Zayne led her up the grand staircase, the soft glow of golden chandeliers casting shifting shadows over the walls. The third floor was silent, untouched by the world below. A set of dark double doors loomed ahead, standing as a gateway to something irreversible.
He pushed them open with an effortless grace, revealing a bedroom that was almost intimidating in its opulence.
Everything was designed with precision—charcoal-paneled walls, gold-accented decor, and a bed so large it could swallow her whole. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city skyline, but there was no warmth to the view. Only power.
Only him.
But what sent a slow wave of irritation curling through her wasn't the grandeur.
It was the fact that there was only one bed.
Her lips parted slightly. "Our room?"
Zayne didn't even look at her as he stepped inside, pulling off his watch and placing it on a nearby dresser. "Where else would my wife sleep?"
Her jaw tensed. "I am your wife only in title."
He turned to face her, his expression unreadable, but there was a flicker of amusement in his dark eyes. "And yet, habibti, the title remains."
She exhaled sharply. "You didn't think to tell me this before I moved in?"
His lips twitched. "Would it have changed anything?"
"It would've given me time to prepare my arguments."
"You would have lost those arguments."
Her nostrils flared slightly as she forced herself to stay calm. She hated how he always had the upper hand, how nothing ever seemed to shake him.
Before she could snap back, he started undoing his cufflinks, rolling them between his fingers before setting them on the nightstand.
His fingers moved to the buttons of his suit jacket, slipping them free with a slow, practiced ease.
She swallowed.
"The bathroom is through there," he said, shrugging off the jacket and draping it over a chair. "I'll go first."
She nodded stiffly, trying to ignore the way his dress shirt pulled taut across his shoulders as he started undoing the buttons.
He was doing this deliberately.
She forced her attention away, settling onto the bed with her tablet. If she was going to be forced to share a room with him, she'd at least be productive.
The sound of fabric rustling as he pulled his shirt off made her grip the tablet a little tighter.
Focus.
Sara and Kareem.
They thought they had won. Thought they had broken her.
They had no idea what was coming for them.
Her mind sharpened as she skimmed through reports, analyzing weak points, searching for an opening—anything that could tip the balance.
Then the sound of running water stopped.
A few moments later, the bathroom door opened, and she looked up instinctively and immediately regretted it.
Zayne stepped out, steam curling around him like a throne of heat and shadow.
His damp hair was tousled, a few strands falling over his forehead as he ran a towel through it. Droplets of water trailed down his sculpted chest, rolling over defined abs before disappearing beneath the low-slung towel wrapped around his waist.
Nadia's fingers clenched around her tablet.
Her throat suddenly felt too dry.
She knew he was fit—his suits barely hid the strength underneath. But this was something else.
Zayne didn't even glance at her as he moved toward the walk-in closet, his movements slow, unhurried.
But she wasn't stupid.
This was intentional.
This was for her.
The way his muscles flexed with every step. The way water slid along his skin. The way he had stepped out at just the right moment, knowing she'd look up.
Her stomach twisted in a way she didn't want to acknowledge.
Before he could say anything, she shot up from the bed, and practically sprinting to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.
She exhaled sharply, pressing a hand against her chest.
Then she noticed it, a soft pink bathrobe, neatly folded on the counter and frowned.
She hadn't packed a bathrobe.
And yet, here it was—in her favorite color.
Waiting for her.
He had prepared for this.
Planned for it.
A slow chill wrapped around her spine as she realized—
She thought she had entered his world.
But in reality, she had been living in his design all along.
__
Zayne watched the bathroom door slam shut, the sharp sound echoing through the room. A slow smirk curled at the edges of his lips.
She had run.
His little wife—so defiant, so desperate to maintain her composure—had fled at the first sign of temptation.
The satisfaction that unfurled in his chest was dark, insidious.
He exhaled, dragging the towel over his damp hair as he walked further into the closet. The space was expansive, lined with pristine shelves and an array of designer suits. But it was the other half of the closet—the side that hadn't been there before—that interested him most.
Her side.
Filled with dresses, blouses, and shoes he had selected. Accessories he had chosen.
A kingdom crafted for his queen before she had even agreed to the crown.
Zayne's fingers brushed over the delicate fabric of a silk dress, a possessive heat curling low in his stomach. He had learned her sizes long before she had ever stepped foot into this house. Had known what she liked, what she avoided, what would look sinful against her skin.
He had done this long before their marriage.
Because this—her, here, his—was always inevitable.
She just hadn't realized it yet.
He could still see her, the way her throat had bobbed, the way her fingers had tightened around that tablet like a lifeline. He could feel the moment her gaze had raked over him, the weight of her unspoken thoughts thickening the air.
He had done it intentionally. Walked out still wet, taken his time drying off, let her see.
And she had looked.
Oh, how she had looked.
He bit down a chuckle, stepping into the walk-in closet and reaching for a fresh shirt. He didn't like sleeping with one on, but tonight, he'd allow it—just to see if she'd get used to him filling this space.
It was a game of patience.
She thought she had set rules.
She thought she had control.
But Nadia was a queen without an army. A ruler on a crumbling throne.
And he was the only one strong enough to rebuild her empire—whether she wanted him to or not.
He dressed up in his pyjamas and back into the room, deciding to knock on the bathroom door "I hope you're not planning to sleep in there, habibti."
Silence.
Then a muffled, "Give me a minute!"
He smirked, rolling his sleeves up. He had time.
Because Nadia Al-Fayed was already his.
She just needed to accept it.
Meanwhile inside the bathroom, Nadia gripped the edge of the marble sink, her pulse still uneven.
The bathroom was luxurious, a ridiculous blend of black marble and gold accents, the kind of place meant for kings, not for her, her bathroom back at home was pink and gold, she much preferred pink to black. But she wasn't thinking about the extravagance.
She was thinking about him.
How he had stood there, completely at ease, completely aware of the effect he had on her.
She gritted her teeth, shaking her head. No.
She refused to be distracted.
She turned her gaze to the pink bathrobe, still resting on the counter.
Her fingers curled around the fabric.
Soft. Expensive. Prepared.
She swallowed.
How long had it been here?
Had he ordered it before they were married?
A strange chill settled in her stomach.
This wasn't the first time Zayne had done something that implied forethought. That implied he had been… watching.
She had known he was powerful. Had known he was meticulous in business.
But this was different.
This was personal.
Her fingers clenched around the robe as an unsettling realization curled through her thoughts.
Zayne Al-Fayed had not just married her out of convenience.
He had prepared for her.
Planned for her.
And that?
That terrified her far more than the thought of sharing a bed.