The drive to the Thorne estate in the countryside was a parade of verdant landscapes flashing past the tinted windows of the Maybach. Elias hadn't said a word since we left the city. He was engrossed in his tablet, checking emails with a ferocity that betrayed his anxiety. His knuckles were white as he gripped the device, and his jaw seemed carved from granite.
"Relax, Elias," I said quietly, breaking the thick silence. "You're going to crack the screen if you keep pressing like that."
He glanced at me sideways, his blue eyes gleaming with a coldness that reminded me why they called him the "Iron Bachelor."
"You don't know my family, Zahra. My uncle Silas and his wife, Beatrice, aren't ordinary people. They're vultures. They've spent the last ten years waiting for me to make a mistake so they can seize control of the company. To them, you're not my fiancée; You're an obstacle they need to eliminate.
"Let them try," I replied, straightening my back. "I've dealt with difficult people before. I'm not going to let them intimidate me at a family dinner."
Elias let out a dry laugh, devoid of any humor.
"This isn't a dinner, it's an execution. Stay close to me. Don't accept drinks from anyone other than the official staff. And above all, don't let Beatrice take you alone to 'see the garden.' It's her favorite place to interrogate her victims."
The mansion appeared at the end of a drive flanked by ancient oak trees. It was a gray stone structure, imposing and cold, that seemed to survey the valley with aristocratic arrogance. As I stepped out of the car, the fresh country air hit me, but it brought no relief. I felt a heavy gaze from one of the second-floor windows.
Elias came downstairs and immediately put his arm around my waist, pulling me toward him with a possessive force. His warmth was my only armor. We walked toward the large oak door, which opened before we could even knock.
"Elias, my dear! What a… noisy surprise," a high, melodious voice, laced with venom, greeted us in the grand hall.
A woman in her fifties, dressed in a champagne-colored silk gown and pearls worth more than my house, descended the stairs. Her eyes, the same icy blue as Elias's but without the spark of humanity, scanned me from head to toe with utter contempt. It was Aunt Beatrice.
"Aunt," Elias replied, his voice reverting to that mask of cold politeness. "I'd like you to meet Zahra, my fiancée."
Beatrice stopped in front of us. She didn't offer me her hand. She simply looked at me as if I were a mud stain on her Persian rug.
"Oh, yes. The girl from the interview," she said, with a smile that was an insult. "It was a very… dramatic performance, my dear. Almost believable. Tell me, in which gallery in Paris did you say you met? My nephew frequents places far more… exclusive than your accent suggests."
I felt my blood boil, but I remembered Elias's words. I smiled as sweetly as I could.
"It was at the Galerie Vivienne, Mrs. Thorne. Elias was so engrossed in a Monet that he nearly spilled his wine on my dress. I suppose good taste is something you recognize immediately, in art as well as in people. That's why he chose me, and not someone more… predictable."
I saw Beatrice's jaw tighten. Elias lightly squeezed my waist, a gesture that in public seemed affectionate, but which I knew was a sign of approval.
"Well, she's got a sharp tongue," Beatrice remarked, turning to her nephew. "I hope she's patient, too. Your uncle Silas is waiting for you in the library, Elias. He has some questions about the trust audit. And you, my dear…" She turned to me with a predatory look. "Come with me to the tea room. The other women in the family are eager to meet the woman who managed to snag the elusive heir."
I glanced at Elias. His eyes issued a silent warning: Be careful.
"I'll be fine," I whispered, before following Beatrice down the hall.
The tea room was filled with women in designer clothes, all with fine china cups and plastic smiles. As I entered, silence fell. They all stared at me as if I were some kind of freak under a microscope.
"Ladies, here's the famous Zahra," Beatrice announced, settling into her velvet throne. "We were just discussing your… background. Your father is Al-Fadi, isn't he? The one with the logistics company that just declared a massive financial crisis. What a convenient coincidence that you're getting engaged to the man who could save his fortune, don't you think?"
"My father's situation is private, Mrs. Thorne," I replied, settling gracefully into one of the chairs, "but I assure you my engagement to Elias has nothing to do with business." He asked me to marry him because we share something money can't buy: loyalty. Something that, from what I can see, is in short supply in this family.
One of the younger cousins let out a nervous giggle. Beatrice narrowed her eyes, her mask of politeness beginning to crack.
"Loyalty is for dogs, dear. In this family, we're driven by results. And the result we're all waiting to see is how long it takes you to tire of my nephew's coldness. Or better yet, how long it takes him to realize you're a costly mistake."
"Elias doesn't make costly mistakes," I said, holding her gaze. "That's why he's the CEO, not her husband."
The atmosphere turned icy. I could feel the hatred in the air, but also a strange satisfaction. If they were attacking me, it was because they were afraid of me. They were afraid of me because they knew I was the only person who had access to Elias's heart—or at least that's what they thought.
We spent an hour in that interrogation disguised as a tea party. They questioned me about my studies, my tastes, my plans for the future. I answered each blow with a smile and a sharp remark. But inside, I was exhausted. The pressure of maintaining the lie was draining, and the shadow of the heir clause hung over my head like a guillotine.
When I finally managed to escape and return to the room we'd been assigned, I found Elias standing by the window, staring out into the dark woods. He turned when he heard me come in, and for a moment, I saw genuine concern on his face.
"How did it go?" he asked, coming closer to me.
"Your aunts are charming," I said sarcastically, sinking down onto the sofa. "If by charming you mean they want to burn me at the stake. Beatrice knows about my father, Elias. She used him as a weapon in front of everyone."
Elias knelt before me, taking my hands in his. His hands were warm, a stark contrast to the cold of the house.
"I'm sorry, Zahra. I shouldn't have left you alone with her. But now they know you don't break easily. That makes them dangerous, but it also keeps them at bay for now."
"Elias…" I said, looking him in the eye, "this is much more than a contract now. Your family hates me because they think I'm taking something that belongs to them. And I… I'm starting to hate them because they don't see the man behind the money."
Elias remained silent, looking at me with an intensity that took my breath away. His fingers caressed my knuckles, a gesture not meant for the cameras or the lawyers. We were alone in that vast, dark room.
"No one has ever defended me like this, Zahra," he whispered, his voice heavy with an emotion I couldn't quite place. "Not even my own mother."
He leaned forward, and for the first time, there was no hesitation. He kissed me with a tenderness that hurt more than any insult from Beatrice. It was a kiss of refuge, a blood pact between two castaways on an island of sharks. In that moment, amidst the dark countryside and the hostile mansion, I realized that neither the contract nor the inheritance mattered anymore. We were alone against the world, and the battle had just begun.