The next morning, Amira woke up to find Jordan already dressed and reviewing something on his tablet at the foot of the bed. The sunlight poured in through the sheer curtains, casting a soft glow over the room—and for a moment, he didn't look like the cold CEO she'd married.
He looked… almost human.
"You're staring," he said without looking up.
"You're always working," she replied, pulling the covers around herself.
"It's what keeps this house standing." He finally met her gaze. "And you in silk pajamas."
Amira frowned. "You make it sound like I'm just some expensive ornament."
"You're not," he said flatly. "You're a necessity. For now."
She bristled at his words, even if part of her knew that was the truth.
"Have you ever had anything real, Jordan?" she asked suddenly.
He paused. Just for a heartbeat. Then his expression hardened. "Real doesn't work in my world, Amira. Emotions get you killed."
She didn't know what to say to that. And before she could respond, he was already walking out.
---
A Visitor from the Past
Later that afternoon, the housekeeper knocked on her door.
"There's a guest here to see you, ma'am. She says her name is Mila."
Amira's eyes widened. Mila. Her childhood friend. The one person who hadn't turned on her when her father ruined their family's name.
She rushed down the stairs to find Mila standing in the grand hallway, looking painfully out of place in her simple jeans and jacket.
"Amira!" Mila rushed to hug her. "You look… different."
"Yeah. That tends to happen when you're sold like livestock."
Mila pulled back, eyes wide. "Amira… are you okay? Really?"
Amira hesitated. Then: "No. But I'm surviving."
They sat together in the sitting room, talking in hushed tones. Mila didn't ask too many questions, but her concern was clear.
"You still have me," she said firmly. "If he ever hurts you, I'll help you get out."
Amira smiled sadly. "I don't think it's that simple anymore."
---
The Look in His Eyes
That evening, Jordan returned to find Amira in the garden, her hair down, laughter in her voice as she said goodbye to Mila at the gate.
He watched them from a distance, his expression unreadable.
Amira turned to find him watching. "What?" she asked.
"You had a visitor."
"She's my friend."
"Friends talk. Friends ask questions. Friends take pictures and sell them to the media," he said coldly.
"She's not like that."
He stepped closer. "Everyone is like that when the price is right."
She met his gaze, something fierce rising in her. "Then maybe you're surrounding yourself with the wrong people."
They stared at each other, tension thick in the air.
Then Jordan did something unexpected. His voice softened, barely above a whisper.
"You really trust her, don't you?"
"Yes. She's all I have left."
Jordan looked away, as if her honesty unsettled him. He didn't say another word before turning and walking back into the house, leaving Amira standing alone in the garden.
But she noticed it—just before he turned.
The flicker of something real in his eyes.
Something like fear.