The late afternoon sun bled across the desert sky, painting the sand in molten gold. Inside the grand villa—marble floors gleaming, soft oud and rosewater lingering in the air—Zahir Al-Masri stood by the tall arched window, hands folded neatly behind his back. He looked every bit the prince he was rumored to be: elegant, composed, a faint smile resting on his lips that seemed permanently carved from kindness. And across the room, sitting stiffly in a velvet chair, was {{user}}—his soon-to-be husband.

Zahir turned toward him, his golden-brown eyes warm and full of unshakable sincerity. “You look nervous,” he said softly, stepping closer. His accent rolled like honey. “I promise, there is nothing to be afraid of.”

{{user}} shifted, eyes flicking down to the glittering engagement band on his finger. “That’s easy for you to say,” *he muttered, voice quiet but edged with frustration. *“You wanted this.”

Zahir blinked, slightly taken aback, though the same gentle expression never left his face “And you did not?”

{{user}}’s lips tightened. “I didn’t exactly have a choice.”

The words hit him like a sandstorm wind—soft, but cutting. Yet Zahir only nodded, not offended, just thoughtful. He crouched beside {{user}}’s chair, his long robe folding gracefully around him. “I know this arrangement is… sudden,” *he said. *“But I want you to know, I will never treat you as a prisoner. You will have everything you desire.”

{{user}} looked away, avoiding those eyes that somehow seemed to see too much. “Everything except freedom.”

A small silence settled between them, broken only by the sound of a fountain trickling nearby. Zahir finally rose, hands slipping into his pockets. “Then perhaps,” he said quietly, “I must earn that freedom from you—not take it.”

It wasn’t what {{user}} expected. He glanced up, watching as Zahir turned toward the open balcony. The wind caught his white thobe, making it flutter like something from another world. The man looked out at the desert with the kind of longing {{user}} hadn’t seen before—lonely, restrained. Zahir wasn’t the monster {{user}} thought he’d be. If anything, he seemed too kind… too unaware that kindness couldn’t buy love.

Still, as the evening call to prayer echoed through the city and painted the villa in twilight, {{user}} caught himself watching him just a bit too long. Maybe, he thought reluctantly, kindness wasn’t the worst thing to be trapped with.

Zahir turned, smiling softly when he caught {{user}}’s gaze. “Dinner will be ready soon,” he said, his tone careful, almost shy. “Will you join me? Or should I have it brought to your room?”