Zakirah Kabir sat in the window seat of her family's mansion, the sun just beginning to dip behind the horizon. The view of the sprawling city below was breath-taking, with its distant skyline glowing like a faint promise of something outside the walls of her carefully controlled life. As the golden light faded, she let out a long breath, her sketchbook resting on her lap, untouched for the moment.

She'd always loved sunsets—how the colors seemed to promise that even the darkest days would end. For someone who had spent her entire life in the shadows of her family's powerful legacy, the sunsets were a reminder of what she could never truly have. Freedom, love, and the simple pleasure of being someone's equal.

Her heart fluttered painfully in her chest, the beat heavy and uncertain. Even at this distance, she could feel the weight of her mother's eyes watching over her from the other side of the room. Romaisa. Her stepmother. Her protector. But also, the reason for the constant vigilance, the unspoken rules, the life where Zakirah was never allowed to let her guard down.

"Zakirah," Romaisa's voice was soft, like silk, but it carried an unyielding command. "Your appointment is in an hour."

Zakirah nodded, barely moving. She'd always been a dutiful daughter—too dutiful, perhaps. Even as a child, she had understood the rules. "Don't trust anyone. Keep your heart locked away. Always protect those you love, even if it means sacrificing your own happiness."

Her mother's voice had been a steady echo in her ears throughout her life. A heartbeat beneath the surface of every decision, every cautious step.

"I will be ready," Zakirah said quietly.

She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to push away the dizzying mixture of fear and longing that always accompanied her medical appointments. The constant heart checkups, the never-ending list of specialists. It was as though her body was a ticking time bomb. Her mother had made sure she lived as safely as possible, but sometimes, Zakirah felt like a delicate porcelain doll on display, never allowed to fall, never allowed to truly live.

Her father, Kabir, had been the one to ensure the walls around her were always reinforced. His eyes were like steel, and the love he had for his family was unshakable, but also possessive, like a treasure locked in a vault.

Her parents had stopped their violent involvement in the mafia long ago, but their influence remained the most powerful in the country. The world feared Kabir Kabir, the man who controlled the underworld with ruthless precision. And Romaisa, who had once been a symbol of fragile beauty, was now a silent force—commanding, despite her delicate health, despite her past.

Zakirah often wondered if she was meant for something more than just playing the dutiful daughter. But the heart condition that ran through her veins held her back from any dreams of a future where love wasn't a distant, fictional concept. She couldn't love someone and burden them with the knowledge that her heart might give out any day. She couldn't drag someone else into the suffocating world her parents had built. She couldn't— wouldn't—let anyone in, especially not when there was always the risk of them being caught in the web of her family's power.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the soft sound of footsteps. Ahad, her younger brother, appeared in the doorway, his wide eyes scanning her face before offering a soft smile. He was young, eager, and always the optimist—everything she was not.

"Are you feeling okay?" he asked, his concern evident in the way his brow furrowed.

Zakirah smiled faintly, her hand instinctively going to her chest. "I'm fine, Ahad. Just tired."

Her younger sister, Humra, followed behind, her playful energy a stark contrast to the stillness Zakirah carried. Humra bounced on her feet, her gaze darting to the window.

"Zakirah, you're always in here, staring at sunsets." Humra's tone was light but teasing. "You should come out more. Life isn't just about appointments and avoiding the world. There's a whole world out there waiting for you."

Zakirah's smile softened, but her heart ached. She knew the world outside was a dangerous place, a place she was too fragile to navigate. "I'm fine, Humra. I promise."

Humra rolled her eyes but said nothing further. The silence that followed was comfortable, but it left Zakirah with that familiar ache—the loneliness of being the one who always stayed behind.

After a few moments, her father's voice called from downstairs, low and commanding as usual. "Zakirah, it's time."

Zakirah stood from her seat with a slow, deliberate motion, her hand resting briefly on the windowsill. "I'll be there in a moment."

As she walked towards the door, her siblings flanked her, both offering silent support. But it was always the same. Her life was a series of appointments, a predictable cycle that left little room for anything beyond the expectations of her family. And soon, those same expectations would bind her even more tightly when the marriage was arranged.

In a grand, coldly decorated conference room at the Jameel family estate, Omar Jameel sat across from his father, his expression impassive. His father's sharp gaze scanned the documents before him as he laid out his plans for the future, a future where Omar's political career was paramount. It wasn't about love; it never had been.

His father's voice was firm. "This marriage is the key to solidifying your position. You need the support of the Kabir family, and Zakirah is the ideal match. She's of high status and will help you strengthen your influence."

Omar nodded but said nothing, his mind already racing with the responsibilities ahead. He didn't want this. He didn't want a family, especially one that came with all the emotional baggage Zakirah carried. She was fragile, a product of a world he couldn't understand or trust. But there was no avoiding it. The deal had been struck. There was no turning back.

The day arrived sooner than expected. Omar, dressed impeccably in a dark suit, stood waiting in the family's opulent drawing room, his jaw set with determination. Zakirah entered quietly, her soft footsteps barely making a sound on the marble floor. The moment she stepped into the room, his eyes swept over her—taking in the delicate beauty of her form, the way she held herself with an air of fragility, a mask of control hiding something deeper.

"Zakirah," Omar greeted her, his tone cool but polite. "We have business to discuss."

Her throat tightened at the formality in his voice, but she remained silent, nodding. This was what her parents wanted. This was what she had been prepared for. She had known this day would come. The marriage wasn't out of love—it was out of necessity, for both families.

He motioned for her to sit, and they both took their places, the distance between them almost palpable. Omar's gaze never left her, his eyes sharp, cutting through the silence. He wasn't here to make small talk or pretend he cared about her dreams.

"I need to make one thing clear, Zakirah," he began, his voice low and firm. "This marriage will be strictly business. I don't want your affections, your emotions, or any of the things you might expect from a traditional marriage. You'll have your place. I'll have mine. Do not expect love from me."

Zakirah's heart fluttered in her chest at his words, the coldness in his tone cutting through the air between them. She had known this would be the case, but hearing it from him still made her insides twist. She glanced down at her lap, where her hands were folded tightly together.

"I understand," she replied, her voice soft, yet laced with a quiet strength. "I know what I'm marrying into. I do not expect anything more than what you've said. I only ask that you allow me to live quietly, to care for my family."

He looked at her then, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his gaze. "I don't trust anyone, Zakirah. I will not put anyone I care about at risk because of my actions. And I expect the same from you. There will be no distractions, no complications. Our roles will be clear. Is that understood?"

She nodded slowly, feeling the weight of his words. She had always lived by rules—rules that kept her heart locked away. It seemed the man before her was just another reminder that some things were never meant to be.

"Understood," she whispered.

The conversation ended there, with no further words exchanged. The marriage was sealed, not with the promise of love or connection, but with the heavy weight of duty, family, and political strategy. They both knew their roles, and neither was foolish enough to believe that anything beyond their obligations would ever come to pass.