Her eyes opened at the faint sound of things moving around the room.
For a moment she didn’t understand where she was. The ceiling above her looked unfamiliar, the air too quiet, the silence too heavy. Then the memories of the morning crept back slowly, like a shadow spreading across the floor.
Layla quickly pushed herself up on the bed, clutching the blanket tightly to her chest.
The sudden movement caught her off guard.
Pain shot through her body and she winced, Every part of her body felt sore, tender in ways that made her cheeks burn with humiliation even though no one had said a word.
Her fingers tightened around the blanket.
She hadn’t meant to sleep.
She had only closed her eyes for a few minutes, just to escape the ache in her chest, just to silence the storm in her mind for a moment.
But her body had betrayed her.
After all, she was only human.
And right now she felt completely drained both Mentally and Physically.
Suddenly, Her eyes moved toward the walk-in closet.
Two housekeepers were inside, moving around quietly, arranging something on the shelves and hangers.
Layla blinked.
She had no idea how long they had been there.
For a moment she simply stared at them, trying to gather her scattered thoughts and understand what was happening.
“What are you doing?” she asked softly.
Her voice sounded weaker than she expected.
It had been a week since she came here, but neither she nor the housekeepers had tried to grow comfortable with each other. Their interactions had remained brief, distant, polite in the coldest possible way.
The woman who looked to be in her late forties turned toward her.
“Mr. Saeed ordered us to change your wardrobe,” she replied. “The clothes already arrived. We are just arranging them.”
Her tone was respectful.
But there was no warmth in her eyes.
Layla noticed that immediately.
She stayed silent for a long moment, simply nodding her head.
Of course.
Even her clothes now belonged to his decisions.
After a few seconds something stirred in her mind, a question she hadn’t dared to ask anyone since she arrived here.
Her eyes moved back toward their backs as they continued their work.
“Do you know who he is?” she asked quietly.
Both women paused for a brief second.
They clearly understood who she meant.
The older woman turned around again.
“Yes.”
Just one word.
Simple.
Certain.
Of course they knew.
Who in the UAE didn’t know him?
His face was everywhere. On screens. In newspapers. In headlines.
A man the world admired.
A man she now belonged to in silence.
Layla hesitated before speaking again.
“About me…”
But before she could finish her sentence, the woman gently interrupted her.
“We are not here to meddle in other people’s business,” she said calmly.
“We are just housekeepers. Our job is to cook and clean. It is not our place to watch what happens inside the house.”
Her words were neutral.
Carefully chosen.
But the meaning behind them was clear.
Layla understood immediately.
The loyalty in this house ran deep.
Or maybe it was fear.
Or influence.
Perhaps both.
Either way, she knew she would find no answers here.
No allies.
No sympathy.
Just walls that listened and people who pretended not to see.
Slowly, she nodded again.
The women finished arranging the last of the clothes without another word. After that, they quietly walked out of the room.
Layla watched their retreating backs, her eyes following them until the door quietly closed behind them.
The room fell silent again.
The silence returned.
Heavier than before.
For a moment she stayed exactly where she was, sitting on the bed with the blanket wrapped tightly around her chest. The silence pressed heavily against her ears, almost louder than noise.
Then slowly, she forced herself to stand.
Her gaze accidentally fell on the floor.
Three used condoms discarded on the floor.
Her stomach tightened, and she quickly looked away and her gaze land on the bed.
Dark blood stains marked the smooth silk sheets.
For a moment she simply stood there, staring.
The sight made her chest tighten painfully, something heavy pressing against her ribs as shame, exhaustion, and heartbreak tangled together inside her.
It felt too real.
Too raw.
Too humiliating.
She quickly turned her face away, as if the sight itself burned her eyes.
Taking a slow breath, she walked toward the bathroom.
Her legs felt weak beneath her, slightly unsteady, carrying her forward with careful steps. Each movement reminded her of the morning in a way she desperately tried to ignore.
The bathroom felt cool and quiet.
She stepped under the shower and let the water fall over her body. The warmth should have been comforting, but it only made her more aware of the soreness between her legs. She tried not to think about it, focusing instead on the rhythm of the water sliding down the marble tiles.
She washed quickly.
Avoiding certain places as much as she could.
When she finally stepped out, she wrapped a towel around her body and returned to the bedroom.
The walk-in closet was now perfectly arranged.
Rows of clothes filled the shelves and hangers.
Expensive. Fashionable. Impossibly elegant.
None of them hers.
Layla looked through them slowly.
But it did not surprise her.
Most of the dresses were far more revealing than anything she had ever worn in her life. Soft fabrics, delicate cuts, designs that seemed made for someone entirely different from her.
She searched quietly for something simpler.
Something modest.
Unfortunately, she found nothing.
After a moment she settled for a pair of jeans and a satin shirt. It was the least revealing option she could find.
Then she opened the drawer where her cotton lingerie had once been.
Her fingers froze.
The drawer was full.
But none of it was hers.
Lace.
Silk.
