113.

Ibrahim’s grand mansion, a testament to his immense wealth, gleamed under the afternoon sun. The sprawling living room, adorned with priceless art and opulent furnishings, was filled with laughter and polite conversation. Ibrahim's wife, Zainab, moved gracefully around the guests, offering tea served in delicate porcelain cups. Her smile was warm, masking the tension she felt as she glanced at her husband.

Ibrahim sat in the center of the room, his expression one of practiced charm. Opposite him, Mr. and Mrs. Hassan, Alana’s parents, engaged him in pleasant conversation. Alana sat beside her parents, a vision of beauty with her soft features and gentle demeanor, but there was a nervousness in her eyes. The alliance between her and Murad was the reason for this meeting, and the weight of expectation rested heavily on her shoulders.

Zainab placed a tray of sweets on the glass table, smiling at Alana. “Please, have some,” she said kindly, though her eyes flickered to Ibrahim, silently pleading for the meeting to go smoothly.

Ibrahim turned to Mr. Hassan, his tone dripping with enthusiasm. “We believe Murad and Alana will make a perfect match. Murad is an exceptional young man, and we are honored at the prospect of this alliance.”

Mr. Hassan nodded approvingly. “It would be a great honor for our families to be united.”

Alana, meanwhile, sat rigidly, her gaze occasionally darting towards the entrance as if hoping for a distraction. Her hands trembled slightly as she reached for her teacup, but before she could steady herself, a sudden noise at the door made everyone turn.

Faraz walked in, his presence commanding attention. He wore a sharp black suit, his hair styled with effortless perfection, but his eyes—onyx black, cold and calculating—were full of barely concealed disdain. Ibrahim’s jaw clenched at the sight of his elder son, and he immediately fumed.

“What are you doing here, Faraz?” Ibrahim demanded, his voice tight with anger.

Faraz flashed a smile, though it was far from friendly. “Ah, I see we’re having one of those ‘billionaire’ gatherings,” he said sarcastically, his gaze sweeping over the room. “Still stuck on arranging alliances, are we, Father?” He chuckled, leaning against the doorframe. “You know, I’m thirty-two now. Surely, that’s past the age where you should be thinking about these things.”

Ibrahim’s face darkened, but before he could respond, Mr. Hassan’s eyes widened with surprise. “Wait, thirty-two?” He looked at Faraz, then at Ibrahim, as if connecting dots in his mind. “So… Faraz is the intended groom?”

For a brief, stunned moment, there was silence in the room. Ibrahim’s expression twisted with frustration, but before he could correct the misunderstanding, Faraz’s smirk only grew.

“That’s right,” Faraz drawled, his voice thick with sarcasm, though no one seemed to catch it. “I’m just the lucky groom-to-be.”

Mr. Hassan, thinking Faraz was serious, turned to his wife and Alana with newfound excitement. “Well, then!” he declared. “We are delighted to fix this alliance. We are honored to have Faraz as our future son-in-law.”

Alana’s breath caught in her throat, her hands trembling more visibly now. Faraz’s dark, onyx eyes turned to her, drinking in her features with an intensity that made her heart race with fear. His gaze, so unreadable and merciless, left her feeling small and vulnerable.

Faraz’s smile widened, almost predatorily, and Alana stiffened, feeling trapped under his scrutinizing stare. She forced herself to lower her eyes, wishing she could disappear.

Ibrahim’s anger boiled over, his face turning crimson. “Faraz!” he snapped, barely containing his rage. “Enough of your games. This alliance is for Murad.”

Faraz finally pushed himself off the doorframe, his smirk fading. “Ah, of course,” he said mockingly, his tone dripping with false innocence. “My mistake, Father. After all, Murad must have the perfect bride, even if his heart is already elsewhere.”

Ibrahim’s eyes flared, knowing exactly what Faraz was implying, and the tension in the room thickened. Murad, who had been lingering in the hallway, overheard everything. His jaw clenched in silent frustration, thinking of Taliya, the girl he truly cared for but could never have in this world of power and expectations.

Alana sat frozen, still feeling the weight of Faraz’s gaze. She glanced up, but those dark, onyx eyes had left a mark, a fear she couldn't shake.

