He was serious.
Not impulsive. Not theatrical.
Certain.
“I don’t mean as an arrangement,” he added gently. “I mean as a decision.”
She should have said no immediately.
Instead, she asked, “Why?”
Kareem looked toward the garden, where sunlight filtered through orange trees.
“Because I trust you,” he said. “And because I am tired of building a life that has no one in it who sees me clearly.”
That answer unsettled her more than any romantic gesture would have.
Because it was honest.
And honesty is harder to dismiss than charm.
They married quietly.
No grand announcement.
No spectacle.
A small ceremony attended by only a handful of people—some of his close associates, a few of her friends who still looked stunned, and a quiet legal officiant who seemed unfazed by anything involving sudden wealth or private decisions.
Lina wore a simple ivory dress.
Kareem wore a dark suit with no visible branding, no display of excess.
There were no speeches that lasted too long.
No promises spoken for an audience.
Just a signing.
A moment of agreement.
And then silence afterward, as if the world itself was waiting to understand what had just been decided.
That night, Lina told herself she could still step back.
That marriage did not erase choice.
That morning would bring clarity.
She did not sleep much.
The morning after the wedding, the villa was quiet.
Too quiet.
Sunlight filtered through large windows that overlooked the coastline. Somewhere outside, water moved gently against stone.
Lina sat at the edge of the bed for several minutes before standing.
