So that night proved the validity of the will. Not me, she repeated. But you’ve benefited from it, right? Her silence hurt more than any scream.
Saqr took a step forward, but she didn’t back down. So it’s clear, he whispered. You lied.
And you? Did you like it? I survived, then she said, looking him straight in the eyes. Did you like it? he said with a wry smile. It wasn’t irony, but anger directed inward.
You’re strong at this. In what way exactly? The ability to keep silent and drive you crazy. She took a deep breath, turned around, and headed for the house.
He followed her. Wait. She stopped without turning around.
Is that all? he asked. You just survived? She turned around again, looking straight into his eyes. Why did you come? For the truth, revenge, or just out of interest? His eyes darkened, and his words disappeared.
Only the closeness remained. He came almost close. Their bodies were almost touching.
The warmth of his breath was felt between them. Ayla felt her pulse quicken. It’s not worth it, she whispered without.
What exactly? What is it, he asked, not backing down. His fingers almost touched her arm. Almost, but no.
She held her breath and took a step back. It’s time for you to leave. He remained standing.
I was looking at… her. My pulse was racing. Desire lurked beneath the surface.
You don’t hate me, do you, Ayla? Maybe you should, but you don’t hate it. She didn’t answer. She turned around and went into the house.
He stayed in the garden. The sun was setting. Everything was on fire inside.
He didn’t know what he was looking for, but he felt where to look. My father’s old office in the Tangier house has been closed for many years. Even lawyers didn’t look in there.
But Zahir came in. It smelled of dust, leather, and… wax. Maps, old books in Arabic.
Stacks of documents. Everything seemed out of place. And that was exactly what was troubling.
A few hours later, rummaging through the folders, he found in the depths of a double-bottomed drawer contracts for the purchase of the winery, signed by companies’ gaskets associated with Tariq. It was a blow. Tariq acquired the business long before the collapse.
He was a secret co-owner and methodically destroyed the business. He stole funds, interfered with exports, and put pressure on creditors. It was not a coincidence, but deliberate sabotage.
Zahir realized. Her father had destroyed everything she had to keep her alive. Then he turned her fall into a convenient excuse for marriage.
Not out of feelings, but to possess her completely. Zahir sat down in his father’s chair, looking at the papers. Next to it was a folder with photographs, copies of letters, and reports on A’s life before the wedding.
At the age of 17-18, at fairs at home with loved ones. She’s already been followed at the university. Even before she found out that she was going to be sold, she had already been singled out.
Zahir felt a chill run through his body, but she was not selfish. She was a the wrong time. He was a predator, calculating every step with precision.
That night, back at the hotel, Zahir couldn’t sleep. Her face came back to me in fragments. Her look aside, restrained silence, harsh answers.
He realized that she had never lied, had never tried to arouse sympathy. She was silent in order to stay alive, and she paid for it every day. The next morning, Zahir asked his father’s old lawyer one last question.
Why has no one questioned the legality of marriage? Why was everyone silent? Because to admit that Sheikh Nikonsumu had not consummated the marriage meant calling the deceased impotent and humiliating his memory. None of the sons wanted to bear this shame. Even you, Zahir, didn’t say anything.
Everything became clear. And she received an inheritance not because she was recognized as a spouse, but because the whole world was afraid to tell the truth. And in the end, she didn’t get it.
She was carrying his load. Zahir closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He, who had sworn to preserve his father’s honor, now faced a choice, to preserve his memory or to free the woman he had destroyed.
Every day it became more and more difficult for him to look at A without realizing that she was all that his father could never be, free, silently unbending. In the evening, Zahir appeared without guards, without warning, without a mask, and she was already waiting, as if she felt his footsteps, even before the gate creaked. She didn’t say anything, just opened the door.
The silence hung between them for more than a minute, but inside, everything screamed. He approached slowly, without violating the boundaries. Forgive me, Zahir, he finally said, for everything.
She just felt that it was sincere. He sighed. I didn’t come to take anything from you.
