Chapter 13: The Hidden Crown

Elena stood by her father's desk, rubbing her temples lightly. Her face was paler than usual, and her voice came soft.

"Dad, I'm not feeling very well today… Can I take the day off?"

Mr. Farhan looked up from his documents and immediately nodded. "Of course. Take the day off and rest. Let Zain drive you home."

Elena smiled faintly in gratitude and turned to leave. As always, Zain was already waiting by the car, quietly observant, never too far.

Inside the car, the silence between them was familiar. Comfortable. Until Elena suddenly perked up.

"Zain… before you take me home, I want to stop by the Grand Aurelia Hotel. You know it, right? That luxury hotel near the hills."

Zain's hand tightened subtly around the steering wheel. "Yes. I know it."

"I don't know why… I just feel like treating myself to something fancy today," she chuckled, brushing her hair back.

"As you wish," Zain replied, keeping his eyes on the road, hiding the tiny smile tugging at the edge of his lips.

Grand Aurelia Hotel

As the sleek black car pulled up in front of the grand hotel, the doormen instantly straightened. One of them stepped forward, recognized the man behind the wheel — and froze for half a second.

Zain made a small, almost imperceptible motion with his fingers. A subtle warning.

Don't say anything.

The doorman gave a respectful nod. "Welcome, miss. This way, please."

Elena walked in with awe written all over her face. Her heels echoed on the marble floor as her eyes roamed the gilded chandeliers and opulent decor.

"Oh wow... This place is insane," she whispered.

Everyone they passed — from reception to kitchen staff — stole discreet glances at Zain. But no one dared to speak. Zain, calm as ever, walked beside her without a word.

They were led into a private dining room. It was massive, elegant, and entirely empty.

"Wait... there's no one else dining here?" Elena asked.

Zain shrugged casually. "Maybe it's just a quiet afternoon."

She didn't question further. A waiter brought her a thick, leather-bound menu. Elena scanned it and grinned.

"If I'm already here, I'm going all out," she declared, placing an order for lobster in garlic butter, truffle risotto, and freshly pressed pomegranate juice.

Zain, as usual, ordered nothing.

"You're not eating?"

"I'm not hungry," he replied, eyes distant.

Elena began her meal, and Zain simply watched — the way she savored each bite, the little hums of satisfaction, the soft curl of her lips when the truffle hit just right.

Staff stood silently in the corners, attentive but oddly reverent.

The Bill

Elena finished her meal and reached for her purse. "Alright. Time to see how much damage I did."

Before she could say another word, a waiter approached and gave a small bow.

"Miss, your bill has already been taken care of."

Elena blinked. "By who?"

The waiter hesitated. "I'm not at liberty to say. But everything is settled."

Elena turned to Zain. "Was it you?"

Zain leaned back in his chair. "Why would I pay for your meal?"

She squinted at him playfully. "Because you're weird like that?"

Zain smirked but said nothing.

Behind them, hotel staff were whispering. Some nodded subtly, others exchanged looks of knowing. One of them, a younger man, whispered, "That's him. The real owner."

But Elena didn't hear them.

The Ride Home

The sky outside had turned gold, warm sunlight pouring through the car windows as Zain drove through winding roads.

Elena had fallen asleep in the back seat, her head resting lightly against the window. Her chest rose and fell in a slow, peaceful rhythm.

Zain checked the rearview mirror.

And paused.

For the first time, he truly looked at her — not as Mr. Farhan's daughter, not as a client's child, not as someone who argued with him at site meetings — but as Elena.

Her hair framed her face perfectly, some strands catching the sunlight like threads of gold. Her long lashes brushed against her cheeks, her lips slightly parted in sleep. Her hand rested delicately on her lap, fingers curled in innocence.

Zain's heart stirred. There was something almost poetic about her — a softness she didn't even realize she had.

He tore his eyes away from the mirror and focused back on the road. But the image of her lingered in his mind like the echo of a melody he couldn't forget.

He didn't know when it happened.

But it had.