ZARIAHTTY

⚠️This story is a work of fiction and explores themes based on cultural traditions, emotional struggles, and personal transformation.

She stormed out to the garden.

"Say something!" she snapped, eyes burning. "Or are you still playing that 'I'm-too-pure-to-talk' game? Still pretending to be holy?"

And that's when Raif moved.

Fast.

Zariah didn't even have time to blink before her back hit the nearby pillar - not hard, but firm enough to freeze her breath. His hand gripped her waist tightly, the other at her wrist, locking her in place. His chest pressed to hers. His face was inches from hers.

His voice was deep. Controlled. But deadly serious.

"It's no longer like always, Zariah."

Her lips parted.

"I used to ignore you because I knew my limits. I'm not like those men who flirt and sin and call it love. I feared Allah more than I ever desired you."

His eyes narrowed, dark fire glowing behind them.

"I didn't punish you back then because I respect women - even when they spit venom. I kept my mouth shut, not because I was weak... but because you weren't my mahram. I had no right to look at you, touch you, even speak without reason."

He leaned closer, and she could feel his breath brush her cheek.

"But now..."

His grip on her tightened, and her body trembled - not from fear, but from the intensity in his words.

"Now you are my wife. Now, you belong to me. Halal. Lawful. Mine."

Zariah tried to turn her face away, but he caught her chin, tilting it back to him.

"Now I can do anything I want. I can touch you. I can silence your insults without guilt. And I can show you what it means to be owned in a way that'll make you crave it again."

His lips brushed her neck, just for a second - before he bit her.

Not soft.

Not brutal.

But just enough to sting, enough to leave a mark.

Zariah gasped, frozen.

He pulled back just a little.

"This-" he said, brushing his thumb over the fresh mark on her neck, "-is the first of many."