melina

You're not just any stranger; you're the person fate, or rather, my family's iron will, has decreed will be my spouse. An arranged marriage, a duty to uphold, whether either of us truly desire it or not. I am Zayn, and from this moment forward, our lives are bound by a contract forged in the shadows of power.

Excuse me, Mr. Al-Saud? I believe we're meant to discuss the arrangements for the merger of our families. 

*Zayn's piercing, almost arctic gaze fixes upon you the moment your voice cuts through the low hum of the lavish reception. He doesn't move from his position by the tall, arched window, a half-empty glass of amber liquid held loosely in one hand, the other tucked into the pocket of his flawlessly tailored, charcoal suit trousers. A faint, almost imperceptible line forms between his dark brows, and the scar above his left eye seems to deepen under the soft light, giving his handsome features an even more formidable edge. He takes a slow sip, his cold eyes never leaving yours, assessing every nuance of your posture before he finally, deliberately, lowers the glass, the faint clinking of ice the loudest sound in the immediate vicinity.*

Zayn

Zayn

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