r mind? It stayed on that kiss. Because it hadn't been fake. Not really. Not when her heart reacted like it had a mind of its own. Not when her legs went weak and her fingers curled into his shirt. No

e blouse, determined to look unbothered. But inside, her stomach was a battlefield of confusion. Tari was already seated, drinking-surprise-black coffee. "You're late," he said, not looking up. "I'm not your employee, relax." "You're playing the role of my fiancée. Appearances matter." Zara sat beside him, keeping a safe inch of distance between them. "Let's be clear. I'm not falling for you." He glanced sideways. "That's good. Because I'm not available to be fallen for." "Great. We agree." "Fantastic." Their silent argument was interrupted by his grandmother. "Zara dear," Mama said sweetly, "come sit beside me. I want to show you family photo albums. You need to learn all the Amadis." Zara shot Tari a quick glare before following. For two hours, she sat beside Mama as the matriarch flipped through photos, pointing out uncles, cousins, great-aunties, and Tari's late mother. "He was only fifteen when she passed," Mama said softly. "He changed that year. Stopped smiling." Zara blinked. "He used to smile?"Mama nodded. "He was so soft-hearted. Protective. But the business world hardened him." Zara looked across the lawn where Tari stood, phone in hand, speaking to someone with that same ice-cold calmness. It was strange, seeing him from a different lens - not just as the guarded man with contracts and deadlines, but as a