I know, A Zahir said softly, came closer, slowly raised his hand and lightly touched her face. Her skin was warm, and her cheeks were slightly flushed. He traced the line of her jaw and the curve of her chin with his fingers.
She didn’t pull away. Her gaze never left his. There was fear, excitement, thirst, and silence in it.
Then he gently cupped the back of her head, and their lips met. It was a hot, intense, deep kiss. His tongue entered confidently, as if he knew the way exactly.
He explored her, mastering the space. She moaned against his lips, a sound between pain and passion. Zahir bit her bottom lip sharply.
Then he ran his tongue over it, then again. His hands locked around her waist, in his hair, on her shoulders. Her body was drawn to him, as if it wanted to dissolve into this contact.
It was a kiss of urgency, pain, thirst, fear, and hunger. When he pulled back a fraction of an inch, their foreheads were touching, and their breathing was ragged. Isla, he whispered hoarsely, stay, she said in the dim room, in the light of the setting sun coming through the cracks.
She slowly took off her blouse. Her hands were shaking slightly, there was no romance in it. There was no music either, just breathing.
Zahir looked at her carefully, as if he was asking for consent with his eyes, but he hadn’t touched her yet. She took off her trousers and stayed in her underwear. Then I took it away too.
There was no shame, there was just total commitment. He came closer, running his fingers over her collarbones, the line of her neck, and the center of her chest. He descended slowly, confidently.
His touch was like that of someone who knows where he’s going but knows how to wait. When she pulled back a little, he froze. Are you okay? he asked softly.
She nodded, but there was moisture in her eyes. It wasn’t a pleasure yet. It was fear.
Zahir gently laid her down, rose between her thighs. His body was hot and hard. The pressure is restrained and controlled.
His breathing became more and more intense. He held his breath. He looked her straight in the eye and took his time.
I’ve never. She began, but her voice trailed off. Zahir only whispered.
I know. He entered slowly, carefully, and deeply. She screamed in pain, squeezed her eyes shut, clutched the sheet, but did not say no, and did not move away.
Her body opened up for the first time, not only physically. He froze, staying inside, without haste. She felt him, he felt her.
He kissed her neck, chin, lips, bit her lightly, then ran his tongue, moaned. The movements were slow at first, then more confident, then persistent. It hurt, but it was her pain.
And for the first time consciously chosen. His hand slid around her waist, up her back, and tugged at her hair with force and desire. He was breathing heavily, but not out of fear.
It was something else. Her eyes widened. Zahir looked at her as if he had never seen her before.
She said, I belong to you. He answered with difficulty, no, I chose you. He continued until her body trembled, until tears flowed down her cheeks, not understanding the reasons, until everything inside her screamed, I’m alive.
Silence. The room remained warm, their bodies intertwined, and their breathing gradually calmed down. She was lying on his chest with her eyes closed, for the first time without a burden on her heart.
But outside the window, the world did not fall asleep. And the next day, the news came that changed everything. The days passed as if the outside world didn’t exist.
The house breathed with them. Room. Garden.
Quiet terrace. And Zahir was loved. Each other’s restrained, almost daily necessity.
It was more than a passion. It was a vital necessity. He used to wake up earlier and watch her face.
She waited for him in the evenings, with a warmer body and a calmer look. They didn’t talk much, but they touched, often as if their language was physical, but everything was being observed outside the walls of their world. The maids whispered as she passed by.
Zahir’s two brothers reappeared in the old Andalusian palace and their eyes followed her every move. They’re together, some said. It won’t be long, the others replied.
She clings to what she’s got. The conversations were conducted behind closed doors. Zahir pretended not to notice, but Ayla heard everything.
Days passed, then weeks. Her body began to change. First morning weakness, then fatigue, then delay.
She counted the days, then counted them again. Sitting on the bed with her hands on her stomach, she tried to accept what she already knew, but she couldn’t say it out loud. She didn’t tell him, didn’t dare.