The early morning light slipped through the heavy curtains in thin, stubborn streaks. The room was still cloaked in darkness, but not the heavy kind. It was that fragile hour when night loosens its grip and morning waits at the door.
Yahzaan lay beside his wife, watching her sleep.
She looked impossibly peaceful. As if fear had not lived in her eyes just hours ago. As if she did not carry him in the quiet stiffness of her body. A loose strand of hair rested against her cheek, her lips parted slightly, her breathing soft and even.
He should have felt satisfied.
Instead, he felt restless.
He had no idea what he was going to do with her or with this marriage.
But the thought of her moaning beneath him felt like pure euphoria to him. The memory was still fresh, burning in his veins. He still remembered how tight she was when he entered her, how her fingers had clutched the sheets, how everything about her had been new, untouched. The sight of blood on his cock had done something primal to him. He had lost control in a way he never had before.
He had been with many women. More than he could count. But he had never been someone’s first. Never tried to. Never been the man who stepped into untouched territory and claimed it.
Layla had been untouched.
And now she was not.
The realization fed something dark inside him. Not love. Not tenderness.
A raw, almost dangerous pride.
He was her first in everything. The first man to hold her like that. The first to cross that sacred boundary. The first to leave a mark she could never erase.
God, it was intoxicating. Almost Maddening
She would never forget him. No matter how much she tried. No matter how much she feared him.
The thought wrapped around his ego like silk and fire.
He hadn’t planned to stay away from home for a week, but there were many issues he had to solve. Business demanded his attention, signatures, decisions.
And then there were his parents.
This time his mother had gone too far.
She had already selected candidates. Daughters from powerful families. Women to polished to perfection. She reminded him constantly that it was time. That he needed to settle down. Build a respectable future.
A faint, knowing smile curved his lips as he looked at Layla again.
If only she knew.
He was already married.
Not for alliance. Not for strategy. Not because he was pressured.
He married because he saw something he wanted and decided it would belong to him.
His gaze softened for a fleeting second before hardening again.
Feeling the weight of his gaze even in her sleep, Layla began to stir.
Her lashes fluttered. Then suddenly, as if her foggy mind replayed the events of the night before, she jolted awake.
Fear flooded her beautiful green eyes.
Yahzaan saw it.
And he didn’t look away.
He was already watching her, intensely, unapologetically. As if her fear was just another expression he wanted to memorize.
Slowly, he reached out and took a strand of her long hair between his fingers, twirling it absently. He had never seen hair this long, this soft, this dark against pale skin. He brought it to his nose and inhaled, eyes closing briefly, like an addict savoring his fix.
The intimacy of the gesture made her stomach twist.
She stumbled backward, the mattress dipping under her sudden movement. Instinct took over. She quickly moved to get off the bed.
But she didn’t make it far.
His hand shot out, strong fingers wrapping firmly around her wrist.
“Where do you think you’re going?” His voice was calm. Too calm.
She opened her mouth, but no words came. Her throat felt dry. Her pulse was loud in her ears.
Before she could gather herself, he pulled her back onto the bed with effortless strength. The next second, he was leaning over her, caging her.
“I was away for a week, Layla, And this is how you welcome me? By running away?”
A faint, dangerous smile curved his lips.
“Not a very good wife, I’d say.”
His mouth brushed along her neck.
Slowly. deliberately.
“Yahzaan…” she said his name softly, pleadingly, meaning to tell him no. To tell him to stop.
But the words died in her throat.
She shut her mouth because she already knew. Begging would be a waste. He would not listen.
Not to her words. Not to her fear. Not to anything beyond the hunger tightening in his jaw.
And in that moment, Layla understood that reasoning with him was like trying to calm a storm already determined to break.
So she stayed still.
She lay beneath him, unmoving, feeling his lips trace along her neck and jaw, her hands curled into the sheets as if that small grip could anchor her.
Then suddenly… he stopped.
He lifted his head and looked straight into her eyes.
The intensity was still there, but something else flickered behind it. Something unreadable.
“Don’t wear these things to bed,” he said casually, almost irritated, gesturing toward her pajama pants and oversized T-shirt. As if that was the issue. As if the tension between them was about fabric.
Before she could react, he claimed her lips in a quick kiss.
And then he stood up.
He stretched his hand toward her.
“Come. Let’s have breakfast.”
Layla blinked at him, completely thrown by the sudden shift. One moment he was a storm. The next, he was calm morning air.
She didn’t understand him.
But she was grateful.
Silently, in her heart, she whispered shukr to Allah and hesitantly placed her hand in his.
As they reached the bedroom door, she paused.
“Give me five minutes. I’ll be down,” she said carefully.
He was already checking something on his phone. Without looking at her, he nodded absentmindedly and walked downstairs, leaving her standing there alone.
The moment he disappeared from sight, her shoulders dropped.
She quickly went to the bathroom and closed the door behind her, She leaned against it for a second, eyes closed, steadying her breath.
After a few moments, she moved to the sink.
She washed her face, splashing cool water over her skin again and again, especially her neck, as if trying to erase the lingering warmth there. She brushed her teeth slowly, mechanically, staring at her reflection in the mirror. The girl looking back at her seemed tired… older than she remembered.
Five minutes later, she stepped out.
Towel-drying her damp face, she tied her long hair into a loose bun. A few strands slipped free around her temples, but she didn’t bother fixing them. Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves she walked downstairs.
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End of the chapter🤍
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