𝕺nce upon a time, in a land not so very far away, I felt like I was being buried alive.

At least, that is how I felt. In reality, I was stuck in a ballroom. A stuffy place, filled with people, the air clogged with wafts of various expensive perfumes, with walls made of stone, and for some bizarre reason, I felt as if I'd been entombed. You would think I would be used to the feeling, after all this was my ballroom, in my house, but no. Tonight was not an exception.

At this point, I wouldn't mind it so much, if I were alone. Even if it did mean getting buried.

There were endless conversations taking place. Someone was telling a story about a prince and a palace. Someone was moaning about the political situation, while someone else swept their partner out for a dance, their gazes ravenous and intentions hidden.

Everyone, it seemed, was full of noise.

Except me.

Me, who wanted to scream, not in pain or ecstasy, but from sheer exasperated fury that there was so much noise inside me, and I could not let it out.

I needed to let it out.

Heaving in a deep breath, I crossed the dance floor, the floor-length golden dress sashaying behind me, the sound of my heels masked by the ongoing festivities. A custom piece, the golden fabric molded to my body from shoulders to hips before flaring out the slightest bit. Heavy, with a subtle pattern designed to catch the light with every move, a deep V dipped between my breasts accentuating my bare shoulders that had been shaped into sharp points to give the slightest impression of regal bearing.

The classic Dior dress. A showstopper, as my mother would have said, if she'd bothered to show the slightest bit of interest in her daughter's life.

I ignored the twinge in my chest at the thought, just as I always did when my mind tried to linger on the woman who could not care less. Shoving that nagging feeling away, I navigated through the crowd, holding my head high. Some people met my gaze, others stared at my body in a way that made my skin crawl, and the rest all but turned their backs on me. No surprises there. Being a Mughal might have its perks, but it meant being born into generations-old grudges and politicking. I grew up learning who could be trusted- no one - and who would actually shove me off a building if given half a chance - more people than was comforting.

But this party wasn't a regular one, and tonight was not a regular night. Everyone that we knew or didn't know, had pulled out all the stops. Tonight was the night everything changed. It was the ceremonial changing of the guard. The handover to the new regime.

The end of an era.

Normally, I could identify every single person who attended a Mughal party. I'd been taught to do that from a very young age. Information was everything, and I quickly learned that it was the only weapon I was allowed. Pretty perfect Zeenia could only stray a few inches from the line. Just enough to cause damage. Just enough to administer the death blow.

Tonight, at the Inaugural Ball, nearly half the faces were new to me, people who had arrived from the periphery of our social sphere or had been flown into the city by my father for this special occasion. People we wouldn't interact with and would never see again. I didn't bother to stop moving to memorize faces.

They didn't matter.

Because the ones who did, my siblings, were quite literally dispersed all over the place. In this case, two of them were in the ballroom, with one standing near the food table and the other next to his beaming wife. His scheming, malicious, two-faced beaming witch of a wife.

The one in the corner, the youngest brother- Azaan, back from Harvard for the summer - was laughing at something with one of his friends, his eyes tracking the girls who smiled flirtatiously. In the other, the eldest of the bunch, Altamash chuckled at something his wife said and narrowed a cold look in my direction mixed with a hearty dose of mild disapproval on his face. We hadn't been on the best of terms lately. Another time, I might have even seen his displeasure as a challenge, but right now, I just wanted to get through the night.

I didn't give him the gratification of a reaction, keeping my eyes on his, noting our marked differences. While Taimoor and I took after our mother's coloring, Altamash was all our father. Perfect dark hair, cold calculating eyes, pale skin, and a charmingly attractive face. He was good-looking enough to captivate the whole room and he knew it. My brother excelled at that type of skill the same way the rest of my family did. How we'd always done.

My chest gave a pang.

I would have liked nothing more than to go back in time. My brothers and my closest friends were what made living under the spotlight bearable, but the last few months had driven home the new differences between us. For some reason I couldn't explain, there was a barrier between us that had never been there before. Like a glass pane, that you could only see when you got close, when you pressed against it and found you could go no further.

