The dawn light in Kaduna... no, here in the attic, the light wasn't warm or golden; it was a silvery glow filtering through the motorized silk curtains. I awoke slowly, enveloped in a warmth I hadn't felt in years. It was a solid, rhythmic heat, emanating from something alive and powerful behind me.
It took me a few seconds to process where I was. My mind, still clouded with sleep, registered the scent: sandalwood, freshly brewed coffee, and something distinctly masculine. Then, I felt the weight. A muscular arm, heavy as a gold chain, encircled my waist, pressing me firmly against a chest that rose and fell with his deep breaths. My buttocks were wedged against his thighs, and my back felt every beat of his heart.
Panic and a jolt of electricity shot down my spine simultaneously. Elias.
I tried to move with the slowness of a thief, but the moment my muscles tensed, his grip on my waist tightened. I heard a low growl, almost a purr, near the back of my neck. His warm breath brushed against my skin, sending a wave of shivers that had nothing to do with the air conditioning's chill.
"Don't move," he murmured. His morning voice was deeper, raspier, a vibration I felt straight into my bones.
"You said... you said you wouldn't touch me," I whispered, though my own body seemed to betray me, sinking deeper into his embrace instead of pulling away.
"You were shivering in your sleep, Zahra. I was just keeping you from falling out of bed. Don't take it too seriously."
He pulled away abruptly, leaving an icy emptiness where his warmth had been. I turned quickly, pulling the sheet up to my chin. Elias sat on the edge of the bed, his back to me. The light highlighted every muscle in his back, every vertebra, and that scar that had haunted me the night before. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, a gesture that made him look dangerously human.
"It's late," he said, his tone returning to its usual icy hue. "The decorator will be here in an hour. I want you to look impeccable. If she notices your eyes are puffy from lack of sleep or that we're uncomfortable, the rumors will start before noon."
"Do you always think about the rumors?" I asked, sitting up and trying to ignore how handsome he looked even just after waking up. "Do you ever think about what's really going on here?"
Elias turned slowly. His blue eyes, now fully awake, scanned me with an intensity that made me feel naked, despite the sheet.
"What's going on here is business, Zahra. A three-year business." If we start questioning every touch or every glance, we won't last three months. Take a shower. I've ordered breakfast to be brought to your room. We have a lot to rehearse before the press arrives this afternoon for the exclusive interview.
He got up and walked to the bathroom with feline grace, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I sank back down onto the pillows, which still smelled of him. "Just business," I repeated to myself. But if it was just business, why was my heart pounding like I'd just run a marathon?
At nine o'clock sharp, the attic door opened to admit Bianca, an interior designer who looked like she'd stepped out of the pages of an Italian fashion magazine. Her sharp eyes scanned Elias's minimalist living room with a mixture of approval and criticism.
"Mr. Thorne, the place is... magnificent. But it lacks soul," she said, adjusting her horn-rimmed glasses. "And I suppose that's why the future Mrs. Thorne is here."
Elias put an arm around my shoulders, a gesture that felt both possessive and natural. He kissed my temple with a tenderness that took my breath away. It was an actor's kiss, a contract kiss, but my skin burned as if it had been real.
"Zahra has carte blanche," he said, looking at me with a feigned tenderness that almost made me believe it. "I want this place to reflect how much my life has changed since she came into it."
For the next three hours, I was caught in a whirlwind of fabric swatches, art catalogs, and discussions about where to place "our" photos. Elias stayed close, sometimes brushing against my hand, sometimes whispering something in my ear that sounded like a romantic secret but was actually instructions on what to say.
"Put this photo here," he whispered, pointing to a silver frame with a picture of us at the gala, where he was looking at me with a devouring intensity. "It's my great-aunt's favorite. She has the deciding vote on the board. If she believes you love me, no one will dare question the trust."
"You're a brilliant strategist, Elias," I said quietly, while Bianca was distracted by some curtains. "But do you ever get tired of lying?"
He tensed. His fingers closed around the frame so tightly I thought the metal would bend.
"The truth is a luxury men like me can't afford, Zahra. The truth is weakness. And in my world, weakness is paid for with ruin."
"What about me?" I persisted, taking a step toward him. "Am I part of your strategy, or am I part of your truth?"
Elias remained silent. For a moment, his icy mask seemed to crack. His eyes flicked down to my lips and then back to mine, heavy with a frustration he couldn't hide. He was about to say something when the elevator bell announced the arrival of the journalists.
"It's showtime," he said, regaining his composure in a flash. "Smile, Zahra. Tell the world how much you love me. And try not to blink too much; photographers hate that."
We walked toward the entrance hand in hand, our fingers intertwined as if we were made for each other. But as the cameras started rolling and the lights blinded us, I realized that the biggest lie wasn't the one we were telling the world. The biggest lie was the one we were telling ourselves every time we said this didn't mean anything. Because deep down, I knew the price of Elias's inheritance wasn't just his fortune, but the risk that I might end up loving the man who had bought me.