“Lie on the bed,” Tarek commanded, his voice sharp, cutting through the heavy air. “Legs spread, as a wife should be on her first night.” Emily obeyed, her body moving mechanically, face turned to the wall to escape his gaze. Her heart pounded, despair swallowing her as the mattress sank under his weight.
“It will hurt,” Tarek said, leaning close, his breath hot against her neck. “Don’t move, don’t scream—bite the sheet if you must.” A silent tear slid down Emily’s cheek, her body rigid with fear. He positioned himself, his hands gripping the bed, ready to claim her.
“You’ll endure it,” Tarek whispered, his voice thick with anticipation. Emily braced, her mind retreating to a distant place, her body cold and numb. But then Tarek froze, his eyes widening in shock. His breath caught, body tensing, as if something inside him shattered.
He collapsed, heavy and limp, his weight crushing Emily beneath him. His head pressed into her shoulder, his arm slung across her chest, lifeless. “Tarek?” she whispered, her voice trembling, barely audible. Panic surged as she pushed against his unmoving body, her strength failing under his mass.
“Help!” Emily screamed, her voice raw, piercing the silence of the room. The doors burst open, maids shrieking, guards rushing in with wide eyes. One yanked Tarek’s body off, another threw a sheet over him, as chaos erupted around her. Emily sat up, clutching a sheet to her chest, her mind blank with shock.
The corridor filled with shouted Arabic commands, footsteps echoing in the marble halls. Emily was whisked to another room, wrapped in a sheet, her body trembling uncontrollably. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t cry—just stared at the wall, pale and hollow. The world felt like it had stopped, yet spun wildly out of control.
Hours later, a maid entered, her face pale, voice barely above a whisper. “Mr. Ben Malik had a massive stroke,” she said, eyes fixed on the floor. “He’s in a coma, on machines, and the doctors don’t expect him to wake.” Emily nodded, her face blank, a strange mix of relief and fear swirling inside her.
The palace became a fortress of whispers and hurried footsteps. Emily was confined to a new room, its luxury a cruel mockery of her captivity. She sat, still wrapped in a sheet, unable to cry or speak. The silence was heavier than ever, her thoughts trapped in the chaos of that night.
For three months, Emily lived as a prisoner in Tarek’s palace. Forbidden from leaving, cut off from the world, she was still his wife, though he lay unconscious. Maids brought food and clothes, their eyes avoiding hers, as if she carried a curse. She wondered if she’d ever escape this gilded cage.
Each day blurred into the next, the palace’s opulence suffocating her. Emily paced her room, staring out at Marrakesh’s vibrant skyline, a world she couldn’t reach. “Am I still me?” she asked the empty air, her voice echoing off the marble walls. The silence offered no answers, only more questions.
One stifling morning, a maid entered, her expression solemn. “Tarek passed last night,” she said, placing an envelope on the table. It was his will—Emily was named a partial heir. The news felt like a new chain, binding her to a man she never chose.
The funeral was swift, held in secrecy with guards and no cameras. Emily wasn’t allowed to attend, left to sit alone in her room, the weight of her title crushing her. “Mrs. Ben Malik,” she muttered bitterly, the words tasting like ash. She stared at the walls, dreading what the will might mean.