But often they were the same as ever. It was only sometimes that I looked into their eyes and they stared back at me, that they were cold and distant as strangers.

The changes weren't so noticeable when Altamash was still Altamash and Taimoor was right beside me, but now that Altamash was one of them and Taimoor...

I shut the thought down.

There was no use thinking about Taimoor. I'd texted him multiple times over six months and I had yet to receive a reply. He was gone, cut off, and as far as most of the world was concerned, he might as well have been dead. No, that wasn't right.

People talked about the dead.

For Taimoor they pretended he never existed in the first place.

Not like I was in a better position.

Like every woman before me, my soul was born fractured. But the cracks weren't formed by closed fists and wandering fingers. They were made from extreme pressure and took years to take shape, like diamonds formed beneath the earth's surface. They were forged by those who claimed to only want the best for me. Being sister to the new heir of Mughal Co., and the daughter to Haider Mughal, Princess of the Mughal clan didn't mean anything. I was a mere pawn, being pushed around for pleasure. Just another piece to be moved around on someone else's board.

Movement on my other side made me glance over. A lean fair boy who spent a shit ton of money on his appearance smiled at me. He had jet-black hair, a devilish smirk on his face, a baby-smooth face with a square jaw, and the darkest eyes I'd ever seen.

The charm oozed out of him.

It was there in the smoothness of his skin, in how perfectly styled his hair was, in how well-tailored his tuxedo was. He was handsome, and he knew it. He could have had anyone in the world, yet he only wanted me. At one point, that made me feel special. Now, I only felt sick.

Who in the world had invited him?

People like him wore wealth. Not as clothing, but as skin. As scent. It had been woven into the fibers of who they were since birth. He could walk into a room naked and you'd assume he came from money. It was in his bearing. In the way, he looked at the world like he owned most of it, because, in some ways, he did. Too bad money couldn't buy a good personality; Fahad was an asshole. And right now, he was looking at me like I was a piece of meat he couldn't wait to consume. The little fuckboy was practically rubbing his hands together with glee.

Not today.

Gently, I smoothed my hands down my gown, planning my escape.

"Zeenia, we need you to look at-" Seher didn't lift her voice, but she didn't have to. The people nearest to us had gone quiet, tense with the possibility of seeing Mughal family drama play out. I couldn't resent them for that. They had plenty of gossip fodder over the past months, courtesy of the woman standing in front of me. But to be fair, she wasn't the only one. My brother was an equal participant in this mess, causing us all enough misery to last a few gossip cycles.

"No Seher, I am not looking at anything for you," I turned to study the room, avoiding her husband's eyes, though I could feel him watching me. Probably worried I was going to embarrass him in some way. Jerk.

"Your brother-"

"Can talk to me when he finally decides to stop being a coward."

"You shouldn't say that," I bristled at her sugary placating tone, but there was no point in taking it personally. Seher talked to everyone that way. "He loves you. He's very hurt-"

I gave her a bright smile.

"He can shove up his love and hurt up his ass. He knows this. If he didn't, he wouldn't be sending you after me," his love and hurt were not my problems. "Also if you actually considered what's good for you, you'll stay away from me."

"You don't have to be a bitch."

"Don't I?"

"Look-"

"Mrs. Altamash Mughal, aaah Seher! Congratulations," Seher tipped her head toward the new arrival and lifted her glass, her gaze scanning the room, playing to the crowd. I recognized the woman in question as being the young plaything to a wealthy businessman wearing a bracelet lined with some of the biggest diamonds and sapphires I'd ever seen.

Probably compensating for something.

"Thank you! I still can't believe it," Seher's voice broke through my thoughts and I flicked my gaze to her, not schooling my expression. "I'm the luckiest girl."

"I am so fucking done," I muttered under my breath stepping away from them and out of the room, feeling as if I were holding a sphere made of a thousand fragments and if I couldn't keep it contained, it would shatter apart.

I didn't pick up my pace, moving at a steady stalk that forced people to get out of my way. The crowd parted for me just like I knew it would, whispers following in my wake. I was making a scene, and while half of them loved me for it, the rest resented me for the presumed privilege I had. That I could just walk away.

