The house was still quiet when I got up.
Not the heavy kind of quiet—just the kind that settled over marble floors and closed doors. The kind that said everything here was already in motion. Early. Precise.
The kind of quiet that reminded you: if you had time to hear it, you were already behind.
I moved through my suite the way I moved through most things—clean, fast, and quiet.
Steam clung to the mirror from the shower. I wiped a streak down the center and looked at the man staring back—jaw set, eyes clear, not tired.
I didn't do tired. Not when my name was on half the contracts in this city.
The closet lights blinked on as I entered. Motion-sensor. Custom shelving. Every suit spaced an exact finger-width apart. Shoes aligned to the centimeter.
I reached for the navy slacks already pressed and waiting. The fabric had weight, the kind you only noticed after wearing lesser things. I stepped into them, the cold floor grounding me as I buttoned the waistband shut.
Along the back wall, rows of shoes rested on glass shelving. Most boxed, labeled, untouched. I kept a few in rotation—three shades of black, two of brown, and one pair of bone-white derbies Lamija picked out last spring.
She said they had edge.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡB2Kqt9AsfW
Said they made my usual look "less boardroom, more battlefield."
I still hadn't worn them.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSPd7QBVVG0
Not because I couldn't.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2RBwS2IKag
Just hadn't had a day that called for it.
I pulled on a pair of dark charcoal socks—thin merino, ribbed, hand-linked toe. Quiet luxury.
Then the black Berluti wholecuts. Soft leather, burnished dark, molded to me over time.
No creak. No hesitation. Just movement.
White dress shirt next—Egyptian cotton, cool to the touch. The cuffs held their shape without starch. The collar stood clean, framing my jaw like it knew how.
The jacket followed. Lightweight wool. Tailored to hold its lines even when I didn't feel like holding mine.
The tie draped over my shoulders—charcoal silk. No shine. No pattern. Just presence.
I'd knot it after the masjid.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6YPrkhHO4J
No point tightening the noose until I had to.
Cufflinks—platinum, square-cut. Engraved with the Begović crest. Not obvious. Just unmistakable—if you knew what to look for.
I didn't wear things that drew attention.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡo3npbpkgwK
I wore things that closed questions before they were asked.
I reached for the cologne—two sprays. Sharp, clean, grounded. Like ink on a contract. It didn't linger loudly. It just didn't fade.
I fastened my watch last.
Platinum case. Matte black face. Slim hands. Quiet movement.
It used to be my father's.
And some mornings, wearing it felt like wearing the very thing I was trying not to become.
I grabbed my keys from the entry table—heavy in the hand, warm from the light that never shut off above it—and stepped into the morning air.
The chill met me like a handshake. Not harsh. Just bracing. The kind that woke your spine and cleared the last of the sleep from your lungs.
The sky was still that deep, cobalt blue. No sun yet—just a faint bleed of silver over the ridge.
And then I heard him.
Caesar.
The low, rolling snort of a horse with too much bloodline and too much pride to pretend otherwise. His hooves struck the earth like punctuation—measured, deliberate, expensive.
He was jumping.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZmpqAF6LoU
Which meant Lamija was riding. No one else had the nerve.
I glanced down at my watch.
Twenty-three minutes until adhan.
Plenty of time.
I turned toward the stables. Gravel shifted beneath my soles as I moved down the path, past the hedge line that separated the estate's order from its indulgence.
Sure enough, there she was—navy riding jacket, shoulders set, no hijab, hair loose behind her like she couldn't be bothered with a helmet.
I folded my arms along the fence, watching Caesar move beneath her—muscle wrapped in royalty. Powerful. Precise. Terrifying.
And brilliant.
She was pushing him. Hard.
Too hard for this early. Too hard for anyone but her.
"Morning, Princess," I called. "You know it's still dark, right?"
She barely glanced over. "Fajr. Masjid. Go."
"Working on it," I said. "You've got two weeks until the competition. That why Caesar looks like he's ready to break bones?"
She didn't answer. Just tightened the reins and sent him into another clean, brutal jump.
I didn't ask again.
Didn't need to.
Whatever it was—she was already fighting it.
"Is there a reason you decided to ditch the helmet?" I asked, nodding toward the tack room. "That horse has thrown you more than once."
"He wouldn't dare."
I raised a brow. "He's dared. Multiple times. Get your helmet."
She circled once more, then dismounted like she was mad at the ground.
Stalked toward me, jaw set. That familiar storm already gathering behind her eyes.
Caesar snorted behind her—unimpressed, as usual.
I stayed where I was, arms still folded. Not budging. Not backing off.
She stopped a few feet away. Didn't speak. Didn't look at me.
I didn't push.
But I didn't leave either.
I gave her a small smile. "And how was dinner with the Salihovićs?"
She waved a hand, tired. "I asked him to see what this was between us."
I blinked. "Salihović? Really? How'd his wife take it?"
She groaned. "Ayub, Imran. I asked Ayub what this was between us."
I smirked, bit back a laugh. Let the silence stretch just long enough for her to start squirming.
"And?"
She glared at me. "What the hell was I thinking."
I laughed. "Don't look at me. I've been asking that since you were nine."
"What if this is a mistake?"
"What did he say?"
She hesitated.
I narrowed my eyes. "What exactly did he say?"
She tugged her gloves off, shoved them into her pockets. "Something about not going halfway."
My smirk cracked into a full grin. "Ohhh, he said that?"
"Imran."
"No, I'm just—wow. Okay. So when's the engagement? Should I call Mama? Get him fitted for a suit? Am I still the one meant to stand for you, or are you giving that role to Caesar?"
