•••
His hands were strong when she wanted and gentle when she needed and somehow he knew the difference.
•••
Hours passed, the night growing deeper. The rhythmic ticking of the hospital clock echoed in the quiet room. Mohammed had finally fallen asleep after taking his medication, his tiny chest rising and falling in steady breaths.
Aamirah sat beside his crib, but her mind was far away. Her gaze was fixed on the window, watching the distant city lights flicker in the darkness. A soft sigh left her lips, her thoughts swirling with uncertainty.
Suddenly, the door creaked open.
She turned quickly, expecting the nurse to check on Mohammed. But instead, it was him.
Osman.
He stood in the doorway, his tall frame bathed in the dim hospital light, his hands tucked into the pockets of his impeccably tailored suit. His dark eyes locked onto hers, heavy with unspoken questions, unreadable.
Aamirah’s breath caught. She quickly looked away, lowering her gaze to her lap, but her heart had already started pounding.
She could still see it—the cell. The bloodstained floor. The man’s lifeless body. The horrifying detachment in his face as if human life meant nothing to him.
The hairs on her nape stood on end, her skin pricking with cold fear. How could she be calm, be collected, with a man who was capable of such horrific things?
Perhaps the man in the cell had done something terrible, something worthy of punishment. But weren’t there laws? Weren’t there authorities meant to handle such things?
She despised men like him—men who thought they were above the law.
Slowly, carefully, she turned her head away, her eyes returning to the window as if willing herself to disappear into the night beyond.
Yet, she felt him. Felt his every movement, every shift in his stance.
Osman stepped forward, his presence filling the small room like a shadow stretching under candlelight. He moved to Mohammed’s crib, his expression softening for the briefest moment as he reached down to adjust the baby’s comforter, tucking him in carefully.
Aamirah held her breath.
Neither of them spoke.
But his silence unsettled her more than anything else.
Her mind raced. What if he took her presence here as an offense? What if he retaliated? What if he did something to her family?
He can’t always have his way.
The thought came suddenly, fiercely. But what she can do? Her father won't be able to protect her, these people have the government in their pockets.
One thing she knew and that is, she isn’t his doll. She is his wife. And more than that, she was Mohammed’s mother—the sole reason this marriage even existed.
Summoning the last fragments of her courage, she pushed herself to stand. Her legs felt unsteady, but she forced herself to move.
She needed to leave, needed space to breathe away from his suffocating presence.
But as she stepped toward the door, his fingers wrapped around her wrist, stopping her in place.
Aamirah’s breath stilled.
YOU ARE READING
𝐂𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐁𝐲 𝐕𝐨𝐰𝐬
Storie d'amore••• "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...
