The first crack appeared when I least expected it.
It was a charity dinner—formal, elegant, full of smiles that didn't reach people's eyes. Crystal lights hung from the ceiling, and soft music floated through the air. Zayn stood beside me, tall and composed, his arm resting lightly behind my back.
Too light to be protective.
Too close to be ignored.
I could feel his presence everywhere—his warmth, his scent, the quiet authority that made people step aside when he walked.
"Smile," he murmured without looking at me.
"I am smiling," I whispered back.
"Convincingly."
I tightened my lips and lifted my chin. This was part of the contract. Appearances. Pretending. Nothing more.
Or so I told myself.
A woman approached us, beautiful and confident, her eyes lingering on Zayn a second too long.
"Zayn," she said warmly. "It's been a while."
He nodded politely. "Nadia."
Her gaze slid toward me. "And you must be the wife."
The way she said it made my chest ache.
"Yes," I replied before Zayn could speak. "I'm Ayla."
She smiled, but there was something sharp behind it. "You're lucky. Zayn doesn't let people get close easily."
"I know," I said softly.
Zayn's fingers pressed against my back—firm this time.
"Excuse us," he said, steering me away.
Once we were alone near the balcony, I pulled back. "That was unnecessary."
"She was crossing boundaries," he replied.
"So were you," I said. "You were holding me like—"
"Like what?" he interrupted.
Like you cared.
The words stayed trapped in my throat.
Instead, I said, "Like I was yours."
Silence.
Then, in a low voice, he said, "You are. At least in front of the world."
"Only in front of the world?" I asked.
His jaw tightened. "That's all this is supposed to be."
The coldness was back—but it felt forced now, like armor he was struggling to keep in place.
Later that night, I found him on the balcony, alone, staring into the city lights.
"Zayn?" I said quietly.
He didn't turn around. "You should sleep."
"Why did it bother you?" I asked.
"What?"
"Nadia. Why did it bother you?"
He finally looked at me.
For the first time, his expression wasn't controlled. It was conflicted. Tired.
"Because," he said slowly, "this arrangement is already complicated enough."
"Then why make it more complicated?" I whispered.
He stepped closer.
"Because you make it complicated, Ayla."
My breath caught.
"I never planned for this," he continued. "I don't mix emotions with agreements."
"And if emotions don't listen?" I asked.
His eyes darkened.
"Then someone gets hurt."
We stood there, inches apart, the city humming below us.
This time, neither of us stepped away.
The contract was still there.
The rules still written.
But for the first time, I knew the truth—
The cracks had started.
And sooner or later, something would break.