Manifesting To Be The Rich Man's Wife

12

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Ibrahim's POV🖤

I got up and started to approach her, the sound of my boots against the floor echoing like the march of a victorious army, with my expression cold and cruel. She continued to stare at me fearlessly while backing away. I continued to lurk towards her, determined to make her kneel and beg for my forgiveness for wasting my time all this time. After her back hit the cold wall, she gasped and then pointed a warning finger at me. "Stop right there," she said, her voice quivering.

My smirk widened after I saw the flicker of nervousness in her eyes, and eventually, I closed the distance between us like a predator closing in on its prey.

I raised my hand to caress her soft cheeks, but before I could, she dropped down, and my palm slammed into one of the nails on the wall. I jerked my hand back and stared at it in shock, watching the blood as it began to well up and run down my fingers. I took a step back, stunned by her unexpected movement, and watched as she made a dash for the door, trying to escape.

"It's locked," I said through gritted teeth, wincing in pain.

She turned and eyed me curiously, glancing at my bleeding palm. "How long has that nail been on the wall?" she asked, her gaze fixed on the rusty nail.

"Five years or more," I replied, my voice strained as the excruciating pain shot through my wounded hand.

She hesitated for a moment before returning to my side, her expression softening slightly. "I shouldn't be helping you," she said in a low voice, "but I can't help but feel pity, which you lack."

I shrugged, downplaying the pain. "It's just a small injury. It will stop hurting in a few minutes," I said, barely concealing my discomfort.

She then turned and padded towards the dressing table, rummaging through the drawers until she found a bottle of perfume.

"Show me your hand," she demanded, her tone firm.

"Are you mad?" I retorted. "It's perfume, not spirit."

She rolled her eyes and explained, "There is alcohol in perfume, which can disinfect..."

"No," I corrected her. "The alcohol in perfume isn't meant to cleanse an injury. It could lead to infection."

"It's already infected," she insisted. "This will disinfect it."

"I said no!" I protested, but she ignored me and grabbed my wrist, tilting my hand. I winced at the pain but held back any further sounds of discomfort as she unscrewed the cap of the bottle and poured the perfume directly onto the injury, causing intense pain to shoot through my body.

"You did that on purpose." I gasped, still feeling the deposition of the sharp pain.

"Yes," she confirmed, her quick response taking me aback. "Why shouldn't I? You had my father fired, kidnapped me, and brought me here. In fact, I should have let you suffer by allowing the wound to become infected."

She continued cleaning the bleeding injury using her hijab, while I continued to wince in pain.

"There, it's done," she said and withdrew her hand.

"Who is Abbah to you?" I blurted curious, not even expecting a response, but she smiled like thoughts of him just flooded her mind. Her cheeks flushed, and her eyes shimmered with adoration. "Ahh... Just thinking about him has my heart fluttering like a thousand butterflies. Oh, what I wouldn't give just to see him smile."

I had a kink of jealousy and irritation in my heart, gritting my teeth as she continued to gush affectionately about him. The love and admiration in her voice were evident, and my envy grew stronger in my chest. "He's like an angel. In fact, may Allah bless him with everything he wants in this life and the next. He's just so perfect. Unlike you, he knows the value of women and doesn't expect anything in return for a favour. He's....."

With a bored and uninterested expression, I asked, "Who am I to you, Amina?"

She laughed softly, a wry smile playing on her lips. "Isn't it obvious?" she replied. "You're someone I despise. Someone who doesn't value the emotions of others. My father worked with you faithfully for years, yet you didn't hesitate for a moment to dismiss him. It's disheartening."

I let my mind drift away as she spoke, her words fading into the background while I became entranced by the graceful movements of her facial features. I was feeling at ease and at peace with her. It was a sensation I had never experienced before, a soothing balm to the constant restlessness and loneliness I usually felt. This feeling of comfort and contentment was something I had searched for with other women, and yet it had always dodged me. Now, in this moment, I'm experiencing it wholeheartedly. The way her eyes sparkled with boldness, the subtle quiver of her lips as she spoke, the determined set of her jaw—all of these small gestures held my attention hostage. It was as if her very presence had cast a spell on me, making the rest of the world fade away into insignificance.

"I don't hate her," I thought to myself silently while struggling to unravel the feelings I have. "I don't even know what I feel, to be honest. But I do know I travelled to Kano for her and have been following her activities closely.

She snapped her fingers at me, interrupting my thoughts and pulling me back to the present moment.

I responded with a casual smile, "Yes?"

"I said that you don't deserve a good woman in your life," she continued. "You should be with someone who is like you. Someone who will also seek comfort in the arms of others. That way, there will be a measure of fairness in your relationship."

I merely chuckled, dismissing her words while I used my spare key to unlock the door.

"You have two options. You can go home, or you can stay until tomorrow morning," I offered and paused, not understanding why I wanted to clarify myself. "I am not as terrible as you think."

"I know you're not bad, you're cruel." She stepped outside, but before leaving, she turned and added, "And let this be clear. No amount of money can buy me. Don't ever forget that."