# MY PERFECT WIFE
### A Novel by Huddon S Lajah
---
# CHAPTER SIX
## Salma's Secret
---
**Two Years Before the Competition**
Salma Al-Rashid had been raised to be perfect.
Perfect grades. Perfect posture. Perfect smile. Perfect obedience to a family whose expectations were carved in stone and handed down through generations like heirlooms no one actually wanted.
The Al-Rashid family was old money—the kind of old that made new billionaires look like lottery winners playing dress-up. They had survived empires, navigated political upheavals, and maintained their wealth through a combination of shrewd business practices and strategic marriages.
*Strategic marriages*.
That phrase had haunted Salma since she was old enough to understand what it meant.
"You will marry well," her mother had told her at age six, brushing her hair before a family portrait. "You will bring honor to this family. You will continue our legacy."
"What if I don't want to get married?" six-year-old Salma had asked.
Her mother's brush had paused.
"That," she'd said quietly, "is not an option."
Twenty years later, Salma understood exactly what her mother had meant.
Marriage was not about love in the Al-Rashid family. It was about alliances. Connections. The perpetuation of power.
And Salma—beautiful, accomplished, perfect Salma—was the family's most valuable asset.
She had never been allowed to forget it.
---
**The Day Salma Met Bella**
It happened at a coffee shop.
Not an elegant coffee shop—not the kind of place where Salma usually spent her time—but a chaotic little café called Sunrise Brews, where Salma had ended up by accident after her driver got lost in an unfamiliar neighborhood.
"Your usual, Miss Al-Rashid?" Ahmed, her bodyguard, had asked, clearly uncomfortable with the surroundings.
"I don't have a usual here. I've never been here."
"I can find somewhere more... suitable."
"No." Salma had looked around the café—the mismatched furniture, the hand-painted menu, the customers who looked like actual humans rather than magazine cutouts. "I want to stay."
She'd ordered something called a "Chaos Latte"—which turned out to be espresso, caramel, a concerning amount of cinnamon, and what the barista described as "aggressive hope."
The barista was a young woman with dark hair, bright eyes, and a smile that seemed to exist independently of customer service requirements.
"First time at Sunrise?" the barista had asked.
"Is it that obvious?"
"You look like you're cataloging the health code violations."
Salma had laughed—actually laughed, the kind of unguarded sound she rarely allowed herself in public.
"I'm cataloging the chaos," she'd admitted. "It's refreshing."
"That's the nicest thing anyone's ever said about our chaos." The barista had extended her hand. "Bella. Bella Mendez. Welcome to the disaster."
"Salma."
"Just Salma?"
"Just Salma."
Bella had smiled—that bright, genuine smile—and Salma had felt something shift inside her. Something she'd spent her whole life trying to ignore.
*Oh no*, she'd thought.
*Oh no, no, no.*
---
**The Problem With Feelings**
Salma was not supposed to have feelings.
Feelings were messy. Feelings were uncontrollable. Feelings led to choices that could not be strategically optimized.
And feelings for women?
Those were not just messy. Those were *catastrophic*.
The Al-Rashid family was traditional in ways that made "conservative" seem progressive. Salma's grandmother still refused to acknowledge that women could work outside the home. Her father believed that marriage was a sacred contract between families, not individuals. Her mother... her mother had married for duty and had never quite recovered from the experience.
Salma had watched her mother's slow erosion for years—the dimming of her eyes, the careful arrangement of her smile, the way she flinched when her husband raised his voice. Not from abuse, exactly. Just from decades of being someone else's idea of perfect.
That was Salma's future.
Unless she found a way out.
---
**The Beginning**
Salma went back to Sunrise Brews.
And again.
And again.
She told herself it was because the coffee was good. (It was not. The Chaos Latte was genuinely terrible.) She told herself it was because she enjoyed the atmosphere. (She did, but that wasn't the reason.) She told herself a dozen lies because the truth was too dangerous to acknowledge.
The truth was Bella Mendez.
Bella, who laughed at everything and made everyone around her laugh too. Bella, who remembered Salma's order after the second visit and had it ready before she even reached the counter. Bella, who looked at Salma like she was a person—not an Al-Rashid, not an asset, just a person.
"You're not like the other fancy people who wander in here," Bella observed one afternoon.
"How so?"
"You actually make eye contact. And you tip."
"Everyone should tip."
"You'd be surprised." Bella leaned on the counter, studying Salma with open curiosity. "What do you do, Just Salma? When you're not slumming it with us peasants?"