Ibrahim could hardly contain his outrage as Faraz's smug expression continued to needle him. His fists tightened, and he forced a brittle smile, though his voice betrayed his fury. "Faraz," he said with barely restrained venom, "you’re interrupting an important meeting. Leave. Now."

Faraz raised his eyebrows, feigning innocence. "Oh, but I wouldn't dream of leaving such an interesting gathering," he replied, his voice laced with sarcasm. "After all, I might just be the key to this alliance."

Murad finally stepped into the room, his expression stoic but his eyes betraying a hint of frustration. He glanced at Alana, whose face had paled under the pressure of the situation, then at Faraz, who seemed all too pleased to make things difficult.

"Father," Murad said, attempting to bring some calm to the chaos, "this isn't the time for unnecessary drama. Let's focus on the matter at hand."

Ibrahim’s face grew redder. "Unnecessary drama?" he echoed, his voice rising. "Faraz is the one turning this into a circus! He has no place in this discussion. You are the one we are arranging a future for!"

But Mr. Hassan, sensing the tension, cleared his throat and interjected, "With all due respect, Ibrahim, Faraz does seem… more suited to Alana." His eyes flickered uncertainly between the two brothers. "He’s older, experienced, and his presence commands attention. Perhaps this would be a better match for our daughter."

Murad stiffened, an unexpected wave of relief washing over him, though he quickly masked it. Alana, on the other hand, gripped the edge of her seat, her fingers trembling. Her mind raced at the thought of being engaged to the intimidating Faraz, who seemed to drink in her fear with those intense, onyx eyes.

Ibrahim's expression twisted, a mix of rage and disbelief. "Mr. Hassan, this alliance was always intended for Murad," he argued, his voice strained. "Faraz isn't—"

Mr. Hassan interrupted, his tone firm but diplomatic. "Forgive me, Ibrahim, but seeing Faraz in person has changed things. His presence is… undeniable, and his confidence reassures us. Alana would benefit from the stability of someone like him."

Faraz's lips curled into a satisfied smirk, though his eyes gleamed with a mischievous light. "Looks like fate has other plans, Father," he drawled, leaning back in his chair as if the room now belonged to him.

Ibrahim slammed his hand on the table, startling everyone. "This is absurd!" he roared, his voice echoing through the grand hall. "Faraz has no interest in an alliance, and Murad is—"

"Father," Murad interrupted quietly, his voice calm but resolute. "Let it be. If Mr. Hassan believes Faraz is a better match, we should respect that decision."

Alana’s eyes darted to Murad, silently pleading for him to speak up and reject the arrangement. But Murad, knowing that this would free him from a commitment he never wanted, remained silent. His heart ached, though, thinking of Taliya and the life he still couldn't have.

Zainab, ever the mediator, stepped forward, her voice soft but firm. "Ibrahim, perhaps we should discuss this more calmly. Alana deserves a say in this as well."

Alana swallowed, her throat dry. "I… I…" she stammered, her voice barely a whisper. She could still feel the weight of Faraz's gaze, those dark, piercing eyes that seemed to know her every fear.

Faraz leaned forward, his voice dropping to a lower, more ominous tone. "Relax, Alana," he said, though his words were far from comforting. "I don’t bite. Not unless you ask me to." His smirk deepened, and Alana's face flushed with a mix of fear and embarrassment.

Mr. Hassan turned to his daughter, his expression expectant. "Alana, what do you think?" he asked gently. "We value your opinion, of course."

Alana's hands tightened in her lap, and she struggled to find her voice. The room waited, all eyes on her, and she finally whispered, "If… if it's what you think is best, Father."

Ibrahim's eyes flared, but Mr. Hassan nodded, a decision made. "Then it’s settled," he declared, looking at Faraz with a smile. "We are honored to have you as our future son-in-law, Faraz."

Faraz inclined his head slightly, masking the triumph in his eyes. "The honor is mine," he said smoothly, though the mischievous glint never left his gaze. Meanwhile, Ibrahim’s fury simmered, his empire and carefully laid plans seeming to unravel before his eyes.