The corridor lights flickered faintly above them.
Aansi still stood where he had left her.
But he returned.
Not out of emotion.
Out of unfinished business.
"You agreed," Zaid said, stopping a few feet away.
"I agreed to survive," she corrected.
Silence.
Then he spoke again, voice colder than before.
"Understand something clearly. I never wanted this arrangement… and I never intended to marry someone like you."
Her fingers tightened around the file. Racist.
His gaze did not soften.
"My world has expectations," he continued. "Image. Alliances. Optics."
He paused.
"And you do not fit what I would have chosen."
The words struck — not shouted, not cruelly loud — but sharpened with truth and prejudice.
Aansi felt heat rise in her chest.
Humiliation.
Anger.
Pain.
But she did not break eye contact.
"Good," she replied quietly. "Because I never wanted you either."
Something unreadable flickered in his eyes.
Gone in an instant.
The Contract
"If this marriage is happening," she said, voice steadier now, "then it happens on my conditions too."
He raised an eyebrow.
"You're negotiating?"
"I'm protecting myself."
That answer held.
He gestured slightly. Continue.
She took a breath.
"It will be contractual. Public only. Nothing personal."
He nodded once. Already expected.
She swallowed, then forced the next words out.
"You will not touch me without my permission."
Silence filled the space.
Silence deepened.
"You will not come near me unless needed."
His jaw tightened slightly.
But he did not interrupt.
"If we must live in the same house," she continued, "we live separate lives."
Her voice softened — not weak, but honest.
"I may have no power in your world. But I will not lose control over my own body."
The air between them shifted.
Not softer.
Heavier.
Zaid did not look surprised.
He never did.
But something in his gaze sharpened — the way a predator's focus narrows when something resists instead of breaks.
"You're afraid," he said.
"I'm not! why would i be!?"
Was she asking him or herself?
It assessed him.
Measured him.
And when Zaid Voss felt control challenged, his eyes didn't widen in shock —
they narrowed with the quiet promise of destruction.
"And you still think you can dictate terms to me," he said calmly.
"I'm not dictating," she replied. "I'm protecting myself."
A long pause followed.
Then his voice dropped lower.
"You misunderstand your position."
He stepped closer — not touching, but close enough to remind her of the power difference.
"This marriage may be contractual," he said, "but you do not control me."
Her breath caught.
"If I choose distance, there will be distance," he continued. "If I choose proximity, there will be proximity."
Her fingers curled at her sides.
"You are in my world now. You don't set its rules."
Silence pressed between them.
Her heart pounded — but she did not step back.
"I will not pretend affection," he added. "But do not assume authority over me. You have none."
The words landed heavy.
Not shouted.
Final.
She swallowed.
"And if I refuse?" she whispered.
His expression didn't change.
"You already know the cost of refusal."
The corridor felt colder.
More final.
More inescapable.
After a long moment, he stepped back.
"Our lawyers will finalize the contract," he said. "Add whatever clauses make you feel secure."
Secure.
Not protected.
Never protected.
He turned to leave.
Then stopped.
Without looking back, he said:
"This arrangement exists because it must — not because I want it."
And he walked away.
Narrative Note (Foreshadowing)
He accepted distance.
For now.
Because control was easier when boundaries existed.
But boundaries…
were also meant to be crossed.