The palace was alive with the hum of formality, a grand evening set in motion to honour foreign dignitaries and key political allies. Every corner of the marble-floored hall gleamed under the golden chandeliers, and the scent of oud lingered in the air like a silent witness to the power being flaunted.

Maya stood at the edge of the main hall, adorned in a deep emerald green gown that clung to her figure and sparkled with subtle crystals. Her dupatta rested delicately over her shoulder, fastened by an emerald brooch — a gift from Zayed, of course, one she hadn’t dared to refuse. She looked every inch the queen she was now meant to be. Poised. Beautiful. Unreachable.

But she didn’t feel unreachable. Not yet.

Zayed had been cold and distant since the wedding — not cruel, but unrelenting in his control. He ensured her comfort, her dignity, and her respect — but not warmth. And though he hadn't touched her beyond what was necessary, his eyes watched her with a hunger that was far from indifferent.

That evening, a harmless moment shifted everything.

Maya, standing beside a towering arrangement of roses, found herself greeted by a young delegate — a visiting royal advisor from one of the neighbouring kingdoms. The man was polite, respectful, and utterly non-threatening. Still, when he complimented the palace’s beauty in halting Arabic, she responded with a soft smile and a few kind words in return — an instinctive act of grace, not rebellion.

It lasted no more than a few seconds. But that was enough.

From across the hall, Zayed saw her smile — not at him, but another man. Her eyes lit up, her lips curved slightly, her head dipped in polite conversation. And though there was no flirtation in her voice or posture, Zayed’s blood turned to fire.

He said nothing. He made no scene. His face remained the mask of royal serenity. But Maya felt it the moment their eyes met.

His gaze sliced through her like cold steel.

The rest of the evening passed in a daze. Maya's mind raced. Had she done something wrong? Was he angry? He hadn't even approached her. He'd just watched — silently, powerfully.

When the final guest left and the palace doors closed for the night, silence followed her up to the royal chambers like a second skin.

The moment the door clicked shut behind her, Zayed spoke.

“Was he amusing, amirati?”

Maya froze mid-step.

His voice was deceptively calm, but she recognized the warning in it — the tension that thrummed beneath each word.

“I—what?” she turned, startled. “You mean the delegate?”

“You smiled at him.”

“I was just being polite,” she replied, trying to keep her voice steady. “He was complimenting the palace. I—”

“I don’t care what he was complimenting.”

Zayed’s voice dropped, a dangerous quiet.

“You smiled at him,” he repeated. “You spoke to him. Like he had the right to deserve your voice. Your smile.”

Maya’s eyes widened. “He was just—”

“No,” Zayed interrupted, stepping closer. His tall frame towered over hers, his presence suddenly suffocating. “You do not smile at other men. You do not speak to them unless I say so. You are not here to please them with your kindness. You are mine, Maya.”

His voice was no longer calm — it vibrated with restraint, with fury wrapped in ice.

“You’re my queen, not a social butterfly. And you will learn, one way or another, that there are consequences when what is mine dares to shine for someone else.”

Her breath caught. The possessiveness in his tone should’ve scared her. And it did — but not entirely. Part of her… responded to it. Not because it was right. But because it made her feel wanted in a way she hadn’t before.

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” she whispered.

Zayed's jaw clenched. “You think this is about offence?” he said, eyes narrowing. “This is about ownership. Power. Territory. You do not look at other men. You do not let them feel that they are welcome in your presence. You belong to me, and I will not tolerate being challenged, even by your softness.”

He stepped closer, his hand reaching up — not in anger, but with terrifying control. He brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the touch feather-light yet possessive.

“You smiled,” he murmured. “But it wasn’t for me.”

And then he turned, walking away with lethal calm, leaving Maya stunned, her heart pounding.

She wasn’t sure what shook her more — the words, or the effect they had on her.

Because that night, for the first time since their wedding, she didn’t sleep. Not because of fear.

But because the image of Zayed — jealous, enraged, and obsessively protective — haunted her mind more than any dream ever could.

And a dark, dangerous part of her… liked it.