My name is Samir Harmud, I am 29 years old and I am the second eldest son of Sheikh Yousef Harmud.

Despite being the son of a Sheikh, a wealthy and influential leader, I founded my own company and today I am an important businessman in the jewelry and luxury accessory industry.

However, my freedom, which I gained by building my own fortune, is threatened when my father decides to fulfill an agreement made when I was still a child and forces me to marry a young Arab girl who lives in Brazil....

《••••》

Sitting in my office, I stare at my father, Yousef Harmud, and struggle to believe what I just heard.

"No, father! " I say, slamming my hands on the solid wooden table. " I never knew about this agreement, so why now?!"

"My son, Omar and I made this agreement many years ago, and I honestly didn't even remember, but now he is facing financial difficulties and the amount that will be paid for the bride will be used to save them from debt and impending bankruptcy."

"What does that have to do with me?! If they want to sell the girl, they can find another buyer! " I pace around my office like a caged animal. " Father, why me? Why not Kafar?"

"Because the agreement was to marry his daughter to my eldest son, and Amin is already married, so it will be you, the second eldest, who will marry the young Najla. " My father takes a deep breath. " Samir, you are already at the age to marry, a 29-year-old man, without a family and children?! What will become of your descendants? " He opens his arms and gestures around. " So much wealth and power, but what good is it if you don't have a zawja (wife) and aftal (children)?"

"Father... " I sit back down in my chair, closing my eyes tightly. " I don't need a zawja. I am still young..."

"At your age, your mother and I already had you and Amin! " He says sternly. " You need a family, and you will get married! I don't want these foreign women chasing after you all the time. We have traditions, Samir, and you will follow them."

I smile humorlessly, which angers him.

"You talk about customs, traditions, and attire, but from what I understood, this girl was raised in Brazil, far from our culture, customs, and traditions. What do you think would happen if she were caught without wearing a hijab, for example? Does she even know she needs to wear it? Would she submit to our rules? Or would she parade around with her skin exposed, her legs and other parts of her body?"

"That's enough, Samir! " He slams the table, and I meet his gaze, my jaw clenched. " I gave my word to Omar, and my word is like the water of a river, it doesn't back down, and if I say you will get married, you will! " He takes some papers from his folder and throws them on the table. " Read and sign this agreement, I will come to pick them up before sunset today. The wedding will take place here and it will happen in a week!"

After saying these words, which hit me like sharp thorns, he leaves, slamming the door of the office, and I tilt my head back, releasing a forceful breath.

I can't get married... how am I going to tell Silvia that we can't commit to each other?!

Silvia Nashville is an American model I met at an event when she walked the runway with pieces from one of my jewelry collections.

We went out for drinks, and we ended up getting involved. I know it's wrong and goes against my customs, but I ended up taking her with me for the rest of the trip through some European countries.

I like her and she shows that she loves me, and I promised her that I would find a way to make our commitment valid. But now, with this bomb that my father dropped on my lap, how am I going to do that?

"Ahhh! " I scream in frustration.

Think, Samir... Think...

I have to find a way to get out of this arranged marriage, but how?!

My older brother is already married, so he's out of the question. And to make things worse, Silvia will come to meet me exactly in a week, when the wedding will take place.

My only alternative would be to leave my family and live far away, but that's out of the question! I can't abandon my people, my home, and my roots.

I look at the city from the height of my office...

I need to find a solution to this problem, but what?!

My phone rings and as soon as I take the device out of my pocket, I see Silvia's name appear on the screen.

I take a deep breath and end the call. I can't answer her right now, I need to find a solution to all of this... wait, maybe there is a way! I smile, excited by my idea!

Meanwhile, in Brazil...

Yasmin

"Father, why do I have to submit to this? Nadja should be the one getting married, after all, she's the oldest." You said you would allow me to study...

"Be quiet, Yasmin! " my father shouts. " Don't question my orders, just obey!"

"I can't just obey, Daddy! I'm still a young girl, I'm not old enough for marriage. " I almost plead.

