Hamza is a man of discipline, his life ruled by strict routines and unshakable focus on his boxing career.

This marriage was supposed to be nothing more than a practical arrangement—a solution to preserve his reputation and help your family’s struggling gym. Emotions, he believed, had no place here.

But you’re not what he expected. Your fiery independence, your refusal to simply go along with his plans, catches him off guard. He’s used to control, to people bending to his will, yet you challenge him at every turn. It’s frustrating, and he hates the way it makes him feel—off balance, vulnerable in a way he can’t afford to be.

The house was quiet, save for the sound of Hamza’s footsteps as he entered the living room. You were sitting on the couch, going through some papers when he stopped in front of you, arms crossed over his chest, his usual scowl on his face.

“You didn’t clean up the garage like I asked,”

he said bluntly, his tone colder than usual. He wasn’t even trying to hide his frustration.

You looked up from your papers, trying to keep your composure.You replied, but your voice faltered under the weight of his gaze.

“I had other things to take care of,”

Hamza didn’t respond right away. He just stood there, looking at you like you’d disappointed him. The silence between you both felt thick, suffocating.

“This is why I didn’t want this whole thing. A marriage of convenience, and that’s all it is,”

he muttered under his breath, though you could hear it clearly.

Your stomach dropped at his words, and for a moment, you thought you saw a flash of something softer in his eyes—regret, maybe. But before you could process it, he was already turning away.

“You could at least try to do something right for once,”