Page 1 of The Sheikh's Secret Heir

CHAPTER 1

TARA

The first light of dawn splashes rose-gold over the Zahrania street as I weave through the early morning traffic. It’s crazy in the Middle Eastern city-state, where every hour is rush hour, businessmen and businesswomen zipping around in their luxury cars, and street vendors selling grilled meat and sliced fruits on sticks.

I’m used to it all, though. Two years into being here and I actually find the hubbub soothing. It’s so different from the small New Jersey town I grew up in, but it’s starting to feel a little bit more like home every day.

I smile to myself, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel to the music — until my phone’s insistent ring shatters the calm. I glance at the screen — Mom — and a familiar knot tightens in my stomach. For a second, I consider not answering, but that would only result in her calling again.

So, instead, I turn down the music and hit the answer button.

“Hi, Mom,” I say, trying to keep my voice even, bracing myself for the onslaught.

“Darling! How are you? Is that sheikh going to promote you soon?” she fires off without preamble.

My grip on the steering wheel tightens. “There’s no promotion to have, Mom. My job doesn’t work like that.”

“Surely there must be something more they can offer you,” Dad chimes in with that tone — a mix of expectation and subtle disapproval that always makes me feel less than. And of course he’s on the line. They’re always there to back each other up.

“You’re not just any doctor, Tara,” he adds.

It should be a compliment, and maybe that’s how he means it to come across, but it doesn’t give me anything even remotely close to warm fuzzies.

They don’t understand. They see my life through the lens of perpetual ambition, always reaching, never settling. But here, in Zahrania, I’ve found a strange peace. A place where my expertise is valued without the need for climbing some endless career ladder. Forget working sixty hours a week and scrambling to perform better than every other person in my field. None of that matters here.

“Everything is great. Really,” I assure them, my voice a touch too bright. “I’m happy here.”

“All right, dear. Just remember to keep your options open,” Mom says with a tight voice.

Keep my options open? What is she even talking about?

You’d think they’d be proud of me. Millions of doctors would love to have my job, raking in a full-time paycheck for part-time work, serving a royal family. And at first my parents were proud of me — but that was two years ago. For them, there’s alwaysanother rung on the ladder to climb, and if you’re not reaching higher, you’re falling behind.

“I should go,” I say. “I’m almost at the palace.”

“Sure, sure,” Dad says. “One more thing. When are you going to invite us out there to visit you?”

His question makes me cringe. I love my parents, but having them visit me in Zahrania? The very idea has me tensing all over.

“We’ll figure it out,” I say breathlessly. “Love you guys. Talk soon.”

I quickly hang up, an exhale hissing between my teeth. I wish our conversations didn’t have to be so fraught, so heavily hung with their expectations.

I turn onto a road lined with greenery, and the palace comes into view, a majestic structure rising from the sands like a mirage made real. It’s a world away from New Jersey, from my Ivy League university, from the US hospital that ran me ragged, from the expectations and the relentless drive to be more. Here, I am enough.

“Good morning, Dr. Hague.” The guard greets me with a friendly nod as he waves me through the security checkpoint.

“Morning,” I reply, offering him a smile.

After parking in the employee lot, I pass the lush gardens that defy the arid climate, inhaling the scent of jasmine that lingers in the air. Each step through the grand hallways is accompanied by the soft echo of my heels on marble. Staff members bustle about, preparing for the day, and I exchange pleasantries with those I know.

“Dr. Hague, lovely to see you,” one of the maids says as I turn down a corridor lined with intricate tapestries and busts of dignitaries past.

“Likewise, Fatima,” I respond.

The walk to Sheikh Yusuf Al-Rashid’s wing is a journey from reality into the quiet sanctum reserved for royalty. Today, I will perform a routine checkup on a man who, despite his regal bearing, has shown me kindness and respect since the day I arrived. My role here is simple yet vital, a comforting constant.

As I approach his private chambers, I remind myself that, despite what my parents expect of me, this is my life now: a balance of duty and solitude.

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