"I work for my family's business. Finance, mostly."
"Sounds boring."
"It is."
"Then why do you do it?"
The question was simple. The answer was not.
*Because I have no choice. Because my family's expectations are a cage I was born into. Because the alternative is losing everything—my inheritance, my identity, my family's love, such as it is.*
"Habit, I suppose," Salma said instead.
Bella's eyes narrowed slightly—the look of someone who recognized deflection when they heard it.
"If you ever want to talk about whatever you're not talking about," she said, "I'm a pretty good listener. Comes with the job."
"I'll keep that in mind."
Salma had meant it as a polite dismissal.
Instead, it became a promise she couldn't stop keeping.
---
**The Confession**
It happened three months later.
Salma was sitting in her usual corner of Sunrise Brews—she had a usual corner now, which felt significant—when Bella's shift ended and she slid into the seat across from her.
"I have a theory," Bella announced.
"About?"
"About you." Bella rested her chin on her hands, studying Salma like a puzzle she was determined to solve. "I think you come here because this is the one place where nobody knows who you are. Where you can just be... you."
Salma's coffee froze halfway to her lips.
"That's—"
"Close? Accurate? Terrifyingly insightful?"
"All of the above."
Bella grinned. "I'm very perceptive. Also, you get this look on your face when you're here—like you're taking off a mask. I recognize it because I do the same thing."
"You wear a mask?"
"Everyone wears masks." Bella's voice softened. "Some of us just get better at pretending we don't."
Salma set down her coffee.
"Can I tell you something?" she asked.
"Anything."
"My family is arranging meetings for me. With potential... suitors. Men from appropriate families who would make strategic alliances."
Bella's expression flickered. "Arranged marriage?"
"Nothing so formal. But the expectation is clear." Salma's voice was steady, but her hands were shaking. "I'm supposed to meet these men, charm them, eventually choose one. Produce heirs. Continue the legacy."
"That sounds..."
"Medieval?"
"I was going to say lonely."
The word hit Salma like a physical blow.
*Lonely*.
Yes. That was exactly what it was.
"I don't want to marry any of them," Salma whispered. "I don't want to marry any *man*."
The confession hung between them.
Bella was very still.
"Salma..."
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—I don't know why I told you that. We barely know each other. You probably think I'm—"
"I think you're incredibly brave," Bella interrupted. "I think coming to this chaotic little café and being honest with a stranger takes more courage than most people have in their entire lives."
Salma's eyes were burning.
"And," Bella added, softer now, "I think I understand more than you realize."
Their eyes met.
Something passed between them—recognition, maybe. Or hope.
"Bella..."
"Do you want to get out of here?" Bella asked. "I know a place. Quiet. Private. No masks required."
Salma should have said no.
She said yes instead.
---
**The Place**
Bella's "place" was a rooftop garden that she maintained in secret—a hidden space above an abandoned warehouse, accessible only through a fire escape that Bella had probably reinforced herself.
"It's not much," Bella said, gesturing at the potted plants, the string lights, the mismatched furniture. "But it's mine."
"It's beautiful."
"It's a disaster held together with hope and gardening twine." Bella sat on a weathered bench, patting the space beside her. "But it's a disaster where no one can see us."
Salma sat.
The city sprawled below them—lights and noise and millions of lives proceeding without any knowledge of this hidden garden.
"How did you find this place?" Salma asked.
"I was looking for somewhere to be alone. Somewhere my family wouldn't find me, my sister wouldn't worry about me, my coworkers wouldn't need me." Bella smiled ruefully. "Turns out, when you're the person everyone depends on, disappearing for an hour feels like a vacation."
"Your sister?"
"Jawin. She's... a lot. In the best way. But also in the exhausting way." Bella's expression softened. "She works three jobs to support our family. Puts herself last so everyone else can be first. I love her more than anyone in the world, and sometimes I want to shake her until she remembers she's allowed to have a life too."
"She sounds remarkable."
"She is. She's also going to be thirty before she realizes she's been running herself into the ground for years." Bella shook her head. "Sorry. I didn't bring you up here to complain about my sister."
"Why did you bring me up here?"
Bella was quiet for a moment.
"Because I wanted to be honest with you," she finally said. "And honesty is easier in the dark."
Salma's heart was pounding.
"What kind of honesty?"
Bella turned to face her. In the dim light, her eyes were serious—none of the playful energy from the café.
