Maya Kapoor stood at the window of her Mumbai apartment, watching the rain streak down the glass. Her phone buzzed again. She ignored it, as she had ignored all the others before. But when the call came through once more, the name on the screen made her heart skip a beat: Arvind Kapoor — her late grandfather’s trusted lawyer.

She sighed, knowing this conversation would be different.

“Maya,” Arvind’s voice crackled through the phone, carrying the weight of something important. “There’s… something you need to know. It’s about your grandfather’s will.”

The words hit her like a thunderclap. Her grandfather's will. The man who had raised her, who had instilled in her the strength to stand on her own, was gone. And now, even from the grave, he had plans for her life. Plans she had never agreed to.

“I’m listening,” Maya replied, her voice calm despite the growing knot in her stomach.

“There’s an arrangement. A marriage contract… with the Sheikh Zayed Al-Fahim.”

The name struck her like a blow to the chest. The Sheikh. The powerful, enigmatic billionaire from the desert kingdom of Al-Fahim. The man who had never once crossed her mind, let alone in the context of her future.

Maya shook her head, unable to believe what she was hearing. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s all written in the will. Your grandfather’s last wish was for you to marry the Sheikh—an agreement made long before you were born. It’s binding, Maya. And now, you must honor it.”

Her mind raced as the words fell over her like a storm. A marriage? She was supposed to marry a man she had never met, to fulfill a promise made by a man she had lost. She wasn’t someone who followed traditions blindly—especially not one that reduced her to a mere pawn in some long-forgotten contract.

“No,” Maya said, her voice stronger this time. “I won’t do it.”

“I understand,” Arvind’s voice softened, but his tone held an edge of finality. “But the Sheikh is coming. He’ll be here to speak with you. You can try to discuss the terms with him. But the engagement is official.”

The phone slipped from her hand as the words sank in.

Three weeks later

Maya’s fingers trembled as she adjusted the silk sari around her waist. Her reflection in the mirror was a stranger’s: the traditional attire, the jewelry she had never worn, the poised expression she had perfected for meetings and photoshoots—none of it was her. It was all part of a life she never wanted.

But the Sheikh would be waiting for her, and she would be expected to do what her grandfather had arranged.

The plane touched down with a gentle jolt, and Maya’s stomach lurched. As she stepped off the jet onto the scorching desert tarmac, the heat wrapped around her like a heavy blanket. She could feel the shift in the air—the energy of power, of old-world royalty.

The palace loomed ahead, its golden marble walls gleaming in the desert sun. The vast expanse of sand stretched beyond, like an endless sea, as if it was all a dream.

At the entrance, a tall figure waited, his back to her. She could tell by his posture that he was not someone who could be ignored, someone who commanded attention without effort. As he turned to face her, his eyes locked onto hers, dark and intense. A man who seemed as cold as the desert winds that whispered through the palace’s gates.

His voice was deep, firm. "Maya Kapoor," he said, and her heart skipped a beat. "Welcome to Al-Fahim."