Karim

The staircase of the old mansion seemed endless. The heavy silk of her dress rustled on the steps, as if warning: there was no turning back. Karim walked half a step behind, his presence felt on her skin—cold and commanding.

"You walk as if you're heading to the chopping block," he said quietly. His voice, low and velvety, always made you shudder with hatred. "Smile, we have guests waiting downstairs."

You stopped and half-turned. In the dim light of the stairwell, his blond hair looked silver, his face like it was carved from marble.

"The guests are expecting a show, Karim. My sincere hatred is the best backdrop for this evening."

He closed the distance, his palm resting on the railing just beside yours. You felt the heat radiating from him, despite his icy tone.

"Hatred is too powerful an emotion to waste," he tilted his head slightly, studying your face. "You sold your freedom to save the last of your influence. I bought it to end the war between our families. A fair deal."

"You bought a doll in white lace," you held his gaze. "But don't expect me to be obedient."

Karim smiled faintly, and a dangerous passion flashed in the depths of his eyes.

"I've never been interested in obedient women. Come on. It's time to show them what 'the world' looks like."