The echoes of the wedding vows still lingered in the air, but Nayla's heart felt strangely hollow.
She sat quietly on the modest wedding stage, wearing a borrowed white kebaya that barely fit. Beside her, Kenan Alvaro sat with perfect posture, his face void of emotion, as if the ceremony was nothing more than a business transaction.
"Congratulations, Nayla... Kenan..." relatives offered their well-wishes one by one.
Nayla smiled politely—her lips curved, but her eyes remained empty.
When the last guest left and silence fell, Nayla finally exhaled the breath she didn't realize she was holding. Her gaze fell on the ring now adorning her left hand—a small diamond, beautiful yet cold, much like the man who had just become her husband.
"Thank you for lending me your life for a year," Kenan said, unbuttoning his suit jacket as he stood.
His voice was flat. Controlled. Like always.
Nayla swallowed hard. "I'll fulfill my part of the deal too."
Kenan looked at her—his eyes sharp, unreadable. "Starting tonight, you'll live in my house. You'll attend company events. And in public..."
He paused, stepping closer.
"You'll smile like you're madly in love with me."
Her chest tightened. "And in private?"
"In private, we're strangers. I won't touch you, and you won't ask questions. Understood?"
Nayla nodded slowly, her throat tight with a hundred unspoken thoughts.
This wasn't a marriage.
It was a performance.
And she had just taken the lead role in a play that could either save her family—or destroy her heart.
_
Kenan's black luxury car waited outside the wedding hall, engine humming quietly. Nayla followed him in silence, her heart pounding in her chest like a warning bell she couldn't turn off.
The ride to Kenan's penthouse was silent. Awkward. The city lights flickered outside the window, casting shadows on her face as she clutched her hands tightly on her lap.
When they arrived, the elevator doors opened to reveal a luxurious suite that seemed too empty, too polished—like no one actually lived here.
"This is your room," Kenan said flatly, pointing to a guest room across the living area.
"And yours?" Nayla asked softly, unsure why she even bothered.
He gestured to the master bedroom down the hall. "We keep separate rooms. Unless we need to 'pretend' otherwise."
She nodded, her lips pressed tightly together.
"Dinner is at eight. My staff will brief you tomorrow on upcoming events you'll attend as my wife. Fake wife," he corrected sharply. "Don't get confused."
Something inside Nayla flinched at that.
But she forced a smile—her new habit.
Just before he turned to leave, Kenan glanced at her again. "One more thing."
She looked up.
"You're not allowed to fall in love with me. It would only complicate things."
Then he walked away, leaving her alone in a room full of designer furniture—and a silence that screamed louder than any fight.
Nayla looked down at the ring on her finger once more.
So cold.
So beautiful.
Just like her new husband.