𝐂𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐁𝐲 𝐕𝐨𝐰𝐬

Epilogue

•••
You are both my salvation and my sin… and I would gladly burn in hell if it meant keeping you.

•••

Five years later, the mansion was alive with a different kind of chaos—one not born of betrayal or blood, but of children’s laughter, tiny feet echoing through the halls, and a mother’s endless running behind them.

“Huriah, stop running!” Aamirah’s voice rang through the corridor as she chased the little whirlwind in a yellow frock. Her long braid swung behind her as she darted after her daughter, who giggled mischievously, after crying a hell.

But before Aamirah could catch her, the little girl spotted something far more precious than her mother’s arms.

“Baba! Baba!” Huriah squealed, her tiny hands shooting up as she ran toward the tall figure entering the mansion.

Osman’s stern face—lined with authority after years of shouldering the empire—softened instantly. He bent down gracefully, scooping the child into his arms as though she weighed less than a feather.

“There’s my princess,” he murmured, kissing her plump cheeks. But his joy shifted to concern the moment he noticed the tears on her lashes. His voice dropped, tender yet sharp. “Who made my princess cry, hmm?”

Huriah’s pout deepened. She sniffled dramatically, resting her head against his chest. In her tiny baby voice, she muttered, “Your wife.”

Osman blinked—then chuckled, that deep, amused sound Aamirah knew too well. His eyes glinted with mischief as he turned his gaze toward his Rouhi, who stood with her hands on her hips, glaring at the pair of them.

“Oh? What did she do to my little girl?” Osman asked, feigning outrage, brushing his daughter’s hair back as she clung to him like a koala.

“She… she said no to me,” Huriah mumbled, her lips wobbling in betrayal.

Aamirah groaned under her breath, muttering, “And now, the reunion begins…” She rolled her eyes at the theatrics of both father and daughter. Truly, her husband was no longer hers the moment Huriah entered the room—she had stolen his heart completely.

Without another word, Aamirah turned her back on the scene and headed toward the dining room. “Fine, I'm going.” she muttered, feigning annoyance though a fond smile threatened her lips.

Inside, her boys were seated neatly at the table, eating their dinner like the calm oceans compared to their storm of a sister. Mohammed, almost seven now, had the same quiet depth in his eyes as his mother, his calm demeanor often making him seem older than his years. Beside him sat Kian, another twin, though one would never guess it.

Kian’s features mirrored his father’s—sharp, commanding, though softened by his boyish innocence. Unlike his sister, however, Kian rarely demanded attention. Instead, his small hand held tightly onto Aamirah’s dupatta the moment she sat beside him, as though reminding her that she belonged first and foremost to him.

“mama,” Mohammed said softly, offering her a piece of bread from his plate. “You didn’t eat yet. Sit. Eat with us.”

Her heart swelled. “baby, I’ll eat soon. You finish first.” She brushed her fingers over his hair, and he leaned into her touch quietly, the same way he had done since he was a baby.

Kian tugged her dupatta again, whispering almost in a possessive tone only she could hear. “Don’t go back to Baba… stay with me.”

Aamirah smiled softly at his words, stroking his cheek. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here.”