THE CLASH

Salim

The bed was still warm when he woke.The Mumbai heat has nothing to do with it.

It was from her, her scent, coconut oil and jasmine and something darker, with a hint of cardamom left too long on heat.

Salim Zeem lay on his back in the center of his four-poster bed, naked beneath silk sheets, and stared at the ceiling fan as it cuts lazy circles through the darkness.

She was gone hours ago, maybe four. A dip in the mattress, the swish of fabric, the bathroom door clicking shut behind her.

When she’d emerged, she’d been fully dressed, spine rigid, curly hair bunched into a no-nonsense crown that showed she wasn’t going to listen to anything he’s going to say. He sighed, and rubs a hand on his face.

He’d pretended to sleep. He’d let her go.

Because last night, he’d fucked her with his mouth pressed to her throat and his hands bruising her hips, he had lived his fantasies, the very one that had been haunting him for three years, since she came to work into his family’s estate.

Now she was gone, and the sexual high had evaporated with her .

Salim sat up. The sheets smelled of them, a fusion of who they are. He should have called for a maid, but he couldn’t bear the idea of someone else stripping the evidence of what he had with her.

He jumps in the shower, standing under water hot enough to scald, trying to scrub the memory of her nails down his back.

It didn’t work. By the time he dressed, linen trousers, a charcoal shirt left open at the collar, his thoughts were in disarray.

The look she had when he’d entered her. The uncertainty and desire in them are tormenting him now. His phone buzzed on the dresser.

Father. Breakfast. Nine sharp. The Shahs are here.

Salim went still.

The Shahs.

Priya Shah. The heiress his parents had been grooming him for since he was eighteen. He’d known the engagement was coming. He’d been resigned to it like a business merger, which it was. But that had been the night before, before all this.

He confirmed his presence and walked out of his wing, down the marble corridors of the Zeem Estate, past the modern art his mother collected to prove she had taste, past the staff who averted their eyes because they knew better than to look directly at the heir. Lest they suffer his mother’s wrath.

He found Az in the staff packing when he let himself in, she hadn’t locked the door, Cardboard boxes everywhere. Her books stacked in teetering piles. A suitcase lay open on the bed, she neatly fold her clothes and lay them in it.

“You’re leaving ,” he said.

Azinna didn’t jump. She folded a silk blouse with calmly and placed it in the suitcase. “I need to go.”

“Why? Cause we fucked?” He says sharply crowding her space.

He takes her in, a simple cotton dress, sage green, sleeveless cling to her fantastic body. Her face bare of any makeup, Her hair still in that messy crown , exposing the elegant line of her neck, the collarbones he’d bitten last night. The mark was still there, faint and violet. He felt a savage thrill at the sight of it.

“I broke the rules,” she said, her voice even. Controlled. “I don’t sleep with the ones responsible for paying me. So I’m rectifying the error.”

“This wasn’t a mistake Az.”

“You’re right , it was a catastrophe.” She zipped the suitcase with vicious efficiency.

“Your mother will have me blacklisted from here to Singapore if she finds out. The other staff already look at me like I’m a problem they can’t solve. I’m not going to wait around to be fired, Salim. I’m going to disappear before your family turns me into a cautionary tale. And don’t call me Az, only my friends do, it’s Azinna to you.

Salim stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. The click made her flinch.

“Sit down,” he said.

“I’m not one of your…”

“Sit down, Azinna.”

His tone desperation wrapped in steel made her pause. She didn’t sit, but she stopped packing. She crossed her arms and leaned against the dresser, her dark eyes wary.

She was beautiful in the morning light. Not delicate. Fierce. Her skin was the color of burnt caramel and midnight, a perfect union of her father’s tan skin and her mother’s ebony one.

“My parents announced my engagement to Priya Shah this morning,” he said. “At breakfast. While you were packing your bags, my mother was choosing wedding dates.”

Azinna’s expression didn’t change, but her fingers tightened on her arms. “Congratulations are in order Mr zeem I see.”

“I don’t want it.”

“Not my problem. We fucked, I just told you it’s a mistake, my world and yours are never to mix.”

“It is now.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew a folded document. “I need a fiancée, Az.”

She stared at him. Then she laughed incredulously . “You want me to be your fake fiancée? After last night?”

“Because of last night. We already have chemistry. We already have... history. I need something believable.”

“So, is that why we fucked?” She huffs, her voice taking a dangerous edge.

“No, I didn’t mean it like that. I have wanted to fuck you since the first time I laid eyes on you Az, please believe me.” He held her gaze. “They’ll see it. They’ll hate it. They’ll offer you money to leave. When you refuse, they’ll offer me an ultimatum you or the company. I’ll choose you. The engagement to Priya will be broken. The merger will collapse. And in thirty days, we stage a public breakup. You walk away with two million dollars. I walk away with my freedom.”

Azinna was quiet for a long moment. The ceiling fan whirred above them, stirring up her scent. Fuck it’s divine, he’s already getting hard.

“You’re insane,” she said.

“I know.” He gave her a lopsided grin.

“You want me to play house with you. Attend parties. Smile for cameras. Pretend I’m in love with you.”

“Yes.”

“And last night?”

“Never happens again.” The lie tasted like ash. “Business, Az. Separate rooms, boundaries. The contract specifies it.”

She took the document from his hand. Her fingers brushed his, and the static shock between them was obscene in the small room. She didn’t step back. She read the contract, her eyes moving with more intelligence than she’s ever shown. Her jaw tightened at the morality clauses, her lips parted at the financial terms.

“This is an obscene amount.” she said quietly.

“It’s money. For your business. The one you tell your friends about when you think no one’s listening. The sustainable fashion line. The ethical textile collective.” He paused. “I looked into it.”

Her head snapped up. “You eavesdrop on me?”

“I wanted to know what you dreamed about.”

They stared at each other. The space between them tensing. Salim could see the pulse hammering in her throat. He wanted to put his mouth there. He wanted to undo every button on that dress prim and proper and finish what they’d started in the dark. But he stood still. He let her choose.

“Thirty days,” she said finally.

“Thirty days.”

“Separate bedrooms.”

“Yes.”

“No touching, no kissing, except in public and definitely no fucking either.” She gestured vaguely, her cheeks darkening.

“Agreed.”

She picked up a pen from the dresser. For a moment, he thought she would use it to sign. Instead, she pressed the tip to the hollow of her throat, right where his mark bloomed, and dragged it down slowly, drawing a line of ink over her skin. He wished it was his tongue instead.

“If you break the contract,” she said, her voice dropping to a register that made his stomach clench, “I’ll ruin you, Salim Zeem. Not your company. You. I’ll tell the press every filthy thing you like in bed. I’ll tell them how you beg.”

His cock stirred against his thigh. He ignored it. “Sign it, please.”

She did. Her handwriting was beautiful like her.

Salim took the contract and tucked it back into his pocket. At the door, he paused. “First event is tonight. The banquet for the Maharaja of Jodhpur. Black tie. My mother’s already sent a dress to your room.”

“I don’t wear other people’s clothes.”

“You’ll wear this one.” He looked back at her. “Because tonight, Az, you’re not the help. You’re the woman who stole the heir. And you need to look like you belong.”

He left before she could throw the pen at his head.