Chapter 2: The Storm in her Room

Her eyes flew open.

For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. The ceiling above her spun, the chandelier swaying like a pendulum. Lightning cracked through the window, splitting the darkness, shadows slashing across the walls. The storm outside roared, as if the heavens themselves were restless. Her throat tightened. Until a sudden voice broke through the storm.

“Madam! You’re finally awake!”

Her head snapped toward the sound. A maid stood near the bed, her face glowing with relief, though the thunder shook the windows behind her. She pushed herself up on trembling arms, panic flaring

The maid hurried closer, wringing her hands. “ .Please, lie back down. The doctor is on his way—”

“No.” The word cut too quickly, too sharply. Liyana shook her head, strands of hair sticking to her damp forehead. Rain pounded harder against the glass, mirroring her pulse. “No doctor. I’m fine.”

Liyana tried to steady her breath, but the storm in her chest only grew wilder. The memory slammed back—His face, Him, that smirk.

Her lips parted, trembling. “Where is he?”

The maid blinked, confused. “He…?”

Liyana’s throat tightened. Her lashes lowered quickly, masking the panic in her eyes. “I mean… the guest.”

Oh,” the maid said, her tone lighter, though her eyes still lingered on Liyana’s pale face. “They are in the drawing room with sahib.”

The words made her heart clench. She pushed herself higher on the pillows, silk sliding across her skin, as the storm outside roared louder, as though mocking her weakness.

The maid shifted nervously, as if sensing her unease, when the door creaked open.

Her father entered, his expression taut with worry but softening the instant he saw her awake. In his hands, a steaming bowl of soup, the scent of herbs and warmth chasing faintly into the cold, storm-soaked air. Beside him walked a woman — graceful, poised, her features carrying the kind of elegance that commanded respect without effort.

“My love,” her father rushed to her side, setting the bowl carefully on the nightstand before gathering her into his arms. Relief cracked in his voice. “Alhamdulillah… you’re awake. How are you feeling now, Liyana?”

Her throat tightened. “I’m… I’m fine, Dad. Just tired.”

He exhaled deeply, as though her words lifted a weight from his chest. Then he turned, smiling warmly toward the woman. “She was so worried for you, beta. She insisted on seeing you herself. She is a doctor.”

The woman stepped closer, her perfume subtle but suffocating. Her eyes held a softness that didn’t match the sharpness buried deep within them. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she reached for Liyana’s wrist, her touch cold yet steady.

“You gave us quite a scare,” the woman murmured, her voice smooth, velvet-like. “But your pulse is strong. It was only a shock. Nothing to fear.”

Liyana swallowed hard, forcing her lips into a weak smile. But inside, her mind screamed. Zayd had no mother.

And yet, here she was. Claiming a place by her side, smiling like she belonged.

Her father chuckled, his hand brushing her hair gently as the thunder rolled outside. “See? Even she says you’re fine. Allah is merciful. He sends the right people at the right time.”

Liyana’s heart pounded against her ribs. Every word of comfort only tightened the invisible noose around her. Because this woman was not here out of kindness. She was not a doctor. She was his puppet.

And when the lightning flashed through the windows, for just a heartbeat, Liyana saw it — the faint curl at the corner of the woman’s lips. A smirk, and it confirms it's all his hunting game

The maid quietly lifted the soup, offering it to her father. “Sahib, should I help feed her?”

Her father smiled, shaking his head gently. “No, I will do it. She is my daughter.” He took the bowl, blowing on the steam, his love blinding him to everything else.

But Liyana barely tasted the comfort in the room. Because even here, surrounded by family, warmth, and care, she knew the storm had already stepped inside her walls.

Her father’s hand was warm on hers, steady, grounding. “Aiyana,” he said softly, his smile filled with years of affection she had always longed for. “Zayd is sitting downstairs alone. Should I call him up? Everyone else is here.”

Her heart stuttered. The name alone was enough to summon the memory of his breath against her skin, his grip that felt like iron shackles. Fear crawled up her spine, tightening her lungs. She wanted to shake her head, to beg her father not to—

But then her gaze met his.

