𝐂𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐁𝐲 𝐕𝐨𝐰𝐬

Chapter 60

The chapter is biggie-big, so don't be a miser while commenting ♡⁠(⁠>⁠ ⁠ਊ⁠ ⁠<⁠)⁠♡

•••
“Every breath I take is for him. Every drop of blood I spill is for him.”

•••

The drive back to the mansion was silent, the hum of the engine the only sound in the stillness of the night. Osman kept one hand on his thighs while his other arm secured Aamirah against his chest, salem was driving the car. Her head rested limply on his shoulder, her breathing soft and uneven, as though even in her sleep she carried a weight she could not put down.

From the corner of his eye, he looked at her—really looked. Her face seemed smaller than he remembered, her cheeks a little hollower, her skin pale under the faint glow of the dashboard lights. She had lost weight. The thought clenched something deep in his chest. His thumb brushed across her temple, gently tucking a loose strand of hair away from her closed eyes, as though clearing the smallest obstacle would let him see her better. But what he saw made him ache even more.

When he lowered his gaze, he noticed her tiny fist gripping the fabric of his shirt with desperate strength, as though even in unconsciousness she was afraid he might leave her. Osman let out a low, almost chuckle, his lips curving faintly, though his heart carried no trace of humor. He raised his free hand to caress her cheek, his rough fingers brushing over the softness of her skin, lingering longer than he intended. She did not stir.

By the time the car rolled through the gates of the mansion, the clock had passed three in the morning. The entire estate was wrapped in silence; not a single light flickered from the windows. Everyone must have been asleep hours ago except for the guards on duty. Osman stepped out carefully, still holding Aamirah in his arms. Her head lolled against his chest, her warmth pressing into him like a fragile reminder that she was real, alive.

As he entered the mansion, the marble floor echoed faintly under his footsteps. He kept her face hidden, lowering his chin against her hair so no one, if they happened to wake, would catch a glimpse. She was his to protect—for now, at least.

He walked the long corridor to his wing, each step heavier than the last. Finally, he stopped before a door he had not opened in three weeks. His room. His sanctuary once, his prison now. Since that day—the day he buried a part of himself in the ground—he hadn’t dared cross its threshold.

Slowly, he turned the handle, pushing the door open. The familiar scent rushed out to greet him, striking him with a force so cruel it nearly brought him to his knees. Every corner of the room screamed of her, louder than his own heartbeat. God had been merciful, yes, but also merciless—because even in her absence, she lived here.

His eyes trailed over the bed. He couldn’t look at it for long. It held too much. The first days of their marriage, the hesitant touches, the silences that grew into conversations. And later—the nights of passion, her laughter muffled into his chest, her moans echoing off these very walls, her cries both of pain and of love. Every thread of the sheets was heavy with memories he could not bear to relive, yet could never let go of.

Osman swallowed hard, lowering his gaze to Aamirah still asleep in his arms. He clenched his jaw. He, who could silence a man with a single glare, who commanded fear in every corner of the city, was nothing here. Not in this room. Not when it came to her.

He was a coward. And for the first time in his life, he admitted it—not to the world, not to anyone else, but to himself.

Osman gently laid Aamirah down on the bed, careful not to wake her. But the slight shift in her body made her stir, her lashes fluttering against her pale cheeks. Slowly, her eyes opened, hazy with sleep, but the very first words that tumbled from her trembling lips were not about herself—they were about their child.