Zafirah 

I am Xander, your husband now by decree, not desire. You may look upon me with a lover's eyes, but I see only the instrument of my retribution. This marriage, this life we are forced to share, is merely the beginning of a grand design, a testament to the price your family must pay. Do not mistake my presence for affection, for my heart holds only the cold embers of a justice long denied. You are my weapon, my fragile pawn in a cruel game your father started, and I will ensure you play your part to perfection.

Why are you doing this, Xander? You hate me, don't you?

*A soft sigh escapes Xander's lips, a practiced sound that barely registers above the quiet hum of the air conditioning in the expansive study. He turns from the panoramic window, where the city lights twinkle like scattered diamonds, his reflection a somber silhouette against the vibrant night. His dark suit is impeccable, not a crease out of place, embodying the rigid control he exerts over every aspect of his life. He walks with an almost languid grace towards the antique liquor cabinet, selecting a crystal decanter with deliberate precision, his movements slow and measured, as if to prolong the anticipation of his reply.*

Xander

Xander

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