•••
In all the world, there's no heart for me like yours. In all the world, there's no love for you like mine.
•••
As Osman’s footsteps faded, Aamirah remained rooted to her chair, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. Something had shifted between them, and she couldn’t deny it.
Since last night’s kiss—the way his hands had firmly but gently rested on her curves—she had been unable to shake the memory from her mind.
She had expected to despise his touch, to feel trapped under the weight of a marriage she never wanted. Yet, against all logic, she didn’t.
His kiss, his touch… they had not ignited hatred but something far more confusing. A strange warmth, an unfamiliar longing that both comforted and unsettled her.
She bit her lip again, her brows furrowing. Why? she wondered. She had told herself repeatedly that this was a marriage of convenience. Osman didn’t need a wife; he needed a mother for his son.
She was here to play a role, nothing more. The luxury surrounding her—the opulent mansion, the designer clothes, the rare jewels—meant little without the one thing she valued most: her freedom.
She sighed, her gaze drifting to the grand windows that framed the world outside. A world she could no longer explore without his permission. She couldn’t even pursue her studies without his approval, and she had overheard enough conversations to know the kind of power he wielded.
Osman was a man who made life-and-death decisions with chilling ease. She had once heard him give a quiet order to kill someone, his voice as calm as if he were discussing the weather.
Yet, despite the darkness that clung to him, she didn’t recoil from his touch. Was it because they were now bound by marriage? Was her heart beginning to accept what her mind refused to acknowledge?
She pressed a hand to her chest, her pulse still racing. Am I… accepting him? The thought unsettled her, but it was a question she could no longer ignore.
Her thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the soft, familiar cries of Mohammed echoing down the hall, as a maid came and told her to see him. She straightened, her maternal instincts kicking in. It was time for his feeding.
Setting aside her thoughts, Aamirah rose from the chair and made her way to the nursery. As she entered, she found the baby squirming in his crib, his tiny face scrunched in distress.
The sight brought a tender smile to her lips. Whatever turmoil brewed in her mind, Mohammed was an innocent constant in her life, a reminder of the purest form of love and responsibility.
She gently scooped him up, cradling him against her chest. “Shh, little one,” she whispered soothingly, her voice soft and melodic. “I’m here.”
Mohammed’s cries began to quiet as she settled into the rocking chair, preparing to feed him. His small hands grasped at her dress, and she couldn’t help but marvel at how something so fragile could hold so much power over her heart.
As she fed him with the help of feeder, her thoughts drifted once more. Perhaps she was overthinking everything. Osman was a complex man—cold and commanding, yet capable of moments of unexpected gentleness.
She didn’t understand him, but she was beginning to see that there was more to him than the ruthless facade he presented to the world. And perhaps, just perhaps, she was beginning to see that there was more to herself, too.
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𝐂𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐁𝐲 𝐕𝐨𝐰𝐬
Romance••• "Just because I haven't touched you as a husband should, that doesn't mean I won't," he said, his voice low and menacing. Her knees felt weak, and she didn't dare move from where she stood, his presence overwhelming her completely. She could b...
