Escape. Escape. Escape

That's the only word ringing in her head but before she could reach the elevator, a strong hand wrapped around her waist and yanked her back.

“What the fuck, Layla?!”

His voice thundered behind her.

And the dam broke.

“Please. please. please. I’m sorry!” she sobbed, the words tumbling out of her mouth in panic. “I’ll never talk to you like that again. I’ll never stop you from anything. Just please don’t do anything to me…”

Her voice cracked completely.

She was crying now in full hysteria, shaking so badly it looked like she might collapse.

Yahzaan froze.

And then it hit him.

She misunderstood.

“I’m not doing anything, Layla,” he said, his voice lower now.

But she wasn’t listening.

Her tears kept falling, faster, heavier, like she couldn’t stop them even if she wanted to.

“I swear, woman,” he said, running a frustrated hand through his hair, “I’m not doing anything.”

Her breathing was turning ragged.

Panic.

Pure panic.

He sighed sharply and almost dragged her toward the couch.

“Sit.”

He pushed her down gently onto the couch before walking to the counter.

He grabbed a glass, filled it with water, and came back.

He held it out to her.

“Drink.”

Her eyes still held fear but she took the glass from his hand carefully, as if even that small movement might anger him again. Her fingers trembled slightly as she lifted it to her lips and took a few small sips.

The water barely helped.

The tears didn’t stop.

They kept falling quietly down her cheeks, one after another. She wasn’t sobbing loudly anymore, but the silent crying somehow made her look even more fragile.

In that moment she looked painfully delicate.

Like something that could break if touched too roughly.

“Stop crying, Layla.”

His voice was firm.

The command cut through the air.

And strangely… she obeyed.

The tears slowed, then stopped, but her body was still trembling badly, like the fear was still shaking inside her bones.

Yahzaan stood there for a moment, staring at her.

He had no idea what to do.

He knew how to command, how to control, how to handle business and power and negotiations.

But consoling his crying wife?

That was territory he had never stepped into before.

He paced in the living room then a thought suddenly crossed his mind.

Slowly, he stepped closer and extended his hand toward her.

“Come.”

Layla didn’t lift her eyes.

She didn’t move.

Her hands stayed in her lap, her head bowed as if even looking at him might provoke something worse.

After a few seconds of silence, he sighed impatiently then he reached forward, gripping her shoulders. But this time, there was a surprising gentleness in his touch as he pulled her to her feet.

Once she was standing, he extended his hand again in front of her.

“Come with me.”

Layla’s heart sank.

Her mind immediately assumed the worst.

She thought he was taking her back to the bedroom.

To punish her.

And what could she possibly do to stop him?

Nothing.

Her shoulders slumped slightly. She seemed smaller somehow, the fight completely drained out of her.

With quiet hopelessness, she placed her hand into his.

His fingers closed around hers instantly.

Firm.

Like a vice.

But not painful.

He turned and started pulling her along with him.

A quiet sob escaped her lips.

But it died almost immediately.

Because she realized something.

They weren’t walking toward the bedroom.

They were moving in the opposite direction.

Toward the elevator.

Confusion replaced some of her fear.

The elevator doors slid open and he pulled her inside.

A new wave of anxiety rushed through her chest.

“Where… where are you taking me?” she asked softly.

He didn’t look at her when he answered.

“Didn’t you say you need your laptop?”

Her eyes widened slightly.

“But… you were angry.”

“I still am, Layla.”

His tone was calm.

Too calm.

She immediately lowered her head again and fell silent.

The elevator doors closed with a soft sound.

He pressed the button for the ground floor.

And during the entire ride down, neither of them spoke another word.

As the elevator reached the ground floor, Yahzaan pulled out his phone and quickly sent a message to someone before slipping it back into his pocket.

Layla walked behind him with her head bowed and her steps slow.

It had been a week since she had stepped outside her new gilded cage.

The moment the doors opened, the cold night air brushed against her damp cheeks. A soft shiver ran down her spine, but strangely… it felt nice.

At least it was something she could feel.

Something real.

They walked toward the entrance of the building. The guard standing there immediately straightened and bowed his head respectfully after seeing Yahzaan.

Yahzaan acknowledged it with a small nod without breaking his stride.

They didn’t have to walk far.

Just a few more steps.

A black G-Wagon stood waiting under the soft glow of the entrance lights.

As they approached, a man stepped out of the driver’s seat and walked toward them. Without saying much, he placed the car keys into Yahzaan’s hand.

Then the man’s eyes shifted.

They landed on Layla.

And lingered.

Just a little too long.

Yahzaan noticed immediately.

“Keep your fucking eyes down, Khidr, if you don’t want me to carve them out.”

His voice was low but lethal.

The man named Khidr instantly lowered his gaze and bowed his head.

“Sorry, Sheikh.”

“You’re dismissed,” Yahzaan said coldly. “Fuck off.”

Khidr didn’t waste another second. He quickly stepped away and disappeared into the night.

Yahzaan was clearly still angry.

Layla could feel it in the way the air around him had turned sharp again.

She understood now that saying anything would only make things worse.

