The Billionaire Behind the Gate
Zaynab's POV
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They say you don't forget the first time you feel small in a place built to make you feel it.
For me, it was the moment the iron gates opened.
Golden lions. Marble path. Guard with a uniform too crisp to crease.
And me… I am just a girl with a borrowed suitcase and a jilbab that wasn't new.
I adjusted my hijab for the third time and offered my ID. The guard barely glanced before stepping aside.
"You may proceed, Miss Zaynab. Madam is expecting you."
He didn't smile.
He didn't need to.
As I stepped forward, the world shifted. Literally.
The air smelled of orange blossoms and old money. The garden was too quiet to be real. Every leaf looked ironed. Every stone, intentional.
At the end of the path stood a house, or what people with old money called a house.
White walls. Endless arches. Balconies with gold railings. Everything screamed wealth. But not new wealth.
Ancient. Inherited. Unapologetic.
And standing at the top of the stairs was a man.
Still. Composed. Watching.
My feet faltered, just slightly.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dressed in black from neck to ankle. A single silver watch gleamed on his wrist. His gaze which was sharp, unreadable landed on me.
Faruq.
Mariam's brother. The heir.
I'd heard about him. Everyone had.
He ran international companies. Didn't do interviews. Avoided the press. They called him The Silent Flame.
Because he never spoke unless it burned.
But now, he was staring at me.
I looked away.
"Zaynab!" Mariam's voice exploded behind the door.
She rushed out barefoot, her scarf half on, laughing as she practically jumped down the last step to hug me.
"You're here! I was beginning to think your professor locked you in his office again."
I forced a small laugh. "I needed a break."
Her eyes narrowed slightly, but she let it go. "Come on. I have your room ready. My mum's obsessed with you already. Wait till she meets you in person."
She looped her arm through mine and pulled me toward the steps. I didn't look up again.
But I felt it.
His gaze.
Still there.
Still watching.
Inside, it was worse. In the best way.
Chandeliers that looked like constellations. Walls covered in hand-painted verses. Floors that didn't dare make a sound when you walked. The scent of oud hung in the air like a silent welcome, and a warning.
Mariam chatted nonstop. Her mum was out. Her little cousin was sick. Asiya would be arriving tomorrow.
But my mind was elsewhere.
In the corridor.
At the top of the stairs.
By the gate.
Him.
"Here's your room." Mariam flung the door open.
The guest room was bigger than my entire hostel block.
There was a prayer corner, a writing desk, and floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the garden.
I sat on the bed, sinking into the velvet cover.
Then my phone buzzed.
Professor Hassan:
"You made it safely, I hope. We need to talk soon."
My breath caught.
That voice. Those words. They haunted me even now.
"I'm serious, Zaynab. I see more than a student in you."
I turned the phone face down.
No. Not here. Not now.
I walked over to the window and pulled the curtain slightly.
The garden shimmered in warm gold. Lanterns lit the path like stars. And by the fountain, there he is …him.
Faruq.
On the phone. Face unreadable. Stance composed. One hand in his pocket. The other held the phone to his ear.
I watched for a second too long.
Then let the curtain fall.
And for the first time in a long time, I whispered to myself something I didn't want to hear.
"Ya Allah… what have I walked into?"
The Dinner, the Glance, and the Message
By the time I made it downstairs, the house had changed.
It wasn't louder—just fuller. Servants moved with quiet efficiency, setting the table in the dining hall. Silver trays clinked softly. Aromas ofgrilled lamb, saffron rice, something spiced and sweet floated. It smelled like a royal feast, not dinner.
"Sit here," Mariam said, pointing to the seat beside her. "Ignore the formality. My mother insists we eat like sultans even when there's just four of us."
I gave a small nod and slipped into the cushioned chair.
Across from me sat Mariam's little cousin of maybe seven years old, fiddling with her glass of milk.
Next to her, a space. Empty.
Next to that space …him.
Faruq.
Already seated. Already watching.
Not openly. Never openly.
But every time I glanced up briefly…cautiously; his gaze was either dropping away or just arriving. Like a tide I couldn't predict.
I focused on my plate.
What is happening to me?!
Conversation flowed around me. Mariam's mother asked gentle questions about my NYSC posting. Her voice was warm, her eyes kind. She looked at me like I was something delicate to protect; not a guest, but a daughter in-waiting.
The little girl beside her leaned toward me mid-meal and whispered, "You smell like my Quran teacher."
I smiled. "That's a good thing, I hope?"
She giggled and nodded.
I liked her.
I didn't like how Faruq's voice slipped in between the sentences like a breeze from a cracked window.
Low. Calm. Authoritative.
He only spoke when addressed. But when he did, the table paused. Even his mother leaned forward slightly when he talked, like waiting for judgment.
Then, between sips of mint tea, he spoke directly to me.
"You study Literature?"
The question felt heavier than it should've been.
I nodded. "Yes. Final year."
He gave a small, thoughtful hum. "It suits you."
Just that.
No follow-up. No explanation. No smile.
But the table was silent for a moment too long after it.
Mariam cleared her throat and dove into a rant about her art supplies being stolen at school.
I followed her lead. But I felt his gaze linger. Not rude. Not romantic. Just… intense.
By the time dessert was served, pistachio-filled sweets and rosewater pudding… I had mastered the art of not meeting his eyes.
Until my phone buzzed under the table.
Asiya.
Voice note (00:10)
"Tell me you're already there and you've seen Faruq. He's still fine, right? Please don't say he's married. Or boring. Or shorter than I remember…"
I paused the message instantly, cheeks warming.
I didn't respond. I just turned off the screen and tucked the phone back in my purse.
But the silence beside me changed. Mariam was watching me. Too carefully.
She hadn't heard the message, but she'd seen my face.
"What was that?" she asked, light but probing.
"Just Asiya," I replied. "She's arriving tomorrow?"
Mariam nodded, but her smile faded a little. "Yeah. She's… excited."
She didn't say about who.
The room felt warmer all of a sudden.
After dinner, I excused myself and returned to the guest room. My head buzzed. Not from noise, but the kind of silence that holds too much.
I performed ablution, prayed 'Isha quietly, and sat by the window with the curtain pulled just enough to see the garden again.
Empty now.
No Faruq.
No voices.
Just stars blinking like secrets above the estate.
My phone buzzed again.
Professor Hassan:
"I'd like to see you when you return. We left things unfinished."
I stared at it.
Then flipped it face down once more.
There were two men in my life now. One speaking too much. The other barely at all.