"You've already turned 20, you're getting too old to get married and give children to your future husband! And this marriage will bring benefits to me."

"Benefits?! " I get irritated. " I won't be used as a bargaining chip to get you out of the debts you got yourself into with your thoughtless spending!"

At that moment, I feel my father grip my wrist tightly, shaking my body and dragging me to the room where I've been trapped for years, only leaving to do the household chores since my mother passed away.

"No! Don't lock me up, Daddy! Please! " I plead.

"Let her think, Omar! " I hear the voice of my stepmother, Ursula. " She defied you, so she deserves to spend a few hours thinking about her actions and rebellion."

"No, I apologize! Don't leave me here, it's dark! " I cry.

"Well, maybe she'll think twice before challenging her father's authority, dear stepdaughter. " she gives a sadistic smile and pushes me, locking the door.

Soon, the lights in the room go out, and I curl up on the bed, covering my head with a cloth.

I've been afraid of the dark since I was very young, and ever since my mother, who was the first wife, passed away... oh, mommy!

I've suffered so much since my mother's gone, so many nights locked in the darkness, scared, hungry... will this ever end?

《••••》

I eventually fall asleep, and I don't even know how much time has passed, but I feel my body being shaken, and I wake up startled.

"Wake up, Sleeping Beauty. " I hear the voice of Najla, my older sister. " We need to have breakfast, so hurry up and go prepare!"

I sigh, tired, and get up. I look out the window and see that the day has already dawned, so I know that, once again, I fell asleep without dinner.

"We're waiting for breakfast, so don't take too long! I have to go to college, and Dad still needs to drop me off before going to the store."

She leaves, slamming the door to my small room. I sigh again and go to the small desk, where I have a photo of my mother, one of the few memories Ursula didn't take from me.

I look at the photo and close my eyes, remembering her scent, the affection she always gave me, the taste of the Baklava she made for me...

My mother was happy, at least she told me she was, but it took her a long time to get pregnant, so my father married Ursula, as they were still living in our home country at the time, and the culture there allows men to have more than one wife.

Even though she was the first wife, my mother didn't have children, while Ursula got pregnant months after they were married, so she had more privileges and more attention from my father.

When Najla was born, my mother said she was sad because my father was happy with Ursula and her daughter, but he didn't follow what the laws dictated and didn't treat both wives equally.

And when Najla turned 5 years old, my mother got pregnant. And what was supposed to be a cause for joy turned into constant fights because Ursula became jealous and always found reasons for my father to argue with my mother.

But my mother never told me any of this; on the contrary, she always told me that my father was a good man but very busy, which is why he rarely came to our side of the house.

When I was still a child, we moved to Brazil, and here we started living in a two-story house, where my mother and I lived in the back, next to the storehouse, and Ursula and Najla lived upstairs, where there was more sunlight and it wasn't as damp as the part where we lived.

My mother's health deteriorated little by little, day by day, and when my father finally realized her condition, it was already too late.

My mother passed away when I was 8 years old, and I found myself alone because my father never loved me, he never even showed affection towards me.

And I, who have always been so loved and protected by my mother, found myself forced to serve as a housemaid, in exchange for a place to sleep and a plate of food.

We have no family members in Brazil, and when they rarely visit us, I have to pretend to be the beloved daughter, but in reality, I am the rejected one in this house!

I slowly make my way to the small improvised bathroom in the corner of the room, doing my best to take care of my hygiene. I tie up my long hair and dress in my usual simple clothes, which are quite different from the expensive and colorful clothes that my stepsister wears.

I leave the room and head to the kitchen, where I begin another day of hard work!

I finish preparing everything, set the table for breakfast, and soon my father, Ursula, and Najla sit down and start eating.

I stand by, as always, until they finish their meal. Then, I collect everything, clean and organize the table, wash the breakfast dishes, and only then do I sit in the kitchen and eat something, usually an Arab bread with tea... my mother loved teas and taught me how to prepare them to extract the best flavor and aroma from the herbs.