"I've been thinking about you," she said. "Since that first day. More than I should. More than makes sense."
Salma couldn't breathe.
"I know your world and mine don't overlap," Bella continued. "I know you probably have expectations and obligations I can't even imagine. But I also know that when you walk into my café, something in my chest does this *thing*—"
"I feel it too."
The words escaped before Salma could stop them.
Bella went still.
"You do?"
"Every time." Salma's voice was shaking. "Every single time."
For a long moment, neither of them moved.
Then Bella leaned forward.
And Salma didn't pull away.
---
**The Secret**
Their relationship began in shadows.
Hidden moments. Stolen hours. The rooftop garden became their sanctuary—a place where Salma Al-Rashid could stop being Salma Al-Rashid and just be *herself*.
It was exhilarating.
It was also terrifying.
"We can't tell anyone," Salma said during one of their late-night meetings.
"I know."
"If my family found out—"
"I *know*, Salma." Bella's voice was gentle but firm. "I'm not naive. I understand what you're risking."
"What *we're* risking. This affects you too."
"I'm not the one with a billion-dollar inheritance on the line."
"Money isn't everything."
Bella laughed—but it was a sad laugh, the kind that came from experience.
"Money isn't everything when you have it," she said. "When you don't, it's kind of everything."
Salma had no response to that.
Because Bella was right.
Because Salma had never had to worry about money—not once, not ever—and she couldn't pretend to understand what it was like.
"I'm sorry," Salma said.
"Don't be sorry. Just be careful." Bella took her hand. "Whatever happens, I don't want you to lose everything for me."
"What if you're worth losing everything for?"
"Then we'll figure out a different way." Bella squeezed her hand. "Together. Okay?"
"Together."
It sounded like a promise.
Salma desperately wanted it to be one.
---
**The Competition**
Six months into their relationship, Salma's father made an announcement.
"The Castellan family is seeking a match for their son," he'd said over dinner, addressing Salma like a business proposal. "Mario. The heir. They've organized a competition—televised, but exclusive. A chance to form an alliance with one of the most powerful families in the country."
Salma's fork froze midway to her mouth.
"You want me to participate?"
"I want you to *win*." Her father's eyes were intense. "The Al-Rashid family has worked with the Castellans for years. A marriage would solidify everything. Create opportunities we've only dreamed of."
"And if I don't want to marry Mario Castellan?"
"Then you'll learn to want it." Her father's voice brooked no argument. "This is not a request, Salma. This is an expectation."
He returned to his meal, the conversation apparently concluded.
Salma stared at her plate.
*A competition. Televised. For a man's hand in marriage.*
*A man she could never love.*
*A cage dressed up as an opportunity.*
She thought about Bella.
About their rooftop garden.
About the promise they'd made.
*Together. Whatever happens.*
Salma had absolutely no idea how to make that work.
---
**The Panic**
"I can't do this," Salma said, pacing the rooftop garden. "I can't compete for a man. I can't marry a man. I can't pretend to be something I'm not for months on camera while my entire family watches."
Bella sat on their bench, watching her pace.
"Then don't."
"If I refuse, my father will cut me off. I'll lose everything—my inheritance, my family, my *name*."
"Your name isn't who you are."
"My name is the only thing I have!"
The words exploded out of Salma before she could stop them.
Silence.
Bella's expression didn't change—no judgment, no hurt, just quiet understanding.
"Is it?" she asked softly. "The only thing?"
Salma stopped pacing.
Looked at Bella—really looked, taking in every detail of the woman she loved.
"No," she admitted. "It's not."
"Then we figure this out together." Bella stood, crossing to take Salma's hands. "Like we promised."
"How? How do we figure this out? I can't just—"
"Find someone else to take your place."
Salma blinked. "What?"
"Find someone to participate in the competition instead of you. Someone who won't actually try to win. Someone who can survive a few months of dates and eliminations, collect whatever participation fees there are, and then gracefully bow out."
"That's—"
"Insane? Risky? Possibly illegal?"
"I was going to say brilliant."
Bella's smile was tentative. "It might work. If we find the right person."
"Who? It can't be anyone connected to my family—they'd recognize them. It can't be anyone who'd actually want to win. It has to be someone we trust completely."
Bella's expression shifted.
"I might know someone," she said slowly.
"Who?"
A pause.
"My sister."
---
**The Sister Problem**
Jawin Mendez was, in Bella's words, "perfect for this and also going to kill me when I suggest it."