So she stayed silent behind him.

“Get in the car, Layla,” he commanded.

His sudden voice made her flinch slightly.

She quickly moved forward and opened the back door, she was about to sit inside when his irritated voice stopped her instantly.

“Do you think I’m your driver, Layla?”

She froze.

“Sit in the passenger seat.”

He walked around the car and opened the front passenger door himself, holding it open for her.

She quickly slipped inside the car.

Her movements were hurried, almost clumsy, as if her body was acting before her mind could catch up. Right now her thoughts were scattered, blank, exhausted from the storm of emotions she had gone through that day.

The door on the other side opened a moment later Yahzaan slid into the driver’s seat with the same controlled confidence he carried everywhere. He inserted the key and the engine came to life with a quiet, powerful hum that filled the silence inside the car.

For a second neither of them moved.

Then his gaze shifted toward her.

Layla sat rigid in the passenger seat, her back straight, her hands folded tightly together in her lap as if she were holding herself together. Her eyes were lowered, avoiding him completely.

Yahzaan watched her for a brief moment.

Then he shifted in his seat and leaned toward her.

His large frame moved closer, his shoulder blocking part of the dashboard light.

The space inside the car suddenly felt much smaller.

Layla reacted instantly.

She flinched back against the seat, her breath hitching. The blood drained from her face, leaving her pale and tense like a frightened deer caught in headlights.

Yahzaan noticed the reaction immediately.

His brows pulled together slightly.

His hand lifted and moved past her head, resting near the side of the seat.

"What...what are you doing?"

“What do you think I’m doing?” he asked, irritation creeping into his voice.

Before she could answer, his fingers grabbed the seatbelt from beside her shoulder and pulled it across her body.

The strap slid over her chest with a soft sound before he clicked it into place.

But he didn’t pull away right away.

His face remained close.

Too close.

Barely an inch separated them.

Layla could feel his breath.

Her heartbeat started racing again, echoing loudly in her ears.

And then his eyes lowered.

They settled on her lips.

Still red.

Still a little swollen.

Because of him.

The memory of the kiss from earlier flashed through his mind and something dark and possessive stirred inside him again. There was something about the way she looked right now...nervous, quiet, completely overwhelmed.

For a moment he simply stared at her lips.

Then, almost as if the temptation was stronger than his restraint, he leaned down.

His lips brushed against hers.

A quick taste.

Brief.

But deliberate.

And before the moment could stretch any further, he pulled back as if nothing unusual had happened.

Without another word, he turned the key slightly and the engine responded with a deeper hum as the car began moving. His hands rested steadily on the steering wheel, his posture relaxed, his expression calm and unreadable.

As if he hadn’t just done something that left her completely silent.

Completely confused.

Layla sat frozen beside him.

Her fingers tightened slightly in her lap while her heart refused to calm down. It kept beating fast, echoing loudly inside her chest, as if it wanted to escape.

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye.

He looked perfectly composed.

Calm.

Collected.

Like nothing had happened at all.

And somehow that made it worse.

Because while he looked unaffected, she felt like her thoughts were tangled in a storm she couldn’t quiet.

It felt unfair.

But she said nothing.

Didn’t voice the thought.

Didn’t utter a single word.

Instead, she turned her face toward the window and watched the city lights pass by in silence.

The car moved smoothly through the night roads.

Minutes passed.

Then more.

Almost thirty minutes later, the surroundings began to look familiar. The tall buildings slowly gave way to quieter streets, smaller shops, and older apartments.

Layla straightened slightly.

Her neighborhood.

Soon the small five-floor apartment building came into view.

The place she had called home for years.

Yahzaan slowed the car and stopped right in front of the entrance.

Layla reached for the door handle, but before she could open it, his voice stopped her.

“Wait.”

She paused.

Without explaining, he leaned back slightly and reached into the backseat. His hand grabbed a shopper bag that had been placed there earlier.

From inside it, he pulled out a pair of sunglasses and calmly put them on.

Layla blinked in confusion.

Then he reached inside the bag again and pulled out a black baseball cap.

Her confusion only deepened.

“Why are you wearing sunglasses at night?” she asked innocently.

“Because you live in a neighborhood where every woman is a part-time detective,” he said dryly. “And if someone recognizes me… that means six news channels, four bloggers, and by tomorrow morning,” he continued casually while putting on the baseball cap, “the headline will read: ‘Crown Prince secretly visits mysterious girl in small apartment building.’”

He glanced back at her.

“Which will then be followed by a national debate, six conspiracy theories, and my father and mother calling me every fifteen minutes demanding explanations.”

Layla was still processing that.

He leaned a little closer, lowering the cap further over his eyes.

“So unless you want your neighbors form

ing a welcoming committee with tea, snacks, and their unmarried daughters…”

He opened the car door.

“…the sunglasses stay.”

Then he stepped out of the car like a man who had just delivered a perfectly reasonable explanation.

____________________

End of the chapter🤍

Thank you for reading ✨

Let me know your thoughts.❤️

____________________

Like

Comments

Share🤍

____________________