The Sanchez Family

The Sanchez Family
ROME

I had expected luxury.

Of course I had. The Sanchez family was one of the richest in the country, if not the continent. I’d done my homework before walking into this lion’s den.

Old money. Old power.

That kind of heritage that came with clean-cut traditions and dangerous secrets buried in the high walls. But even then, even after seeing the photos online, the videos, the headlines...

I wasn’t prepared for this.

The mansion loomed like it had been carved from centuries of ambition. Cream-colored stone. Iron gates. A driveway so long it could host a runway show. The actual house sat at the end like a goddamn palace. Manicured lawns, water fountains, golden accents on black window panes. I stared as the car pulled up, forcing my jaw to remain shut.

This wasn’t just money. This was an empire.

And Zayn was part of it.

How the hell did he get here? From an average student in college who used to pick fights in dark corridors to... this.

Not that it mattered. None of it mattered. This wasn’t about him. This was about the contract, about surviving.

The door opened and I stepped out. Cold air brushed my skin.

Then, a tall man in a fitted black suit approached. His posture was perfect, chin slightly dipped, hands clasped behind his back. He looked like he’d been born into servitude but carried it like art.

"Welcome, Mr. Calloway. I am Elliot, the head butler. Young Master Zayn instructed us to expect your arrival. The Patriarch will be joining you shortly."

He bowed, and for a second I forgot how to respond.

Before I could say anything, Zayn appeared behind me, his coat half tossed over his shoulder like a runway model, casual and dangerous in equal parts. He stopped beside me and gave Elliot a sharp nod.

"Are the others coming too?" Zayn asked.

Elliot clasped his hands neatly. "It is possible, Young Master. The family has been informed."

Zayn gave a grunt of acknowledgment.

I stayed quiet. My mind was already racing, my fingers curling slightly at my sides. But before I could retreat further into my thoughts, Zayn suddenly wrapped his arm around my waist, yanked me close, and faced Elliot with a crooked smile.

"Elliot," he said, voice smooth like a devil's whisper, "meet my spouse. Or should I say, my wife – Rome Calloway. We registered our marriage yesterday."

My mouth opened to protest, but Elliot’s expression didn’t flinch. Just a polite bow. "Welcome to the Sanchez family, Mr. Calloway."

And then he disappeared down the corridor.

I turned on Zayn the second we were alone. "Must you always do this?"

He looked at me like I was the one acting unreasonable. Then, without a word, he stepped in, pressed me against the hallway wall, and trapped me there with his body.

"The contract says everyone has to believe we’re madly in love," he murmured, lips brushing the shell of my ear. "So play your part well."

His hand slid under my shirt, fingers trailing the skin just above my waistband. I shivered. God, I hated how my body betrayed me. Hated how fast I reacted to him.

Zayn wasn’t the only person I’d ever slept with, not by a long shot. But he was the only one who could twist me into this mess of nerves and heat with just a touch.

My mind flashed back to the photoshoot. The way he’d handled me. The low, dirty words. The moment my body had started responding before I could stop it. Thank God he hadn’t noticed the boner I was fighting then.

Zayn kissed me, full on the lips, his hand holding me firmly and possessively, like he had every right to do whatever he wanted with me.

I didn’t pull away.

Not until…

"Oh my fucking God!"

I shoved Zayn off me instantly, breath catching as I turned toward the voice.

There, standing at the end of the hall, was the man I’d seen on the internet. Messy hair, sunglasses pushed onto his head, mouth agape in disbelief.

Fernando Sanchez.

Zayn’s alleged older brother. The black sheep of the family and the disgraceful son who didn’t live up to the family name.

Fernando gawked at us, then exploded. "You brought your rubbish to Grandpa’s house? Are you insane?!"

Zayn didn't even blink. He reached back and grabbed my hand, ignoring the tension rolling off my shoulders.

"This is my brother," he said coolly. "Older brother. You don't need to pay attention to him. He sucks."

Fernando huffed and stormed off, muttering curses under his breath as he went to complain. I could hear his voice echoing faintly as he reached Elliot.

"He got married?! To a man? He didn’t tell anyone?!"

I swallowed hard. Bad feeling brewing fast in my chest. But no matter what came next, I was doing my job. I was Zayn’s husband now, even if only by contract. Whatever came with that title didn’t matter.

Then I felt Zayn's fingers tightening around mine. I could feel the tension in his fingers like he was being… protective? Or was it possessive again?