"She'll never agree," Bella said. "She's practical. Cynical. She doesn't believe in fairy tales."
"But she believes in money."
"She believes in survival."
Salma considered this. "What if I offered her something she needed? Something that would make the insanity worth it?"
"Like what?"
"Culinary school. She wants to go, right? But she can't afford it?"
Bella's eyes widened. "You'd pay for her culinary school?"
"Fifty thousand dollars. From my trust fund. Money my family can't track or control." Salma's voice was steady. "It's a fair trade. She participates in the competition, covers for us, and gets her dream. We get time to figure out our situation."
Bella was quiet for a long moment.
"You'd do that," she said. "For us."
"I'd do anything for us."
"Even give up fifty thousand dollars to my disaster of a sister?"
"Even that."
Bella laughed—the real kind, the kind Salma loved most.
"Jawin is going to freak out," she said. "But she'll do it. She'll complain the entire time, she'll make enemies of everyone she meets, and she'll somehow cause at least one catastrophic incident on camera—but she'll do it."
"You're that sure?"
"I know my sister." Bella's expression softened. "She'd do anything for family. Even compete for a billionaire she's never met."
Salma pulled Bella into her arms.
"Then let's ask her," she said.
---
**The Conversation**
Convincing Jawin had been... an experience.
"You want me to WHAT?" Jawin's voice had reached a pitch usually reserved for opera singers and fire alarms.
"Participate in a competition. For Mario Castellan."
"The BILLIONAIRE?"
"Yes."
"The MARRIAGE competition billionaire?"
"Also yes."
Jawin had stared at Salma, then at Bella, then back at Salma.
"Is this a prank? Am I being filmed? Is there a hidden camera somewhere?"
"No cameras. Not yet, anyway." Salma had kept her voice calm. "I know it sounds insane—"
"It IS insane. It's the definition of insane. It's what they'll put in the dictionary next to 'insane' as the example sentence."
"—but there's money involved."
Jawin's rant paused.
"How much money?"
"Fifty thousand dollars."
Silence.
"That's..." Jawin's voice had gone quiet. "That's culinary school."
"That's the point."
Jawin had looked at Bella—really looked, the way sisters do when they're trying to read each other's secrets.
"Why can't you do it yourself?" she'd asked Salma.
Bella and Salma had exchanged glances.
"Because I can't marry a man," Salma had said simply. "Any man."
Understanding had dawned slowly on Jawin's face.
"You and Bella..."
"Me and Bella."
"For how long?"
"Eight months."
"Eight MONTHS?" Jawin had spun to face her sister. "You've been dating a billionaire heiress for eight months and you didn't TELL me?"
"I wasn't sure how you'd react!"
"I'm your SISTER! I tell you everything!"
"You told me about your foot fungus last week. That's not the same as—"
"FOOT FUNGUS IS SERIOUS, BELLA."
The conversation had devolved from there.
But eventually, after much shouting, some crying, and approximately four hours of debate, Jawin had agreed.
"Fine," she'd said. "FINE. I'll do it. I'll compete for your billionaire boyfriend—"
"He's not my—"
"—and I'll cover for you and Bella, and I'll take your money, and I'll probably humiliate myself on national television, but I'll DO it."
"Thank you," Salma had said, genuinely grateful.
"Don't thank me yet. If I accidentally fall in love with this guy and ruin everything, that's on you."
"You won't fall in love with him."
"How do you know?"
"Because falling in love requires vulnerability, and you're the least vulnerable person I've ever met."
Jawin had considered this.
"Fair point," she'd admitted. "I'm emotionally unavailable as a lifestyle choice."
"Perfect for the competition, then."
"Perfect," Jawin had agreed darkly. "This is all going to go perfectly."
It had not, of course, gone perfectly.
But that was later.
---
**Present Day — The Contestant Mansion**
Jawin sat in her room, staring at her phone, processing everything she now knew about Salma's situation.
The text conversation with her sister had been illuminating:
*Jawin: So Salma's family would literally disown her if they found out*
*Bella: Literally. They've done it before. Her cousin came out three years ago. He's completely cut off now.*
*Jawin: That's horrifying*
*Bella: That's reality. Her family is traditional in ways that make our family look progressive.*
*Jawin: Our family cried for three hours when you came out*
*Bella: Yes but they cried HAPPY tears. Eventually.*
*Jawin: After an hour of confused tears*
*Bella: Still counts as acceptance*
Jawin set down her phone.
