"She's a child."
                          
"She's twenty-five years old. Hardly a child."
                          
"She hates me."
                          
"I doubt that," Zeenia looked uncharacteristically weary.
                          
"We're a bad match."
                          
"It's a paper marriage, it doesn't have to match at all. If you don't act now, she'll be married to Ghazafar Khan Bilour by the end of winter."
                          
"She'll be what?" 
                          
Affandi's gaze sharpened on his wife, as genuine delight flashed through him. Of course he was happy. He'd finally seen her get a reaction out of me.
                          
"And guess what? He'll pay off their debts and finance her father. Who knows, he might do all of that before the wedding actually takes place as a gesture of goodwill. Where will you be then? Her father already owns the IP. He could just create a newer better version of the White Rose," it was clear the pregnancy affected her. Normally stoic, decisive, and straightforward Zeenia looked nervous."He'll be in direct competition with us. And with the legitimate creator at the helm, we'd lose money, you'll lose your seat and your credibility and the business will go back to Dad."
                          
"I have to think about this."
                          
"There's nothing to think about. It's a business decision. Making her your wife, ensures that you have complete control over her father. And if she's married to you, no one would dare finance Mansoor Khan's innovations. It's a win-win."
                          
"And what about her? What about the girl? Is she supposed to sign away her life for these business decisions?" her husband threw out, visibly upset. It was clear he wasn't expecting her to be so blunt.
                          
"Our parents did it."
                          
"You hated that. Who's to say she won't hate it?"
                          
"If she's already in this deep, if she's willing to marry her cousin, I think I know where her head's at. She's a smart capable girl. I'm sure she can find a future here. She doesn't have to be a wife. She can be a partner."
                          
"The will said that she has to be a perfect wife and she has to provide an heir," I interjected. 
                          
"The will specifically states that you need a wife if you want to be voted into the board. The heir part is for Mughal Manor."
                          
With dark eyes and an equally dark countenance, senior and detached, rigid, and unbending—Zeenia was the female version of our grandfather. I didn't know why I was surprised by her pragmatic approach. It was all him.
                          
"You could always just buy the house."
                          
"The lawyers won't put it up for sale. Not until everyone agrees. Besides, Mom and Dad would rather die than sell the house."
                          
"What about Azaan? Will he agree?"
                          
"He needs to focus on his degree. We have time to think about Mughal Manor."
                          
"Why are you even selling it?"
                          
"We're considering it."
                          
"I want to talk to Zeenia," Affandi opened his mouth to protest. "Alone."
                          
Seconds later she settled into the chair, watching her husband leave, her lips pursed in a familiar determined expression. 
                          
"Why are you pushing this?"
                          
"Why are you not? This could be your way out. She gets you that seat on the board. The board members will see you as a stable, competent, and capable CEO. Dad will have to step down."
                          
"And then what? He goes back home and makes Mom want to bang her head on the wall?"
                          
"Their marriage isn't our issue. Our legacy is our issue."