He didn’t look at me, and I didn’t ask.

We entered the massive dining hall, ceilings too high and the walls too clean. A long table stretched across the room, ready for a war disguised as dinner.

Although I didn't live that long with the Calloway Family, I knew what it was like to have dinner in an aristocratic family. It was often a battle disguised as a family dinner.

Minutes passed but Zayn's hand never left mine. Then the door opened, and an old man stepped in.

Zayn immediately stood up, and I followed his lead.

"Grandfather," Zayn said, bowing his head.

The man’s presence was calm but commanding. But what caught me off guard was the smile that tugged at his lips when his gaze shifted to me.

"Rome Calloway, right?"

I nodded, unsure of what would happen next. I didn't need to ask to know who the old man is.

He let out a hearty chuckle. "You’re quite good-looking. No wonder Zayn couldn’t wait to marry you."

And to my utter horror...

My cheeks flushed… Goddammit.

The Patriarch’s smile deepened as he looked between Zayn and me, his gaze calm but sharp like he saw through everything yet chose not to call it out. “Rome Calloway,” he said again, my name rolling off his tongue with unexpected fondness. “I feared this boy would never find someone he could spend his life with. Too smart, too arrogant, but he always had taste.”

Zayn only tilted his head slightly like he heard a compliment no one else could understand.

Then the Patriarch turned to the butler. “Elliot, tell the cooks to serve the food.”

Elliot, the ever-perfect picture of formality, gave a nod. “Of course, Patriarch. What about the rest of the family?”

"They will meet us," the elderly man stated in a final, clipped tone.

Elliot bowed a little and then left with a well-honed grace.

Then, because peace is never faithful to this family, Fernando returned, this time carrying his anger like a storm cloud behind him. “Grandfather,” he started, voice tight. “Zayn brought that thing here without even informing the family. You told us…”

“Sit down,” the Patriarch interrupted, not even looking his way.

The silence that followed was thunderous. Fernando flinched and for a second, he looked like a child caught doing something shameful, but he quickly masked it with bitterness and stomped over to an empty chair, muttering under his breath.

When his eyes landed on me, there was nothing polite about it. He looked at me with pure disgust. Like I was a parasite he was forced to watch feeding off his family’s name.

I didn’t even care about his gaze.

Let him look, he was the problematic one anyway, so I was prepared for this.

The dining staff entered like a well-oiled machine, carrying silver trays and warm dishes that immediately made my stomach twist.

The aroma was rich and indulgent, truffle butter, roasted lamb, something garlicky, something sweet. It filled the hall like it had every right to be the centerpiece. I hated that I noticed how good it smelled.

I hadn't eaten much after the photoshoot. I just grabbed a quick coffee between outfit changes and then wasted an hour shopping for something Zayn would call “presentable.” That strain had knotted into a dull ache in my stomach, now waking up at the worst possible time.

As the dinning starts continued their work, a voice boomed from outside, shocking me to the core.

“ZAYN SANCHEZ, I SWEAR TO GOD, YOU ARE DEAD!”

The entire dining room seemed to jerk in fear and everyone turned at once.

I barely had a second to process it before a man, tall, broad, furious, stomped into the room, his eyes locked on Zayn like a predator finally closing in. His anger was volcanic. I knew that face from the internet. The rumors hadn’t done him justice.

Alejandro Sanchez.

Zayn’s father. Well… Allegedly… apparently… definitely.

And he didn’t care who was present.

“You arrogant little shit!” he yelled, and then crack… his fist collided with Zayn’s face before anyone could react.

The sound was real.

Painful.

I jolted, staring in horror as Zayn’s head snapped sideways. Blood immediately welled at the corner of his mouth. He didn’t even move, didn’t yell, didn’t say a word. He just stood there, his jaw clenched, breathing slow like he was trying to contain a storm of his own.

“What the fuck,” I whispered under my breath, my body frozen.

“I TOLD YOU,” Alejandro roared, “not to take over any goddamn project! How DARE you undermine me like this?!”

No one moved.

Not even the butler, who had discreetly returned but stood to the side as if nothing had happened.

And certainly not me.

I had expected all sorts of events but definitely not this.

Zayn’s eyes slowly turned to meet his father’s. There was no apology in them. For a moment, no one knew what would happen next.

But all I could think about was the blood on Zayn’s lip. And the hand still wrapped tightly around mine.

Even in pain, he didn't let go.

And I hated, hated, that I noticed that.