Page 24 of The Sheikh's Secret Heir

Together, we ascend the staircase. Faiz’s staff is barely spotted, as per usual, and I find that I like this more than the constant presence of dozens of people at the main palace. I’m keenly aware of Faiz beside me, a silent guardian to both his son and the precious moment we’re sharing.

In Ali’s room, the nightlight is already turned on. He hurries through brushing his teeth and taking a shower in the adjacent bathroom — with Faiz standing at the cracked doorway, constantly reminding him to use soap and shampoo — and then catapults himself into bed.

“Will you read me a story, Dr. Tara?”

Faiz speaks up before I can answer. “Dr. Tara didn’t come over to?—”

“It’s okay,” I interrupt, meaning it completely. “I would love to read a story.”

His library, an impressive collection for a six-year-old, fills an entire bookshelf by his bed. I browse through the titles until onecatches my eye, a story of brave knights and cunning dragons similar to our play earlier. Perfect.

Settling into the plush armchair near his bed, I begin to read. My voice weaves tales of valor and friendship, filling the room with magic. The real world fades away as Ali clings to every word. His eyes grow heavy, his soft breaths turning into a steady rhythm.

A glance at Faiz finds him leaning against the doorframe, watching us. This time there’s no shadow in his gaze, only pure, undiluted warmth, which makes my heart flutter in a way I haven’t felt before. He nods at me, a silent thank-you that sends tingles through me.

“Good night, Ali,” I whisper, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. His hand finds mine, tiny fingers squeezing briefly before letting go.

“Will you have fun dreams tonight?” Faiz’s voice is soft, laced with an affection that fills the room.

“Always,” Ali mumbles, already halfway to sleep.

“Good. Good night, wild dragon.”

“Good night, Ali,” I echo, and together we watch over him until his breathing deepens into the steady rhythm of slumber.

Stepping back into the hallway, a silence settles between Faiz and me — a comfortable one, rich with connection and satisfaction.

“Would you like a drink?” he asks.

I hesitate, even though “yes” plays on the tip of my tongue. Ever since I found out about Ali, it feels like Faiz has been opening up to me gradually, only to shut me back out again. It’s no good onmy heart, which is a romantic and will probably never give up believing that the impossible is possible.

The reasons to say no, though they feel big, are so short compared to the reasons to say yes. “That would be nice,” I answer.

Faiz leads the way, his back a straight line of composure, but I sense a shift in him — a loosening of something tightly wound. We end up in a room I’ve never visited, another den of some sort, with cozy couches and gaming systems stacked next to the TV.

“Please, have a seat,” he says, gesturing to a sofa.

I settle in while Faiz pours two glasses of a rich, amber liquid. I don’t ask what it is. Any liquor will do right now, as long as it takes the edge off the excited nervousness I always feel around him.

He takes a seat in an armchair next to me. “Thank you for coming tonight.”

“Thank you for having me. Ali is… wonderful.” I look into my glass. “My family is far away, so it was nice to have an evening like this.”

He’s quiet for a long moment, and when he speaks it’s the last thing I expect to hear.

“Ali’s mother and I… we weren’t in love. It was a brief affair,” he admits, his eyes not meeting mine. “When she left, it was amicable. There were no hard feelings.”

I stare at him.Why is he telling me this?

The ice in my glass clinks softly as I take a tentative sip, the warmth of the drink spreading through me. I wait, sensing there is more weight to his words, a burden he’s about to share.

“Then, one night, I received news that she had passed away unexpectedly,” he continues, the stillness in his voice now revealing cracks of vulnerability. “It was then I learned of Ali — my son. She never told me she was pregnant.”

His revelation lands like a stone in still water, rippling through the space between us. I suck in a sharp breath, feeling his shock that day as if it were happening here and now, to me.

“Moving him into the palace,” Faiz says, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees, “keeping his existence secret… it was the only choice to avoid scandal. He was one then, not even walking. It was the best thing for him. For everyone.” His profile is etched with shadows as he speaks, the lines of his face telling a story of silent struggles.

I can feel my heart contracting, aching for the sacrifices he’s made — for the loneliness that echoes with each word. To pull away from everyone, to keep your own child hidden… the thought is unfathomable. Yet here he sits, a man who has shouldered this secret, alone.

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