galerie Vivienne, a Monet painting. But I felt that if I repeated his exact words, Elena would realize. I had to add something of "me," something real.
"Honestly…" I began, feeling Elias's hand tighten slightly on my shoulder, "I thought he was the most arrogant man I'd ever met. He was standing there, staring at the painting as if he owned the museum, not the art. It irritated me. But when he turned and looked at me… I saw something in his eyes that wasn't in magazines. I saw someone who, despite having everything, seemed to be searching for something he couldn't buy."
Elias froze. His gaze met mine, and for an eternity, the camera lights disappeared. There was no script. No lawyers. It was just him and me, and the truth is, in some strange way, I did see that loneliness in him.
"Wow," Elena murmured, sensing the electric tension in the air. "That's very profound, Zahra. Elias, what's your take on that? Did you feel… 'found'?"
Elias cleared his throat, and for the first time, his voice didn't sound so confident.
"Zahra has a bad habit of seeing right through my defenses," he said, turning back to the camera with a forced smile. "I guess that's why she's the only woman with a key to this house."
The interview continued for another hour. We talked about fake wedding plans, imaginary honeymoons in the Maldives, and how we were going to juggle our "busy lives." But then Elena dropped the bombshell. The question that wasn't in the contract.
"Mr. Thorne, there are rumors about a clause in your grandfather's will. It's said that this marriage is a legal requirement for you to retain control of the company. Some say Zahra is just a… tool for your ambition. What do you have to say about that?"
The air in the room froze. I saw Elias's jaw clench so tightly I thought it would break. The cameramen moved closer to capture our reaction. If we hesitated now, it would all be over. My father, my freedom, Elias's empire… everything would crumble.
I felt a surge of adrenaline. Without thinking, I turned to Elias, placed my hands on his cheeks, and forced him to look at me.
"Elias doesn't need me to keep a company," I said, looking directly at Elena, but speaking to him. "Elias is the company. But he chose me because, for the first time in his life, he found something worth more than Thorne Logistics stock." Isn't that right, darling?
Elias looked at me intently. His blue eyes held a mixture of surprise and something that seemed...gratitude. Or perhaps it was just the set lighting. Without a word, he leaned in and kissed me. It wasn't the light kiss from that morning. It was a possessive, intense kiss, a kiss that declared "you're mine" to the entire world. My fingers tangled in his hair, and for a moment, I forgot we were being filmed. I forgot Elena was there. There was only the warmth of his lips and the most beautiful lie we had ever told.
When he pulled away, the silence in the room was absolute. Elena was speechless. The photographers hadn't stopped snapping.
"I think that answers your question, Elena," Elias said, his voice now recovered, carrying an unquestionable authority.
The interview ended shortly after. As soon as the television crew gathered their things and the elevator doors closed behind them, the warmth vanished. Elias backed away from me as if I'd burned his skin. He poured himself a double whiskey at the bar, his back to me.
"That was... risky," he finally said, his voice cold again.
"I saved your neck, Elias," I replied, feeling my heart still pounding in my ears. "If I hadn't intervened, Elena would have torn you to pieces."
"I know," he murmured. He turned, glass in hand, and looked at me in a way that made me tremble. "But don't do that again. Don't ever talk about my 'feelings' again as if you know anything about them. You defended me well, yes. But don't forget this is still an act. The kiss... the kiss was for the cameras."
"Oh, really?" I asked, moving closer to him, driven by a rage I didn't know I had. "Because for a second, Elias, it seemed like you forgot about the cameras." It seemed you really felt something.
He slammed his glass down on the table and grabbed me by the waist, pulling me close. His face was inches from mine, his breath smelling of whiskey and pent-up desire.
"Don't play with fire, Zahra. You have no idea what I'm capable of when I lose control. Three years. Remember the time. If you think you can 'cure' me or see right through me, you're going to be sorely disappointed."
He released me abruptly and locked himself in his office, leaving me alone amidst the wires and the dimmed lights. I touched my lips, which still tingled from his kiss. We had convinced the world, but the price had been breaking the one rule that kept us safe: distance. Now, the war wasn't in the tabloids or the courtrooms. The real war was raging inside this penthouse, and I realized, with horror, that I was beginning to enjoy the battle.