Love. Pure, unfiltered love.

The kind of love she had craved her entire life, the kind of safety only her father had ever given her. And in that moment, the storm inside her bowed to that tenderness. She couldn’t refuse him. She wouldn’t break that fragile happiness in his eyes.

So she nodded.

Just once.

Forgetting, for the briefest heartbeat, that the man he spoke of was not salvation but storm.

Outside, thunder cracked, shaking the glass of the windows. Rain lashed harder, echoing the pounding in, and a knock rattled the door.

Soft. Polite. Measured.

“As-salamu alaikum,” a deep voice murmured through the wood.

Her breath hitched so violently she nearly choked. Every muscle in her body froze. She didn’t need to see him. She could feel him.

The storm had come upstairs.

Mr. Sultan turned as the door opened. Zayd stepped inside with his gaze lowered, shoulders dipped in perfect humility. His voice was soft, respectful.

“Wa alaikum assalam. Come , beta.”

Zayd bowed slightly, his words quiet. “How are you, Miss Aliyana?”

Her breath caught. That voice—smooth, velvet, dangerous. She looked at him, and for the world’s eyes, he was the picture of discipline. His eyes never lifted; his posture screamed respect. A gentleman.

But in her mind, the mask shattered.

Flashes burned through her mind….His gaze. The way it had swallowed her whole, sliding over her body not with admiration but with hunger, with certainty. He had looked at her like she was not a person but a vow, a promise carved into his very being.

His hands had caught her, iron and unrelenting, yet there was something frighteningly tender in the way he held heras though he’d crush anyone else who dared touch her, but her… her he would never let fall.

She remembered his breath, hot and steady against her trembling lips, his eyes dark with possession yet softened with something more dangerous than desire. Something that felt like… devotion.

“That’s mine,” he had whispered, his voice rough silk. “Only mine. Always.”

Her pulse had hammered beneath his fingers as one hand trailed slowly, deliberately, from the line of her jaw down the delicate column of her throat. He lingered there, feeling the frantic beat of her heart, before sliding lower—across her collarbone, grazing her shoulder, then down, claiming the curve of her waist with the weight of his palm.

Not a caress. A brand.

But even as fear scorched through her veins, there had been no mistaking the madness in his touch. His obsession was threaded with a twisted kind of lovedangerous, suffocating, but love all the same. As though he believed she had been created for him alone, and the world itself would shatter before he let her belong to another.

“Aliyana?”

Her father’s voice dragged her back, breaking through the storm in her head. His brows furrowed in concern. “Are you okay?”

She forced a trembling smile. “Y-yes, Father.”

Her palm rose to her forehead, swiping at the sweat that clung there despite the biting cold outside. But when her gaze flickered back toward Zayd—she froze.

He was watching her now. No lowered eyes. No mask. His stare locked onto hers, sharp and unblinking. And then it came—the slow curl of a smirk that hollowed her stomach. A look that said everything her father couldn’t see.

Obsession. Claim. Victory.

She wanted to look away, but her eyes betrayed her, trapped in his fire. She didn’t even notice when Miss Fariha murmured something softly to her father. Mr. Sultan rose immediately, nodding to Zayd.

“Excuse us for a moment, beta.” His hand stroked Aliyana’s hair before he and Miss Fariha slipped out.

The door closed.

The silence shifted.

The two maids remained, heads bowed low in rigid obedience, as if they weren’t even breathing. But they weren’t protection. They weren’t hers.

And Zayd knew it.

The smirk widened as he stepped closer. Each stride was measured, patient, inevitable. Aliyana panicked, tapping the mattress at her side instinctively seeking her father. But there was nothing there. No safety.

Only him.

Her chest rose and fell faster, eyes darting from the bowed maids to the door, searching for escape. She tried to push herself up, but before she could, he leaned forward.

His presence consumed her.

Cold breath ghosted across her cheek, his face inches from hers, his voice a low growl wrapped in velvet.

“So…” His lips curved, brushing against the air between them. “Finally, I caught you.”

Her pulse stilled.

“My runner wife.”

And in that instant, the storm outside went silent. The world froze.

Only his claim remained.

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