In the heart of Dubai's dazzling skyline, a mysterious sheikh, known for his enigmatic presence and secretive past, leads a life surrounded by luxury, power, and shadows. His wealth and influence are unmatched, but behind his cold exterior lies a so...
Isabella Cruz was usually calm and collected, especially when it came to her art. But that night, back in her hotel room after the gala, she couldn’t stop pacing. What was it about Sheikh Alejandro Al-Farid that had her so rattled? He was cold, distant—almost annoyingly so—but there was something about the way he dismissed her that ignited a fire in her chest. No one had ever been so... unimpressed.
She threw herself onto the bed, staring up at the ornate ceiling, replaying the conversation over in her mind. Had she really tried to impress him with the skyline?
Isabella groaned, pulling a pillow over her face.
“This is ridiculous,” she muttered. “It was just one conversation. Get over it, Isabella.”
Her phone buzzed, and she grabbed it from the nightstand, grateful for the distraction. It was a message from her best friend, Mia, back in New York. Mia: Sooo? How was the gala?? Any hot billionaire princes sweeping you off your feet?
Isabella chuckled, typing back.
Isabella: Met the sheikh. He’s... not exactly a prince charming. Cold as ice.
Mia: Ugh, typical. All rich, hot guys are like that. So, what happened?
Isabella hesitated for a moment before responding, her fingers hovering over the screen.
Isabella: He basically brushed me off. Said he didn’t have time for small talk.
Mia: Rude. Did you walk away?
Isabella: Kinda? But I might’ve challenged him. Told him I’m more interesting than he thinks.
Mia: Ooooh, spicy! Bet that got under his skin.
Isabella: I don’t think anything gets under his skin, Mia. He’s like a robot.
Mia sent back a string of laughing emojis, followed by a picture of herself dramatically fanning her face.
Mia: Well, maybe you’ll melt the ice! Just be yourself. You’re cute. No one can resist you!
Isabella snorted. Cute wasn’t exactly the word she’d use to describe herself. Maybe in an awkward, messy way. She tossed the phone aside and stretched out on the bed, her mind wandering to the next day. She had a private meeting scheduled at a prestigious gallery to discuss her art, and apparently, the sheikh might be there again.
Great. Just what she needed—another awkward encounter with Mr. Ice King himself. The next morning, Isabella was running late. Typical. She hurriedly slipped into a white sundress that seemed appropriate enough for a gallery meeting in Dubai, where everything was drenched in luxury. But as she tried to zip it up, the zipper caught.
“Not today. Come on,” she grumbled, yanking at the stubborn zipper. It wouldn’t budge.
Frustrated, she huffed and twisted in front of the mirror, trying to reach the zipper at a different angle. No luck. The more she struggled, the more ridiculous she felt. In a panic, she grabbed her phone and video-called Mia.
Mia answered after two rings, her face still smudged with last night’s makeup.
“Morning, sunshine. What’s up?” “Mia, help! My dress is stuck!” Isabella whined, twisting to show her friend the unzipped back of her dress.
Mia burst out laughing. “Oh my God, you look like a pretzel!”
“It’s not funny!” Isabella pouted, still twisting in front of the mirror. “I have a meeting with the gallery in like, twenty minutes, and I’m going to look like an idiot if I show up half-zipped.”
Mia wiped tears from her eyes. “Okay, okay, relax. Try using some lotion on the zipper, like, a tiny bit. Or just pull harder.”
Isabella glanced at the clock, biting her lip. She grabbed the nearest thing—a tube of hand cream—and dabbed a bit on the zipper. With a silent prayer, she tugged at the zipper again. It finally moved, sliding up smoothly.
“Yes! Got it!”
Mia clapped. “You’re welcome. Now go wow them with your art. And if you see Ice Sheikh, just keep being your sassy self.”
Isabella grinned, blowing a kiss to the camera. “Thanks, you lifesaver. I’ll call you later.”
She hung up, grabbed her portfolio, and rushed out of the hotel, determined not to be late. The gallery meeting was nerve-wracking, but Isabella had gotten used to presenting her work. As she spoke about her inspirations and technique, she could feel the tension in the room easing. The curators nodded along, impressed with her vision and passion. It was going well. Until, of course, the sheikh walked in.
Alejandro entered the room with the same commanding presence he had at the gala, his gaze sweeping over the artwork before finally landing on Isabella. She froze mid-sentence, her heart skipping a beat. His expression was unreadable, but she could tell he was watching her closely.
This time, though, she wasn’t going to let him intimidate her. She took a deep breath and continued her presentation, forcing herself to focus on the curators and not the brooding figure standing in the back of the room.
After the presentation, the gallery owner, a sharp-eyed woman named Amal, approached her.
“Your work is exceptional, Ms. Cruz. We would love to showcase it here.”
Isabella beamed, barely containing her excitement. “Thank you so much! This is an honor.” Just as she was about to leave, she felt someone step up beside her. She turned to find Alejandro standing there, his hands in his pockets, looking as unbothered as ever.
“You’ve made quite an impression on them,” he said, his voice as cool as ice.
“Not just on them, I hope,” Isabella shot back before she could stop herself.
His eyebrow quirked, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he glanced down at her dress and then back up to her face, something almost like amusement flickering in his eyes.
“Interesting choice of attire,” he said, his tone dry.
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Her attire.[imagine it has a zip at its back,hehe] Isabella blinked, confused. She looked down at her dress—then froze. There it was, a long, faint streak of lotion running down her side from the earlier zipper disaster.
Her face turned beet red. She opened her mouth to say something, but Alejandro had already turned and walked away, leaving her standing there, mortified.
She could swear she heard him chuckle softly as he left.
“Great,” Isabella muttered to herself. “Just great.”
Maybe she was cute. In a total disaster sort of way.
(i'll try to write a new chapter on daily basis,thanks for reading)
