She was running.
Her hijab was slipping from her head as she ran, feet barely touching the ground. Behind her, the mysterious man she had encountered in that dark, sin-sealed place was running too. Chasing her.
Tears streamed down her face, blurring her vision. Her breathing was erratic, sharp and broken. Cold sweat beaded on her forehead.
What hell had she opened in one single night?
Suddenly, a hand grabbed her hijab and yanked it away from her head.
She stumbled but she didn't stop.
She couldn't.
God only knew what would happen to her if she stopped.
She forced herself to run faster, but her body betrayed her. Her legs felt heavy, weak. Her speed slowed no matter how hard she tried.
He was getting closer.
Nearer.
And then...
He caught her.
She screamed and jolted upright in her bed.
The scream died in her throat as reality rushed back. The cheap cotton bedsheet was twisted beneath her, wrinkled and damp. The blanket lay pooled on the floor. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she struggled to breathe.
It was a dream.
Just a dream.
But the fear clung to her skin.
"Oh God..." she whispered, her voice trembling.
What had she done?
She grabbed a pillow and pulled it tight against her chest, seeking warmth, comfort something. But there was none. Only emptiness.
If only my parents were alive...
The thought hurt more than the dream.
She let out a shaky sigh and reached for her phone, checking the time.
It's Dawn. Too early to wake up but she knew deep in her bones that sleep would not come back to her now.
She placed the phone back on the table, deliberately ignoring the string of messages lighting up the screen. Sarah's name stared back at her.
She hadn't replied to her in two days. Hadn't answered a single call.
Some lessons are learned the hard way.
We are better off without some friends.
Layla pushed the pillow aside and got out of bed. Her steps carried her into the small kitchen of her one-bedroom apartment. She paused there, looking around.
This was her home.
Small. Quiet. Safe.
Her sanctuary.
After her parents' death, her uncle had "done her a favor" by giving her this place. It didn't matter that the apartment was practically hers already one of her father's properties.
Still, she had said nothing. She had accepted the small, quiet one-bedroom as if it were a gift, not what was already owed to her.
And despite everything, she was grateful.
Grateful for a roof over her head.
Grateful for the safety of these walls.
Grateful that this place...small as it was...was hers.
She drank a glass of chilled water in slow gulps, the cold grounding her. Then she turned on the TV, more out of habit than interest. Early mornings always did this to her the silence stretching too wide, making her feel alone, hollow in a way she couldn't name.
She switched to a news channel and turned the volume low, just enough for human voices to exist in the background.
With the room no longer completely silent, she went back to her bedroom, preparing for a shower and the morning prayer seeking calm, forgiveness, and a little strength to begin the day.
She took a long shower, letting the warm water run over her until her breathing finally slowed. When she stepped out, she slipped into a simple white robe, tying it around herself loosely.
The low noise from the TV was still playing in the background.
As she adjusted the belt of her robe, she walked out of the bedroom to switch it off. But the moment she stepped into the living room, she froze.
Her eyes fell on a figure sitting there.
Her heart skipped.
Someone was on a chair near her kitchen counter.
The air in the room changed instantly heavy, unfamiliar, wrong.
For a second, her mind refused to catch up with what her eyes were seeing.
And then fear crept back in, slow and cold.
"Who... who are you?"
Her voice trembled despite her effort to steady it.
The intruder slowly turned to face her.
Her breath caught in her throat.
For a second, she blinked, convinced her eyes were playing tricks on her. That exhaustion, fear, and lack of sleep had finally blurred reality.
But no.
He was real.
He stood there, looking at her not rushing, not speaking. His gaze moved over her, from her face down to her bare feet. Her long, damp hair rested over one shoulder, drops of water still clinging to it.
His eyes lingered.
Just for a few seconds too long.
On her legs.
Awareness washed over her all at once...of the thin robe, of her exposed skin, of how vulnerable she was standing there in her own home.
Her fingers tightened instinctively around the belt of her robe.
"You are truly a vision, Layla."
His deep voice reached her ears, calm and unsettling.
Before she could even ask how he had gotten inside her apartment, her mind caught on something else...something far more terrifying.
He had called her by her name.
Her thoughts scattered. Her heart began to race again.
"H-how..." she stammered, her voice barely holding together. "How do you know my name?"
Fear wrapped around her body like a vice, tightening with every second of silence.
He looked at her then, really looked at her, as if her fear amused him.
"Your name?" he repeated softly, almost amused. "Sweetheart, I know everything about you."
Her stomach dropped.
"Your family," he continued calmly. "Where you work part-time. What you're studying-and which university you go to, Your favorite café on Sheikh Zayed Road. The dua you whisper before sleep. The way you check the locks twice every night
Each word landed like a blow.
She took a step back without realizing it, her fingers gripping the robe tighter around herself.
"Who...Who are you?"
"Me?" he asked, a trace of amusement in his voice.
Before he could say more, her gaze slipped past him-almost without her permission-and landed on the TV.
A recorded interview was playing on the screen.
Her world stilled.
The same man sat there, beside an interviewer, dressed in a pristine white jubbah. On the screen, he looked composed, dignified, almost untouchable. Nothing like the man standing in her living room now, wrapped in a black suit, dark and severe...like a grim reaper who had stepped out of the shadows and into her life.
Then the interviewer's voice filled the apartment, clear and formal, echoing against the walls.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Tonight, we are truly honored to have with us a visionary leader shaping the future of Dubai and the UAE. He is spearheading one of the most ambitious developments our region has ever seen...a project set to redefine sustainable urban living. Please join me in welcoming His Highness Sheikh Yahzaan Al Saeed."
Layla couldn't hear anything after that.
The screen kept moving. The interviewer smiled. The man spoke. His lips formed words...but no sound reached her anymore.
Only the name lingered.
Sheikh Yahzaan Al Saeed.
Yahzaan Al Saeed.
The name echoed in her mind, growing heavier with every beat of her heart.
The Prince of the UAE.
Her breath faltered as the truth settled slow, merciless.
The man she had tried to escape.
The man who knew everything about her.
The man standing in her home...
Was royalty.
And in that moment, she understood this was no ordinary nightmare.
It was far worse.
Her instincts took over before her mind could catch up. Fear surged, raw and blinding. Without another thought, she turned and ran towards the
door.
____________________
End of the chapter🤍
Thank you for reading ✨
Let me know your thoughts.❤️
____________________
Like
Comments
Share🤍
____________________
Write a comment ...