Little did they know, no one needed my presence. I'd done what I'd promised to do. I'd shown my face, done the polite tête-à-tête, and smiled. Daada Jaan would have to be satisfied with that, the rest of the family could manage the rest.

Feeling the numerous eyes on my back, I barely managed to resist the urge to run. Exiting out of breath and flustered from a society party, even as a hostess, was a fate worse than death. Appearances mattered. My presence as the Mughal princess mattered but I couldn't give a crap about it. I'd been playing this game long enough to know I'd made my mark. It had been a long time since Mughal Manor experienced anything resembling traditional warfare, but every moment, little battles were fought and won using the most mundane things.

A carefully designed dress.

A sweet word hiding a poisonous sting.

A marriage.

An early exit.

The hallways were blessedly empty, but that only made the chaos inside my head worse. My eyes stayed on the massive oil portrait hanging in the corridor. An impressionistic view of our immediate family, with me sitting in the middle between my brothers, and our parents behind us looking larger than life.

If I'd known when it had been painted that one day I'd find their presence suffocating, perhaps I would have removed myself from the picture instead. Could have changed perception and influence with brushstrokes.

It was a humbling thing to walk beneath the visages of my ancestors scowling down at me. Walking down the hall was like strolling through a history book, the pages written by Mughal hands, sometimes in blood. A child of the Mughals could never be under the impression that their ancestors were "nice." These were cutthroats, generals, courtiers, and royalists. The violence of their times meant that they were brutal or they were dead.

I ducked into the corner, waiting for the elevator that would take me away from the ballroom floor, and barely resisted the urge to bounce on my toes with impatience. Blowing out a breath, my gaze strayed to my surroundings. The long corridor had changed since the last party, the dour, dark drapes that hung floor to ceiling on either side of the doors were replaced with an airy white fabric that had gold threaded through it. It was still not welcoming, but it was significantly less oppressive. Normally, I wouldn't give a damn about any of this.

But tonight was different.

"It's not midnight yet," a shiver moved down my spine at the sound of the warm tone and I stopped short.

"Pardon?" I glanced over my shoulder to find a tall, handsome man standing next to the drapes and I felt something I hadn't felt in years: a lifting of my spirits. The desire to breathe, to let myself go. A lightness I hadn't experienced in a while.

Unbeknownst to his effect on me his eyes scanned the area briefly before halting... on mine. Dark brown eyes watched me, his demeanor still and silent, full mouth pulled into a straight line. A fluttering filled my stomach at the intensity of his stare, and I couldn't seem to look away. Dressed in a black suit, not a tuxedo, I immediately clocked in the deliberate fashion choice, he had an elegant yet rough air about him, as if he didn't quite belong among this glittering, powerful, and extremely rich crowd but was a participant all the same.

"You looked like you were in a hurry to get somewhere, leaving the party before the clock struck midnight," he gestured to the watch on his arm and then at my hands that were still holding my dress. "Cinderella."

"Oh," I croaked, clearing my throat and feeling like an idiot being this fascinated with another human being.

"Are you all right?" he stepped closer, but his presence didn't feel threatening. More protective, what with the look of concern marring his handsome features. There was a type of sturdiness about him. But more than that, I couldn't shake off the color of his eyes, so different from my grey, or the way that one look pierced right through me, so different from my placid gaze.

We stood there, illuminated by the beams of moonlight, with me in my gold shimmering dress and him studying me through his lashes. There was something about him, I just couldn't place my finger on it, but it felt like if I told him my secrets, he would actually listen.

What kind of a crazy thought was that about a stranger?

His brows drew downward and a lock of brown hair hung over his forehead. That I had the sudden urge to push the hair away from his face and test its softness was...unsettling.

"I'm fine," I offered him my most brilliant smile, which only made him frown deeper. "You should be at the party, Mr.- I'm afraid I don't know your name..."

"Don't you?" his eyes followed me, the mirror reflecting his gaze feathering a path down my body, caressing my shoulders, slipping down my spine, and stopping at the small of my back.

