LET ME HATE YOU

Wife or Whore?

***I don't know how the old draft got published earlier***

Asmaira stirred, a soft sigh escaping her lips. She felt a deep contentment, as if she were finally resting on a comfortable bed after a long ordeal. A muffled sound—perhaps a door or something scraping the floor—disturbed her. Her brow furrowed; she wanted nothing more than to sink back into her peaceful sleep. Her body felt unusual, prompting her to shift to find a more comfortable position.

However, the distinct sound of a drawer being pulled open nearby caused her eyes to snap wide. She turned her head, then jolted upright in panic. Sitting on the other side of the bed, his back to her, was Amaan. The terrifying flashes of his confrontation with her in the file room and the unsettling realization that her clothes had been changed flooded her mind.

Amaan, who had simply been searching for his phone charger in the nightstand, glanced sideways at her before opening the next drawer.

"What..." she began, her voice trailing off, before she let out a sharp shriek of panic.

He would have disregarded her dramatic reaction, but he noticed the saline drip attached to her hand—which she hadn't seen—was now being yanked out in her hysteria.

"Don't mo—" His concern was instantly cut short by another shriek.

Asmaira kicked the duvet off, preparing to spring out of bed, oblivious to the fact that the needle was still in the back of her hand and could cause injury if she didn't stay still. Before the needle could be ripped free and cause bleeding, Amaan lunged forward. He pinned her to the bed and quickly grabbed the wrist with the attached saline.

"Stop it," he warned, struggling to keep her still with his free hand.

Horrified by their position, Asmaira reacted instinctively: she bit the hand clamped around her wrist. His nostrils flared with anger at her absurd response, but he maintained his focus, carefully repositioning the needle and securing it with a plaster.

"Don't... don't touch me!" Asmaira shrieked, struggling to kick him away with her legs.

Infuriated by her resistance, he pressed closer to her. Only when he was absolutely certain the drip was secure did he finally look down at the petrified woman beneath him. She was about to try biting him again when he pinned her arms to the bed above her head, effectively caging her between his body and the mattress. Using his weight to subdue her, he snarled, "Now, what are you going to do?"

"How... dare... you?" she forced the words out, her heart hammering against her ribs due to the frightening situation.

"How dare I what, Asmaira?" he replied, his voice chillingly calm.

A sob caught in her throat. A part of her wanted to shrink away from his composure, but she couldn't allow herself to calm down, convinced that Amaan had taken advantage of her unconscious state and seen her naked under the pretense of changing her clothes.

"My clothes... why... did you change them?" she demanded, glaring at his smirking face with all the intensity she could muster.

"And why can't I change your clothes?" He emphasized the last two words specifically to provoke her further.

"You have no right!" she exclaimed in disbelief.

"Why, Asmaira?" Amaan sneered, tightening his grip on her wrists. "It seems the fever made you forget we are married. And as your husband, I have every right to do anything with you as I please."

He had intended to confront her about her recklessness during the meeting but had decided to let it go because of her fever. Instead of gratitude, she was accusing him of taking advantage of her, a thing he could do even when she was wide awake.