Delicate pieces she had never worn before.
There were no cotton panties.
Only thongs.
Her lips pressed together tightly.
She hated those things.
They felt almost humiliating to her.
But there was nothing else.
After a moment of hesitation, she took the first piece she could grab and quietly shut the drawer again.
She put on the sheer bra and the small piece of fabric called a thong. The unfamiliar feeling made her uncomfortable, but she forced herself to ignore it as she pulled on her jeans and buttoned the satin shirt over it.
Once she finished dressing, she reached for her abaya and wrapped the hijab carefully around her head before leaving the room.
Her laptop was still in her apartment.
She needed it to complete her assignments and notes. Her unfinished degree was the only thing that still reminded her of the life she used to live.
Slowly, she walked toward the staircase.
Each step downward was Small. careful. measured because no matter how much she tried to forget what had happened in the morning, her body refused to let her forget.
She reached the elevator door and paused for a moment, glancing around the quiet hallway.
It was past four.
The housekeepers had already left. The large house felt strangely empty, the silence stretching through the corridors like something alive.
Slowly, she pressed the elevator button.
The panel lit up.
But instead of opening, a small screen appeared asking for a passcode.
Layla stared at it.
Her brows slowly pulled together.
She had no idea what the passcode was.
After a second of hesitation, she pressed a random set of numbers.
Error.
She tried again.
Another random number.
Error.
Her jaw tightened slightly.
On the third attempt she tried again, pressing the buttons more firmly this time as if the elevator might understand her frustration.
Blocked.
The screen flashed red.
Her patience snapped.
Under her breath she started cursing Yahzaan again and again in her heart, frustration building inside her chest as she began pressing random numbers on the panel in annoyance.
Suddenly her phone started ringing.
The sound startled her.
She stopped immediately and pulled the phone from the pocket of her abaya.
An unknown number flashed across the bright screen.
Her fingers hesitated for a moment before she finally pressed accept and brought the phone to her ear.
The moment the call connected, his voice exploded through the speaker.
“What the fuck are you trying to do, Layla?”
His deep voice was sharp.
Angry.
Royally pissed.
Her confusion deepened instantly.
“You said I can go to the university,” she replied quietly.
“I said you can go to the university with a guard,” he snapped immediately. “But I don’t remember agreeing that you can leave the house whenever you feel like it.”
His tone grew colder.
“Where the fuck are you going?”
A pause.
Then even harsher.
“Or should I say… where the fuck are you running?”
“I’m not running,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady despite the way her fingers tightened around the phone. “I want to go to my home.”
“Why?”
“To gather my things.”
A short silence followed.
Then his voice returned, colder than before.
“What things do you need from that shithole?”
His words hit like a slap.
“And if you’ve forgotten,” he continued slowly, each word deliberate, “let me remind you of something.”
“This is your home now, Layla.”
His tone carried that same quiet authority that left no space for argument.
“You are not Layla Hamdani anymore.”
A pause.
Then he uttered the words that felt like chains tightening around her wrists.
“You are my wife. Layla Yahzaan Al Saeed.”
“My home is your home.”
She was pissed now.
Her fingers tightened around the phone as anger finally pushed past the fear that had been sitting in her chest all day.
“Yes, Your Royal Highness, I know I am your wife.”
A humorless breath left her lips.
“Unfortunately.”
There was a pause on the other side of the line.
But she didn’t stop.
“And if you used that little brain of yours,” she continued, the words rushing out now, reckless and hot, “you would realize I need my laptop to complete my assignments and my notes.”
Her heart was pounding now, but anger kept pushing her forward.
“But of course you’re not ready to use the thing resting in the upper section of your head.”
A bitter laugh escaped her.
“Oh… or maybe you don’t have any.”
And before she could lose the courage that had suddenly possessed her, she cut the call.
The line went dead.
For a second she just stood there, breathing hard, staring at the dark screen of her phone.
Then it started ringing again.
Her stomach dropped instantly.
All the bravery she had felt just moments ago evaporated like smoke in the wind.
Fear tightened slowly around her chest.
The phone kept ringing in her hand.
She didn’t answer.
Instead, she walked slowly toward the large window at the end of the hall, her steps careful, hesitant.
Maybe there was another way out.
Maybe there was a staircase she hadn’t seen.
Maybe...
She reached the window and looked down.
The breath left her lungs.
The city stretched far below her like a distant painting. Tiny cars moved like insects through the streets. The people were nothing more than shifting dots.
Her stomach twisted violently.
More than fifty floors.
If she tried anything stupid, there would be nothing left of her to finish those assignments.
God.
She felt trapped.
Completely
trapped.
Her phone was still ringing in her hand, vibrating over and over again, the sound echoing in the empty hallway.
Each ring made her stomach sink deeper.
Like something terrible was waiting for her on the other side of that call.
____________________
End of the chapter🤍
Thank you for reading ✨
Let me know your thoughts.❤️
____________________
Like
Comments
Share🤍
____________________
Write a comment ...