The photo falls from Damien's desk drawer like a slap across my face.
Two children. And a woman with blonde hair and kind eyes. All three of them smiling in front of a Christmas tree, looking like the perfect family.
My hands shake as I pick up the picture. The little girl has Damien's eyes. The boy has his stubborn chin. And the woman...
The woman is wearing a wedding ring that matches the one on Damien's finger. The one he told me was from his grandfather.
"Zahra?" Damien's voice cuts through the silence like glass. "What are you doing in my office?"
I don't turn around. I can't. Because if I look at him right now, I might just break into a million pieces all over his expensive marble floor.
"Who are they?" My voice sounds foreign to my ears. Small. Broken.
I hear his footsteps behind me. Slow. Careful. Like he's approaching a wounded animal.
"Zahra, let me explain—"
"Who. Are. They?" Each word falls from my lips like stones.
A pause, follows a long sigh. Then, I hear him say, "my wife. My children."
The photo slips from my numb fingers. It flutters to the ground, landing face-up. The happy family stares at me from the floor, mocking everything I thought I knew about my life.
Wife.
Children.
The words echo in my head like a cursed chant. Wife. Children. Wife. Children.
"You're married." It's not a question. It's the truth sinking into my bones, leaving burning pain in my chest.
"Yes."
One word. One simple word that destroys everything.
I finally turn around. Damien stands in the doorway of his office, still wearing the expensive suit I helped him pick out this morning. Still looking like the man I fell in love with. Still looking like the man I married three months ago.
But now suddenly became a stranger.
"How long?" I ask.
"Zahra—"
"How long have you been married to her?"
His jaw tightens. "Twelve years."
Twelve years. While I was in high school, figuring out what I wanted to do for a living, he was building a life with someone else. While I was waiting for my future husband, he was already somebody's husband.
My heart feels like it's being torn in half. But something else stirs beneath the pain. Something that makes me question everything I thought I knew about right and wrong.
"You lied to me." The words taste bitter in my mouth.
"I never lied."
"You married me!" My voice cracks. "You stood in front of my family and promised to love and honor me when you already had a wife!"
"You don't understand—"
"I understand perfectly!" I'm shaking now, anger and heartbreak warring in my chest. "I understand that I'm the other woman. I understand that everything you told me was a lie. I understand that I'm destroying someone's marriage."
Damien steps closer, and I step back. He stops, hurt flashing across his face.
"It's not like that," he says softly. "Victoria and I... our marriage has been dead for years. We stay together for appearances. For business. It means nothing."
"Nothing?" I laugh, but there's no humor in it. "She's your wife. Those are your children. That looks like something to me."
"I love you, Zahra. Only you."
"Stop." I hold up my hand. "Just... stop."
I close my eyes, trying to think. Trying to breathe. Trying to figure out how my perfect life turned into this nightmare in the space of thirty seconds.
When I open them again, Damien is still watching me with those dark eyes that used to make me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world. Now they just make me feel dirty.
"Does she know about me?" I ask.
Something flickers across his face. "She suspects."
At least that's honest. "And how does she feel about her husband taking a second wife?"
The words taste strange in my mouth. Second wife. Is that what I am? Or am I just... the other woman?
"She's... adjusting," Damien says carefully.
I sink into the chair behind me, my legs suddenly too weak to hold me up. The photo of his real family stares up at me from the floor, and I think about my own family. About how my father kept telling me not to rush, to wait and understand the character of the man I want to marry first.
About how Hana warned me that the love of the wealthy isn't as simple and sweet as Damien portrayed.
About how Leila said she had a bad feeling about Damien.
They all tried to tell me, and I didn't listen.
"I need to leave," I whisper.
"No." Damien kneels in front of my chair, his hands reaching for mine. "Please, Zahra. Let me explain everything. Let me make this right."
"How?" I look at him through tears I didn't realize I was crying. "How do you make this right? You have a wife. You have children. How do you make any of this right?"
"I can provide for both of you," he says quickly. "I have the means. Victoria will want for nothing, and neither will you. I can love you both, care for you both. The law gives me the right to a second marriage. You'll be equally honored and respected."
His words should horrify me. Should make me run screaming from this office. But something inside me stirs. Something that whispers: What if this isn't wrong? What if we...can make this work somehow?
I've heard stories. Whispered conversations between the older women in my community. Men who took care of multiple families. Who loved more than one woman. Who provided and protected and honored them all.
Is that what this is? Or am I just desperate to make sense of something senseless?
"You said Victoria is adjusting," I say slowly.
Damien nods eagerly. "She understands that our marriage wasn't giving me what I needed. She knows I've been searching for something more meaningful."
"And she's willing to... share you?"
The question feels wrong on my tongue. But maybe wrong isn't the right word. Maybe it's just... complicated.
"She will be," he says with confidence. "When she sees how happy you make me. When she sees that this doesn't diminish what she has."
I stare at him, this man I thought I knew. This man I loved enough to change my name for. This man who built his entire relationship with me on half-truths and careful omissions.
But he's also the man who holds me when I cry. Who listens to my dreams about building communities and rehabilitation centers. Who makes me feel valued and cherished and seen.
Can love exist in complicated places? Can something be both wrong and right at the same time?
"I need time," I say finally. "I need to think about all of this."
"Of course." He reaches out and takes my hands. "Take all the time you need. But please, Zahra. Don't give up on us. Don't give up on what we have."
I look down at our joined hands. His wedding ring catches the light – the ring that belongs to another woman too. The ring that makes him husband to us both.
It's just... caring for more than one person. Providing for multiple families.
Men have done it throughout history. Good men. Honorable men. Men who loved deeply and provided well.
Maybe Damien is one of those men. But am I ready to accept sharing my husband? The thought makes my skin crawl. I can't even contemplate the idea.
Yet, despite the revulsion, I hear myself whisper, "I won't give up."
Relief floods Damien's face. "Thank you. I promise, I'll make this work. I'll make sure you never regret choosing to stay."
He leans forward and kisses me, soft and gentle and full of promises. When he pulls away, his eyes are bright with unshed tears.
"I love you, Zahra Cross," he whispers against my forehead. "You're my heart. My soul. My everything."
I close my eyes and let myself believe him. Let myself believe that love can exist in lies, that caring for multiple people isn't betrayal but proof of abundance, that somehow, some way, this unconventional arrangement might actually work.
But even as I nod and smile and let him hold me, a small voice in the back of my mind whispers a question I'm not ready to answer:
If this is right, why does it feel so wrong?