Somewhere in this mansion, twenty-three other women were plotting their paths to victory. Strategizing. Scheming. Treating Mario Castellan like a prize to be won.
Jawin was just trying to survive long enough to protect her sister's secret.
It wasn't romantic.
It wasn't a fairy tale.
It was family.
And family—messy, complicated, sometimes infuriating family—was worth any amount of absurdity.
---
**The Hallway Encounter**
Jawin was heading to the kitchen for a midnight snack when she encountered Victoria Sterling.
The hallway was dim—most contestants were asleep, or pretending to be—and Victoria's silhouette was unmistakable even in low light.
"Miss Mendez," Victoria said, her voice ice-cold. "Up late?"
"Hungry."
"I see." Victoria didn't move, blocking the hallway with deliberate precision. "I've been doing some research."
"On snacks?"
"On you."
Jawin's stomach tightened, but she kept her expression neutral.
"Find anything interesting?"
"Several things. Your lack of financial resources. Your sudden appearance in this competition. Your connection to the Al-Rashid family." Victoria stepped closer. "Salma Al-Rashid was supposed to be here. Not you. Why is that?"
"She had a conflict."
"What kind of conflict?"
"The personal kind."
Victoria's eyes narrowed. "I don't believe in coincidences, Miss Mendez. You're hiding something. I intend to find out what."
"Good luck with that."
"I don't need luck." Victoria's smile was sharp enough to cut glass. "I have resources. And patience. And a very strong motivation to eliminate anyone who doesn't belong here."
"Is that a threat?"
"It's a promise." Victoria stepped aside, finally allowing passage. "Enjoy your snack. While you can."
She disappeared down the hallway, leaving Jawin alone with her racing heart.
Victoria was investigating.
Victoria was *close*.
If she found out about Salma and Bella—if she exposed the real reason Jawin was here—
Everything would fall apart.
---
**The Phone Call**
Jawin retreated to her room and called Salma directly.
"Victoria Sterling is digging," she said without preamble.
"I know." Salma's voice was tense. "I've heard rumors. She has investigators."
"Can she find out about you and Bella?"
"I don't... I don't think so. We've been careful."
"How careful?"
A pause.
"Careful enough," Salma said, but she didn't sound certain.
"What happens if she finds out? What happens if she exposes you?"
"Then my family will know." Salma's voice cracked slightly. "And I'll lose everything."
"There has to be something we can do. Some way to—"
"There isn't." Salma took a breath. "Jawin, I knew this was a risk when I asked you to do this. If it comes out, that's on me, not you."
"I'm the one in the competition. I'm the one she's investigating."
"Then don't give her anything to find." Salma's voice steadied. "You're there to participate, not to win. Keep your head down. Survive the eliminations. Let the other contestants fight over Mario while you stay in the background."
"That was the plan."
"Is there a problem with the plan?"
Jawin thought about the champagne incident. The laughter. The way Mario had looked at her like she was something unexpected.
"No," she said. "No problem."
"Jawin..."
"I'm fine. Everything's fine. Just... keep me updated if Victoria's investigators find anything."
"I will."
Jawin hung up.
She sat in the dark for a long time, surrounded by designer clothes and impossible expectations.
*Keep your head down. Stay in the background. Don't cause problems.*
She'd already spilled champagne on the bachelor.
She'd already made him laugh for the first time in fifteen years.
She'd already caught the attention of the most dangerous woman in the competition.
Staying in the background was probably not going to happen.
---
**The Realization**
At 2:00 AM, still unable to sleep, Jawin made a decision.
She couldn't control Victoria's investigation.
She couldn't control what secrets might be uncovered.
But she could control one thing: how she participated in this competition.
If she was going to be here—really here, not just surviving—she might as well be *herself*. The real Jawin. The disaster who ate fifteen crab cakes and couldn't walk in heels and spoke without filters.
Victoria was hunting for deception.
The best defense was to not deceive.
Jawin was here for money. That was true. She was protecting her sister's relationship. Also true. She had no realistic chance of winning this competition. Definitely true.
But somewhere in all of that truth, there might be something else.
Something she hadn't expected.
Something that had started the moment Mario Castellan laughed in a rose garden, champagne dripping down his face, looking at her like she'd done something miraculous.
*Don't fall in love with the billionaire*, Salma had said.
Jawin wasn't planning to.
But plans, as she was learning, had a way of falling apart.
---
👋END OF CHAPTER SIX👉👉