Mustafa calmly folded the marriage papers into a leather folder. He stood, slipping the folder into his jacket pocket before walking towards her. Feef remained still, like a statue, her expression blank. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her body tense, as though she were trying to shut herself off from everything.
Without a word, Mustafa grasped her hand firmly, pulling her toward the door. She didn't resist.
The car door slammed shut behind them as he drove, the engine's hum the only sound filling the silence. Feef stared out the window, her face ghostly pale under the streetlights that flickered past them. Her mind was a maze of thoughts, but she couldn't make sense of any of them. Everything was a blur.
Mustafa's gaze remained on the road, his grip on the steering wheel steady. He didn't need to fill the silence with words. He knew she was processing everything, but he wasn't in any hurry. She would come to terms with this life, in time.
When they arrived, Mustafa opened the car door and held his hand out for Feef to take but she refused and walked to the apartment on her own, entering it after him.
"Go get freshened up." Feef didn't have to be told twice as she made a beeline to her room. Her escape.
A few minutes later, she heard soft sounds from the kitchen: the gentle clatter of plates, the creak of cupboard doors. Not servants. Not staff. Just him.
"Come to the table, Feef. I made dinner."
The moment she heard it, she was acutely reminded of the times Dan had prepared dinner for her. If he came home earlier than she did, he would always prepare a warm meal and make her eat it right away.
Mustafa appeared in the doorway, sleeves rolled, hands empty. His eyes swept over her once, then back to her face.
"I told you to freshen up. Just come for dinner."
He gestured to the dining table. "Eat. It's not poisoned. You know I wouldn't waste time like that."
Still, she didn't move.
He stepped forward-slowly, deliberately. She flinched as he got too close, and he paused. Studied her. Something shifted in his face-not softness, not regret. Calculation.
"I won't touch you tonight," he said. "Unless you give me a reason to."
He walked past her, leaving behind a trail of cold air and certainty.
Feef followed. Not because she wanted to. Because she knew there was no choice.
The dining room was lit with a low, amber glow. On the table: lamb biryani, fresh naan, lentils, a plate of fruit, and two glasses of water. Everything was warm.
After realising that she would not plate her food, he did it for her. Not piled, not excessive. Just enough. Feef stared at him and then looked down at her plate, suddenly nauseous.
Mustafa took a bite of his own food. Calm. Effortless.
"You can hate me," he said. "You can resent this. But you'll eat. You'll rest. And tomorrow, you'll call your father and say exactly what I've told you."
"And if I don't?"
He set his fork down quietly and leaned forward slightly.
"Then I'll have to take decisions- don't blame me if it gets ugly," he warned.
"You love threatening me- don't you?"
"On the contrary, I don't." He answered tired, pressing the ball of the palms to his eyes. "I hate repeating myself over and over again Fifa like a broken record. Save us both the trouble and listen to me."
YOU ARE READING
Latte Or Mocha
ChickLit"I..I nee..d to leave," she said trembling trying really hard to hide her fear as he inched closer towards her. He cut the phone call and an unknown emotion flashed in his eyes before it was masked away. "I... I did..not... see anything, ple...ase...
