It was an ordinary evening—one of those rare moments when the world outside seemed to fall away, and the quiet of the house was a solace they both needed. The night had passed slowly, with just the sounds of a quiet dinner and Zakirah's pens tapping gently on paper, as she worked on her latest manuscript. Omar had retreated to his study after dinner, as he always did, buried in the weight of his responsibilities as mayor. There were moments of peaceful silence, shared yet unspoken. It was familiar. It was comfortable.

But then the phone rang.

Zakirah wasn't expecting any calls. The house staff wasn't supposed to disturb them at this hour unless it was urgent. But as she picked up the phone, a voice on the other end made her stomach tighten.

"Mrs. Khan, do you know what's happening right now?" the voice asked, sharp and anxious.

Zakirah felt a cold wave of unease sweep over her. "What's going on?" she asked, her voice tight.

There was a brief pause. "There's a story breaking. The media is circling around, accusing you of... of being involved in something. They're saying your marriage is just a political stunt. They say you're being forced into this marriage to improve your husband's image."

Zakirah felt her pulse quicken. Her hand shook as she pressed the phone tighter to her ear. "What? How—"

"They've twisted it all. They've even brought in your past—the fact that you're not from a political family—and they're implying your silence in the marriage is a sign that it's all a façade."

Her heart pounded. She wanted to hang up the phone, shut everything out, but she couldn't. The words the media were saying—she hadn't even realized how vulnerable she had made herself, how the world could tear apart everything she had built with silence.

The phone call ended abruptly, leaving her in a daze. Her fingers gripped the edge of the counter as her mind raced.

The walls of their home suddenly felt thin.

Omar was in his study when the news broke. He was still sitting at his desk when Zakirah walked in, her face pale. She didn't speak at first, her eyes wide with fear. His gaze flicked up from the papers, noticing the change in her demeanor instantly.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice sharp as his mind worked quickly to assess the situation.

"The media..." Zakirah's voice trembled as she spoke, the weight of her words heavier than she could bear. "They're attacking me. They're saying things about our marriage... about me. They're calling it a political stunt."

Omar stood up immediately. His usual composure faltered as he took in her reaction. He could see the vulnerability in her eyes, the hurt that came from being thrust into the public spotlight without warning.

"Damn it," he muttered under his breath, his eyes darkening. "I knew they'd find a way to twist this."

Without another word, he strode toward the door. But Zakirah stopped him, her hand reaching out as she took a step forward. She wasn't sure why—maybe it was her desperation, or maybe she just needed something to steady her—but her voice cracked when she spoke.

"Omar, please... I didn't—"

He turned to face her, his expression hard, yet his eyes softened with an emotion she couldn't quite place.

"You didn't ask for this," he said quietly, his tone low and steady. "Neither did I."

She swallowed hard, trying to steady her breath. "What are you going to do?"

His lips pressed together into a thin line, as though he was grappling with his own frustration. There was a fire in his eyes now—something protective, something fierce.

"I'll handle it," he said. "You don't have to worry about this. I'll make sure they know they've crossed a line."

Zakirah stepped back, her heart pounding, but it wasn't from fear. It was from the raw intensity of his words. Despite everything—his emotional walls, his detachment—he was willing to fight for her. There was something in his tone, something in the way he looked at her, that told her he wasn't going to let this go.

The media storm escalated quickly, and by the time Omar appeared in front of the cameras the next morning, the rumors had spread like wildfire. The tabloids had printed headlines that questioned the very foundation of their marriage. They speculated about Zakirah's motives, painting her as a woman who was being used by her husband for political gain. They dug into her past, her family's history, and made assumptions about her role in Omar's life that weren't just wrong—they were cruel.

As Omar entered the press conference room, the atmosphere was electric, charged with anticipation. He stood behind the podium, his jaw clenched, his hands gripping the edge as he stared out at the sea of journalists. The cameras flashed, the microphones were pushed forward, and the weight of the moment hung thick in the air.

He didn't look at Zakirah at first, but she stood to the side, her hands clasped tightly together, her shoulders tense. She had dressed carefully for this moment, trying to put on a mask of composure, but inside, she felt like she was being torn apart.

Then, the first question came, the most damning one of all.

"Mr. Khan," a reporter called, "can you confirm whether your marriage to Mrs. Khan is a political maneuver? Are you using her to improve your image as mayor?"

The room went silent. Zakirah's breath caught in her throat as Omar's eyes flicked toward her for the first time since entering. He didn't hesitate.

"If you think for one second that I would ever treat my wife like a political tool," Omar's voice cut through the tension like a blade, "you are gravely mistaken."

The words were sharp and deliberate, his gaze piercing through the reporters like a storm. There was a silence in the room as everyone waited for him to continue.

"I do not need to justify my marriage to anyone. I married Zakirah because I wanted to, because she is my wife—not because of some misguided notion of political convenience. You should be ashamed of yourselves for spreading lies and trying to tear apart a family for the sake of a headline."

His voice grew louder with each word, and Zakirah felt a strange warmth spread through her, even though her heart was still racing. This was the man she had married, the man she had barely known—he was standing up for her in a way she hadn't expected.

He turned to her now, his eyes meeting hers with a steady confidence. "My wife has every right to live her life, to be treated with dignity. I'll protect her from any media or individual who seeks to bring her down. And I won't apologize for that."

The reporters were stunned into silence. There were a few murmurs in the room, but the atmosphere had shifted. Omar had done what he promised: he had defended her with everything he had. And in that moment, Zakirah saw something in him—a tenderness, a protectiveness—that had never been so clear. It wasn't the cold, distant man she had married. This was someone who cared, deeply, even if he didn't show it in the ways she expected.

After the press conference, when the cameras had gone and the tension had begun to settle, Omar walked back to their car with Zakirah by his side. She hadn't said much during the event, still in shock at what had just transpired. But as they got into the car, he glanced at her, his expression softening.

"You don't have to thank me," he said quietly. "It's my job to protect you. I won't let anyone hurt you, not like that."

Zakirah's heart felt like it had swollen in her chest. She wanted to speak, to say something that would convey just how much his words had meant to her. But the truth was, she didn't know how to respond.

Instead, she simply nodded, her voice barely a whisper. "I... I didn't expect that."

Omar's lips curved into the faintest of smiles, but it was enough to make her chest tighten. "Neither did I," he murmured.