Chapter 4 The Scheme

Amir's Pov:

The morning of my wedding, a nervous energy I hadn't felt since my first major business pitch hummed under my skin. I was standing before a full-length mirror, adjusting the cufflinks on my expensive tuxedo, when a soft knock preceded my father's entrance.

"Well, look at you," he said, a warm, familiar grin spreading across his face. He leaned against the doorframe, looking more animated than I'd seen him in years. My father was a man who prized his naps and his peace above all else, a connoisseur of the path of least resistance. But today, for me, he was fully present.

"The suit fits perfectly, Dad. You were right about the tailor," I said, turning slightly. We had spent an entire afternoon choosing the fabric and the cut. He had insisted on a classic, timeless style, arguing that trends fade, but elegance is eternal.

"A father is occasionally right about something other than the remote control," he chuckled, stepping forward to smooth a non-existent wrinkle on my shoulder.

"I even prepared a speech. Don't worry, I'll keep it short. Don't want to bore people before the cake is cut."

His eyes twinkled, and then he delivered the expected, good-natured jab. "Just remember to stand up straight on the podium, son. We don't want the photographer to think the groom is hiding behind the bouquet."

I laughed, a genuine, unrestrained sound. "Noted. I'll make sure to stand on my tiptoes."

This easy camaraderie, however, was the calm before the storm. The storm, as always, was my mother. Her disapproval was a cold draft in the otherwise warm room. She entered without a knock, a vision of meticulously maintained beauty. At fifty-eight, she was a stunning woman, her figure a strict, self-policed 55 kilograms, a number she guarded with a strict fervor that defied her doctor's warnings. To her, her personal image wasn't everything; it was the only thing.

Her eyes swept over me, and for a fleeting second, I saw a flicker of maternal pride, quickly extinguished by her overarching agenda. "You look... perfect, as always Amir, wish I could say the same about her." she stated, her voice crisp. She didn't mention Tala's name. She never would if she could help it.

"Your speech will be respectful, I trust?" she said, turning her gaze to my father, who simply shrugged amiably.

"It's a wedding, my dear, not a shareholder's meeting. It's supposed to be about love."

My mother's lips tightened into a thin line. "Love is a foundation, not the entire architecture. That girl..." She finally let the pronoun hang in the air, dripping with disdain. "She is... unpolished. She has no sense of style, no grace. Do you know what she wore to the engagement party? A dress that did nothing to conceal her... frame. A woman's silhouette should be a work of art, not... not a statement of indifference."

This was her core objection. In my mother's world, a woman's waist should not be much wider than her neck. Tala, with her strong, tall build, her refusal to starve herself into a delicate figurine, was an affront to my mother's entire belief system.

She wasn't just marrying her son; she was, in my mother's eyes, preparing to drag the family name through the mud of mediocrity.

"She is of no use to our family's standing, Amir," she concluded, her voice low and intense. "She will be the end of our image."

The charade was over. I had hoped her love for me would eventually override her vanity, but it was clear it wouldn't. I took a deep breath and crossed the room, closing the door firmly.

"Mother," I began, my voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone I used for boardroom coups. "We need to talk about what Tala really brings to this family."

Her eyes narrowed, intrigued despite herself.

"Do you know who helped me graduate? It was her, Tala." I let the name hang there.

"Despite what you think of her, she's actually very smart, she graduated the top of our class, and thanks to her I go to graduate third, I had the best grades because she used to do all the work for me, I get to call myself an engineer thanks to her."

I spun the web carefully, blending truth with strategic fiction. "Tala loves me very much. She's been hopelessly in love with me since the first time we met...I know because she's very bad at hiding it. One time she almost got caught taking my test paper to solve the questions for me before time runs out. She almost threw her future away for me."

"So you're marrying her out of pity?" My mother said sarcasticly.

"No, this isn't about pity...and it's not just a romance. It's a business deal. The most important one I will ever secure."

My mother raised and eyebrow so I carried on "You see, grandpa and I made a deal. If I close the deal with the QBG group that we've been negotiating over for years he'll make me the CEO."

My mom still didn't connect the dots, she asked "what does this have to do with Tala?"

I smirked and explained further "As you know Grandpa doesn't have much time left, the doctors say he'll live a few months at best, which means I don't have much time to secure the deal, to accelerate the process I need Tala's help; no one is as talented as her when it comes to technology, or when it comes to helping me sound like a real tech engineer. She'll do all the work for me in the background while I do what I do best, cast my spells and charm everyone in the room."

I watched the calculation happen in her eyes. Her disgust for Tala's "frame" warred with her lust for power and prestige. The latter, as I knew it would, won.

She looked at me, a new, cold respect in her gaze. She swallowed, a visible effort, as if forcing her pride down her throat. "I see," she said, her voice clipped. "You should have told me sooner. It's... a good strategy"

"It is," I confirmed.

She straightened her already impeccable posture. "Very well. For the sake of your... career... and the family's future, I will... tolerate her." The word 'tolerate' was a bitter pill, but she swallowed it. "I will be the picture of a gracious mother-in-law today. But you, Amir, you must ensure this... alliance... is worth it."

With that, she turned and left the room, leaving behind a cloud of expensive perfume and a sealed pact. My father let out a low whistle. "Son, you play a dangerous game."

I turned back to the mirror, adjusting my tie. The nervous energy was gone, replaced by the cold, focused calm of a man who had just neutralized a threat. The wedding could proceed. The deal was on track.