𝐂𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐁𝐲 𝐕𝐨𝐰𝐬

Chapter 32

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A man's heart is a wretched, wretched thing. It isn't like a mother's womb. It won't bleed. It won't stretch to make room for you.

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Aamirah took a slow, steady breath before stepping into the grand study, her heart a steady rhythm of anxious beats against her ribcage. Despite the tension curling in her stomach, there was an odd calmness within her. Perhaps it was resignation, or perhaps, deep down, she already knew what this conversation would be about.

The study was dimly lit, the scent of old books and rich mahogany filling the air. Salman sat behind his massive oak desk, his silver-rimmed glasses resting low on the bridge of his nose as he read through a stack of documents. His sharp eyes flicked up when she softly called out,

"Grandpa."

He gave a slight nod and motioned for her to sit across from him. Aamirah obeyed, settling into the plush chair in front of the desk. The silence stretched between them, only broken by the soft rustling of papers as he continued reading. She hesitated, unsure whether to ask why he had summoned her. Instead, she chose to remain quiet, folding her hands in her lap as her mind spun with all the possibilities.

She flinched when his voice finally broke the silence.

"How is everything at home?" he asked, his voice measured but firm.

Aamirah felt her pulse spike. She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. How was she supposed to answer that? Everything was a mess-Mohammed was fighting for his life, Osman had forbidden her from leaving the mansion, and she was trapped in a suffocating limbo between her duty as a mother and the fear of her husband's wrath. She fears the outcome her family might face.

She lowered her gaze, staring at her trembling fingers as she struggled to find the right words. But before she could answer, Salman let out a weary sigh.

"I didn't expect this from you, Aamirah," he said, disappointment lacing his tone.

Her heart clenched painfully at his words. She respected him deeply. He had been one of the few people in this family who had accepted her despite her background, treating her with warmth and dignity when others had not. The last thing she wanted was to disappoint him, but she also couldn't go against Osman.

Her lips parted, but the words tangled on her tongue. Finally, she managed a stammered apology, her voice barely above a whisper. Tears welled in her eyes as she looked up at him, unable to mask her anguish.

Salman leaned back in his chair, studying her carefully before speaking again. This time, his voice was steady, calm, but firm.

"Why are you still here when Mohammed is fighting for his life? Isn't he your son too now?"

The question hit her like a blow. Aamirah sucked in a sharp breath, her vision blurring with unshed tears. She wanted to answer, wanted to tell him how much she ached to be by his side, but her mind was already racing through all the possible consequences of defying her husband.

After a long silence, she whispered, "Grandpa... he told me not to leave the mansion." Her voice wavered, the weight of her fear pressing down on her chest. "I wanted to be with Mohammed, but how can I oppose him? He will be angry."

Her tears finally spilled over, slipping down her cheeks in silent trails of sorrow. She hated how weak she sounded, how helpless she felt.

Salman exhaled heavily, watching the fragile girl before him. Without a word, he reached for the glass of water on his desk and slid it toward her. Aamirah hesitated, then took it with both of her trembling hands, drinking in small, slow sips to steady herself.