•••
The one who stole the breath of my love,
For him, life itself will become the greatest dance of punishment.
•••
Three weeks later
The world had moved on. But time had stopped inside the estate.
Osman hadn’t been home for more than an hour in the past three weeks. His penthouse, once pristine and grand, now echoed with silence and the distant, muffled cries of a child who had lost the only warmth he knew.
Fahd lay unconscious in the west wing under full medical care. Tubes and monitors beeped softly in rhythm. A deep wound across his back was healing—but slowly. The doctors didn’t know if or when he’d wake up. No one in his family knew about fahd apart from his brothers.
Osman had ordered:
“He stays here. Until I say otherwise.”
He hadn't explained why. No one dared to ask.
---
Downstairs, the child—little baby—clutched a worn-out shawl that once belonged to Aamirah. His once-bright eyes were now hollow with confusion, his lips trembling.
“M-Mama…”
His tiny voice broke the silence. It was the first word he ever spoke. But there was no one there to hear it—no celebration, no smile.
Only Aleena, the former babysitter turned his Aunt, rushed forward and scooped him up, pressing him tightly to her chest. Her eyes brimmed with tears she never let fall in front of others, especially infront of her husband.
“I know, baby… I know…” she whispered. “She’s not here, but I am. I’m here…”
The child sobbed uncontrollably again. His cries had not ceased in twenty-one days. His body had weakened. He barely ate. His doctor warned of emotional trauma manifesting physically.
Aleena looked out the window, toward the main gates.
“Where are you, Aamirah?” she muttered. “He needs you…”
She prayed that his father won't abandoned him again.
---
But Osman wasn’t the man who used to run home for his child’s bedtime.
Not anymore.
In the underground basement, the atmosphere reeked of blood and bleach. The walls were thick. Soundproof. But servants still heard the screams.
“P-please… no more… please—”
A broken voice wailed from the darkness.
A steel pipe clanged as it hit the floor.
Osman stood over one of Marwan’s men, his gloves stained red, his shirt sleeves rolled up, revealing blood splatter on his forearms. His eyes were hollow, his face devoid of any emotion.
Bahram, standing by the wall with a watchful gaze, finally spoke.
“He won’t survive another hour.”
YOU ARE READING
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...