I tidy up the kitchen and start the other tasks of the day, since my father and Najla only return at lunchtime, and Ursula goes to her activities with some women from nearby Arab merchants. She says they do social work, but I'm not sure if I trust that.

I've thought about taking advantage of these moments and running away, but ever since my father got into debt, we moved to an apartment above a bakery, and my stepmother locks the door when she leaves.

Run away? Where would I escape to? Live on the streets? I think even living on the streets would be better than living here in this place, being treated this way.

I wipe away the tears that I shed without even realizing it, and quickly go back to my chores.

As I prepare lunch, I wonder what this fiancé will be like. I remember hearing a conversation about the sons of Yousef Harmud. The supposed fiancé is a rude, arrogant, greedy man known for being involved with many women.

Najla doesn't want to be tied down to a marriage, says she has a future ahead of her, and my father doesn't see that she does nothing but spend his money.

I even thought she would get married, because despite the bad reputation, Mr. Harmud's son comes from a rich family, but I heard he's on the brink of bankruptcy because the dowry paid to my father will be given by the Sheikh himself, as the son spent all his fortune on European women... oh God, where will I end up?!

There's no point in lamenting my sad fate, because my father has already decided, and I only have the option to accept this decision and pray to the heavens that this fiancé is not one of those men who rigidly follow the culture and punish their wives.

《••••》

One week later...

"Remember, do not embarrass us in front of the Sheikh Harmud's family, understood Yasmin?!" my father says sternly as we disembark from the plane, already on Arab soil.

"Yes, sir, my father," I reply, frightened by the towering buildings.

In Brazil, we lived in Sao Paulo, but it was in a neighborhood with mostly low-rise buildings, with older facades.

I rarely left the house, except when absolutely necessary, like last week when I had to go for a consultation for the wedding. So I'm not used to so much movement and such large imposing structures.

I look around and tighten my hijab, as my mother taught me from a young age that I shouldn't leave my hair uncovered in the streets.

We leave the airport, but I feel someone pull at my scarf, causing me to lose my balance and fall, immediately covering my head with my hands out of fear.

I look up, startled, and see Najla smirking as she tosses my scarf away.

"Najla! What have you done?" I exclaim in despair, watching my scarf being carried away by the wind and getting caught in a plant further ahead.

"Me?!" she feigns offense. "You're just clumsy! We haven't even arrived and you're already embarrassing our family!" she scolds me.

"Yasmin!" my father gets irritated. "How could you cause trouble like this?! Go quickly, hurry and get your hijab!"

I try to get up but feel a pain in my ankle.

"Dad, my ankle hurts, I think I've twisted it," I say, rubbing the area.

"Stop being a sissy! Do you want your father to be embarrassed to avoid the wedding?! " she discreetly points to Sheikh Harmud's driver, who is watching us. " Go now, you brazen girl!"

As I try to stand up, I see a large hand extend the scarf in front of my eyes, and I quickly cover my face, using my hair.

"I think this *hijab* belongs to you\, am I right? " the man asks\, his voice powerful like thunder\, but it doesn't frighten me.

"Thank you! " I say timidly and I take my scarf, quickly covering my hair and my face.

"Do you need help getting up? " he questions, extending his hand, and I notice a beautiful ring on his finger.

"My daughter will only be touched by her husband, no one else! " my father grabs my arm and lifts me abruptly. " Let's go, clumsy girl!"

"You should be more polite with your own daughter, sir! " the stranger says, and I discreetly look in his direction, but strangely, he is wearing a mask, and all I can glimpse are a pair of intense and deep eyes, which seem to attract and devour you, like quicksand.

"She's the clumsy one, it's not my husband's fault! " Ursula intervenes.

"Then, as the matriarch, the oldest woman, you should have helped her by offering another scarf."

"We don't have to justify ourselves to you! Let's go already! " my father pulls me, and I have no choice but to follow him.

But still, as I get into the car, I look at the stranger, who seems to be staring at me through the closed window.

Besides my mother, no one has ever defended me like this...