"Stop."
She turned back toward her horse. "You're a menace."
I clapped her shoulder on the way back to the gravel path. "I always knew you'd come around eventually."
She didn't deny it. Just huffed and turned away like the breeze offended her.
I paused a few steps later. Glanced back over my shoulder.
"What changed?"
She didn't answer at first.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡJ3KXNMZ9eb
Just stared off at the stables. Rubbed her face with both hands like she could scrub the answer off.
"I don't know," she said finally. "I think... having him around. Watching him work. He's different now."
"What changed?"
She didn't answer at first.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡBCeKi1edW1
Just stared off toward the stables, rubbing her face with both hands like she could scrub the answer off.
"I don't know," she said finally. "I think... having him around. Watching him work. He's different now."
I waited.
She hesitated, then added—reluctant, like it cost her something to admit, "I used to think his silence was weakness."
That landed harder than I expected.
"Now I see it," she murmured. "The strength behind it. The control. How sharp he is without needing to say a word. I'm not sure what I want. But I do want to see."
I nodded slowly. "You always thought he was too soft."
"He used to be," she said. "Or maybe I just didn't see him clearly."
I didn't smile. Not yet.
"He's not soft," I said. "He's a shark. Always has been. You just hadn't seen him bite until recently."
She looked over at me then—uncertain, vulnerable in a way I didn't see often.
"You really think it could work?"
"I wouldn't have made him my right hand if he couldn't handle pressure," I said. "And you, Lamija, are nothing if not pressure."
That got the smallest twitch of a smile.
"I wouldn't be rooting for him if I didn't think you'd be magic together."
She ignored me. Walked over. Reached up and started fussing with the knotless tie hanging around my neck.
"What are you doing?"
"You're a grown man. You still can't tie a tie properly without supervision."
"It's not knotted yet."
She ignored me again, adjusting the collar, the dimple in the silk.
I let her.
"She's been hovering," Lamija muttered.
I raised a brow. "Who?"
"Jasmina. I'm regretting putting them on the same team," she muttered. "She's been hanging over him like a coat."
I snorted. "Like a what?"
"You know what I mean."
"I do, actually. Which is why this is incredible. I have never seen you jealous in my life."
"I'm not jealous."
"Of course not."
She pulled the knot tight—maybe a little too tight—and smoothed the collar like she hadn't just exposed her entire emotional infrastructure.
"I just don't want her distracting him. He's finally focused."
I grinned. "Right. That's what this is about. Team productivity."
She glared. "Imran."
I laughed, full out now. "This is incredible."
She crossed her arms, clearly regretting every word.
"You could always put Ayub with you," I said, casual. "Where he should've been in the first place. And stick Emir with Jasmina. Or better—transfer her to Babo's department with Kenan."
That got the smallest twitch of her mouth.
I tapped my chest. "Just say the word. I'm here to protect the national interest."
"Masjid," she snapped. "You're going to be late."
"You're not the boss of me."
She gave me a look—one of those long, little-sister-but-always-too-commanding glares that made me want to throw something at her. Out of love.
I slid into the driver's seat and closed the door behind me, sealing in the quiet.
The engine started smooth. Immediate. The interior still smelled like leather and order. I kept it clean. Serviced on time. No clutter.
I reached for my phone, thumbed out a quick message, and hit send.
Good luck, you poor bastard.
To his credit, Ayub hadn't blocked me yet.
As I set the phone back down, a new message lit up the screen.
LAMIJA'S HOT SECRETARY 🌸
Selam—sorry to text so early. I had a quick question. My son's soccer coach had to step down for health reasons. The moms are scrambling to figure out what to do. I know you probably don't have time for something like that. But I remembered you played. And you were good. Really good, if I'm honest. Anyway. No pressure. Just thought I'd ask before we start begging strangers.
11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6A8OAnFl1D
I groaned and tipped my head back against the headrest.
"I need to change that," I muttered.
Then opened the message anyway.
I stared at it longer than I should've.
Selma never texted me.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡplYYCKQkj8
Not like this.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡlEfBr7DNim
Not with something personal.
I hadn't played in years.
Not since Koševo. Number nine. Captain's band tight on my arm. The last time it still felt like mine.
Striker.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxb4vzEg7ci
That was the role.
I was good—better than good—but football wasn't the finish line.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxa5BOYdBJc
Begović Industries was already waiting.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWkFuaFTaXp
And I knew where I was needed.
I never looked back.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1McyIBqFFB
Not really.
But something about her message made it feel closer than it had in a long time.I hadn't even thought about coaching.
But the idea stuck.
And the way she said it—you were good. Really good—11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡJaymW7uUav
She remembered.
That landed.
She was Lamija's best friend.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡpE4I8QKESe
Which meant she was absolutely off limits.
Didn't stop her from being stunning.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxzlB5iY0Pf
Didn't stop me from noticing.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhj7xvBtagT
Didn't stop me from wondering—quietly, carefully—if maybe she noticed me too.
And it sure as hell didn't stop me from smiling before I realized I was smiling.
IMRAN:11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡaP5BRaMT6s
When do they meet?
~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Imran woke up just trying to tie his tie and get to the masjid.
Instead, he got emotionally tackled by his sister, volunteered to coach small children, and realized he might be in love with a woman saved in his phone as Lamija's Hot Secretary 🌸.
Menace. Romance. Repressed feelings in platinum cufflinks.
We're so back.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0mR0BIVHAl
11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdpcq2Yo6BI
Ash&Olive
11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXbmVQeQgLu
