One moment, she was a bride dressed in ivory silk, standing beside the man she believed she would grow old with.
The next, she was a widow.
Only hours earlier, she had been surrounded by flowers, music, laughter, and the warm glow of a celebration she had imagined countless times in her mind. Her husband, Rashid, had held her hand throughout the evening, smiling at her as though he still couldn’t believe she had agreed to become his wife.
He had called himself the luckiest man alive.
And she had believed him.
Their wedding had been everything she once thought existed only in movies—an elegant ceremony, beautiful decorations, family gathered from different parts of the world, and a celebration that seemed to stretch endlessly into the night. Rashid, a wealthy Arab businessman known for his generosity and quiet confidence, had spared no expense.
But despite all the wealth surrounding them, she remembered something much simpler.
The way he looked at her.
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