The War Begins

Lina's POV

If the first dinner was awkward and tense, the days that followed were an outright nightmare. My parents wasted no time throwing Zara and me into a whirlwind of “getting to know each other” activities. For them, this marriage was the business deal of the century. For me, it was a slow, torturous death.

Today, the activity of choice was cake tasting. Cake tasting! For a wedding that I didn’t even want to happen.

I sat at the massive table in the Elahi estate’s sunlit conservatory, glaring at the rows of cakes spread out in front of me. My parents sat to one side, Zara’s parents on the other. Zara, as always, looked like she’d rather be anywhere else but somehow managed to seem composed about it. I, on the other hand, was about one bad flavor away from flipping the table.

“Lina, darling, try to smile,” my mother said with a forced laugh. “This is supposed to be fun!”

“Sure,” I muttered. “Fun. That’s exactly what this is.”

Zara glanced at me, her expression blank but her eyes faintly amused. “If it’s so unbearable,” she said quietly, “feel free to excuse yourself.”

“And miss the chance to pick out a cake for my imaginary dream wedding? Never,” I shot back.

A tiny smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth, and for a split second, I felt like I’d won something. Then the first plate of cake slices was set in front of us, and the whole charade began.

“This one is a classic vanilla sponge with buttercream,” the chef explained, gesturing to the pristine slice.

“Sounds delicious!” my mother said, all but shoving a fork into my hand. “Lina, go on!”

I took a bite, chewing slowly. It was… fine. Just cake. But I couldn’t resist stirring the pot.

“Too sweet,” I said, setting my fork down dramatically.

The chef blinked, clearly startled. “I see. Well, the next option is a rich chocolate ganache—”

“Too bitter,” I said before the fork even reached my mouth.

The chef hesitated, his eyes darting nervously to my parents. My mother shot me a warning look, but I ignored it.

“This is ridiculous,” Zara said finally, her voice cutting through the tension. She turned to the chef, her tone calm but firm. “Just bring us samples of your most popular flavors. We’ll choose from those.”

“Of course, Ms. Elahi,” the chef said, scurrying off.

I raised an eyebrow at her. “Bossy much?”

“I prefer efficient,” she replied smoothly.

“Efficient would’ve been skipping this whole circus,” I muttered.

She leaned in slightly, her voice low enough that only I could hear. “Trust me, if I had my way, this wedding wouldn’t even exist.”

I blinked, caught off guard by her bluntness. There it was again—that tiny crack in her icy exterior.

“Well,” I said, recovering quickly, “at least we agree on something.”

---

Later that evening, I found myself pacing in the guest room they’d assigned to me at the Elahi estate. The room was gorgeous—too gorgeous, really. I felt out of place among the ornate furniture and perfectly coordinated decor.

A knock at the door interrupted my thoughts. I opened it to find Zara standing there, looking as unruffled as ever.

“What do you want?” I asked, leaning against the doorframe.

She crossed her arms. “We need to talk.”

“About?”

“This.” She gestured vaguely between us. “This arrangement. If we’re going to survive it, we need to establish some ground rules.”

“Ground rules?” I repeated, narrowing my eyes. “Like what?”

“For starters,” she said, “stop trying to sabotage everything. It’s childish and counterproductive.”

“Excuse me?” I shot back. “I’m not the one playing along with this ridiculous charade like it’s completely normal.”

“I’m not playing along,” she said evenly. “I’m enduring it. There’s a difference.”

“Oh, well, congratulations on being so mature,” I said, rolling my eyes.

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Look, Lina, we don’t have to like each other, but we do have to make this work—for now. The sooner we figure out how to tolerate each other, the easier this will be for both of us.”

I studied her for a moment, unsure whether to laugh or scream. “Fine,” I said finally. “But don’t expect me to make it easy for you.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she said, her tone dry.

As she turned and walked away, I found myself staring after her, my frustration mingling with a strange sense of curiosity. Zara Elahi was infuriating, yes, but she was also… interesting. And that was a problem.

---

Hello reader's check out my new book A Love Beyond Class, if you are interested in forbidden love story. My new book is my one of the best work so support me. Love you all❤️