My heart beat wildly in my ears, and I couldn't look away. He was much too close but I felt him move beside me, and when I turned, I saw him looking down at me as if he too seemed almost fascinated.

Who was this man? And why did he keep looking at me like that?

"Do we know each other?"

His cheeks seemed to burn in the dim light.

"What do you think?" what did I think?

I couldn't think.

The underlying tone in his voice made me contemplate his features. I wasn't sure what he saw, but I desperately wished I could hear his thoughts. His face was partially in the shadows now, but I knew his eyes were dark, and I could almost see them trying to see past my exterior. See the chinks in the armor. The vulnerabilities inside.

See me.

Something in his bearing made me reconsider. Slightly asymmetrical, the roughness of his severe features was smoothed by thick-lashed eyes, the lazy sensuality of that dark hair falling into his face. My gaze was stuck on him, the man staring at me with the same bewilderment that I was feeling. The same expression that a boy had once worn. A boy who'd caught me when I'd slipped. Who was always there to catch me.

Was that... it couldn't be. He couldn't be here. Not after all those years...

He looked completely different compared to the last time I'd seen him. Thirteen years old, casually in jeans and a faded red T-shirt, his brown hair mussed, dirt covering his cheeks, those intense brown eyes locked on mine. Eyes that used to be filled with wonder and laughter were now intensely opaque. Hardened by wisdom? Or something else? I couldn't tell and yet I tried. I kept staring. Hooked. Entrapped by his gaze.

"Asfand...?"

"Zeenia there you are! I was looking for you, I can't believe you just left!" loud as ever, Vinnie magically appeared at my side, unaware of the presence of the ghost from my past. My acquaintance from high school, well, acquaintances by Mughal standards, she trusted me to provide her with access to all of the parties and the underlying gossip while I trusted her not to slide a knife between my ribs. We'd hung out on a regular basis at events and parties and would occasionally trade favors, but I didn't trust her with my deepest secrets.

It was nothing personal. I didn't trust anyone who was a part of my mother's tea parties with that part of me.

Vinnie's gaze dropped to my dress, pointedly taking in the dips of my shoulders and collarbones.

"I'll leave you to it," Asfand offered a lopsided smile and slowly shook his head, his hair falling into his eyes, making him look young. Boyish almost. "It was nice meeting you, Cinderella."

He didn't wait for my reply and I watched as he walked away without another word, his broad-shouldered body cutting a swath through the still-trickling crowd, and they all parted for him obediently.

"Who was that?" Vinnie whispered, her eyes wide, looking both cute and slightly demented. "Where can I get one?"

"Just an old friend," the generalization felt like ash in my mouth. How was I supposed to explain Asfand to her when I myself had no idea of who he was and where he fit in my life? I hadn't even known he was back. After all those years...fondness rose inside me even as I tried to fight it. Nothing good would come from revisiting this strange connection with Asfand that I'd all but given up on until now. All I needed now was to get away from the party and from the newly emerging crowd.

But I still kept my eyes on him. I couldn't help it. He was a head taller than the majority of the people, so it was not difficult to keep tabs on him as he strode away. He smiled and nodded, but didn't stop to make pleasant conversation with anyone.

"I haven't seen him before."

Before he entered the main ballroom, he turned and the look in his eyes rendered me completely still. Even my breath stalled in my lungs. I parted my lips, the low roar in my ears growing louder, drowning out whatever Vinnie was saying to me, blocking out every little sound until all I could focus on was him.

He didn't look away.

Didn't smile or lift a brow or wave a hand, no acknowledgment that we were watching each other. Slowly, the movement so subtle I almost didn't notice it, he worked his jaw, his lips pressed together, his chest rising with his deep inhale. Squinting his eyes, one side of his mouth went up slightly, the lopsided ghost of a smile appearing before it was gone.

In a snap.

Asfand turned, his back facing me, and I wondered if I imagined it all. Blinking, I tore my gaze from him and turned to Vinnie, who hadn't stopped talking and for the life of me, I had no idea what she had just said.

None.

All I could think about was the young clumsy slip of a boy who was now a man.

Here we go! First chapter... let me know your thoughts 😄 There's a lot to come. Are you ready?

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