𝐂𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐁𝐲 𝐕𝐨𝐰𝐬

Chapter 34

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Paint me a heaven of love with your bloodied mouth

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As the convoy of black SUVs sped through the dimly lit streets, their presence was unmistakable—a show of power, wealth, and an unspoken warning to any who dared cross their path. The police vans trailing behind them added an extra layer of security, ensuring no threat could touch the precious cargo they carried. And all of this felt suffocating but she had to get use to it.

Inside one of the SUVs, Aamirah sat in the backseat, cradling a fragile Mohammed in her arms. His tiny form felt lighter than before, his chubby cheeks now hollowed by the effects of the poison that had nearly stolen his life.

Though the doctors had reassured them that he was out of immediate danger, they had also warned that his organs were still recovering and that he would require regular checkups until he passed his toddler years. The thought of her son suffering, of him being so vulnerable, made her chest ache with an unbearable heaviness. She brushed his soft curls gently, her touch featherlight as if afraid he might break under her fingers.

Seated in the passenger seat was Keyvan, Osman’s third-in-command, his posture stiff and alert. His sharp gaze flickered between the road ahead and the rearview mirror, ever watchful. Behind them, in another vehicle, sat Osman’s grandparents, along with his aunt, Aaliyah.

The weight of their presence was suffocating even from a distance. After the previous encounter they tends to avoid her, especially his aunt who sometimes glares at her but aamirah knew better to initiate a conversation with her. Though Nour had already been sent to her father’s place, the tension between them all still lingered like a dark cloud.

Aamirah had spent the past two days in an eerie silence. Since the confrontation in the hospital lobby, she had neither seen nor spoken to her husband. Osman had disappeared without a trace, as if their last interaction had never happened. The way he had stood beside her, shielding her from the scathing words of his family, had left her stunned.

He had defended her against his own grandmother. Protected her. But why? Was it mere because she is his wife, a matter of pride? Or had there been something more in the way he had placed his hand on her waist, the way his voice had carried an unyielding finality when he claimed that no one had the right to raise a finger against her? Did he trust her now?

And yet, that night—the night when he had accused her, when his dark eyes had burned with suspicion—still haunted her. The memory of his gaze, that cell, all those bloodied walls, made her throat tighten. He had doubted her. That truth could not be erased, no matter how fiercely he had defended her afterward. She will not forget this and neither will forgive him.

She shifted her gaze from the sleeping child in her arms to the window, watching the dark city blur past them. Her fingers tightened slightly around Mohammed, a silent anchor to her scattered thoughts.

But where was he?

Why wasn’t he here?

He is the father of this child, at such moments he needs to be with him but what she can even expect from such a man, the man who had turned their marriage into a battlefield of power and submission, had vanished when their son was discharged.

Unable to hold the question any longer, she turned her attention to Keyvan.

"Where is he?" she asked, her voice steady but laced with an unspoken demand.