Page 26 of The Sheikh's Secret Heir

“Ahmed,” I acknowledge without breaking stride.

“Miss Hague,” he begins, and I feel my muscles tense at the mention of her name. “She seems… suitable.”

There’s a hint of something unspoken in his tone — approval, perhaps, or a nudge toward a future I dare not contemplate. My staff and I are close, everyone working in my home because I trust them completely. These are the people who have become my friends when I had to push everyone else away following the discovery of Ali’s existence. They know me better than anyone else at this point.

“Being involved with Tara…” The words trail off as I search for the right way to articulate the paradox of desire and duty. “It would mean asking too much of her. She already carries the burden of my secret as my doctor.”

Ahmed’s gaze holds steady, understanding the gravity of what remains unsaid. “With all due respect, sir, sometimes the weight we carry can be shared.”

“Can it?” The question escapes me before I can rein it in, laced with a vulnerability I seldom allow myself to express. “Carrying it as my girlfriend, or even wife, is another matter entirely.”

We stand in acknowledgment of the truth that lies between us. A truth that binds me as surely as the bloodline I was born into.

“Good night, Ahmed,” I say finally, drawing the conversation to a close with a respectful nod.

“Good night, sir.”

As I make my way to the solitude of my chambers, each step feels heavier than the last. In the dim light, I sink onto the edge of the bed, a king-sized expanse that suddenly seems too vast.

Eyes closed, I let the silence fill the room. And there, in the stillness, her image invades my thoughts once more — Tara, with her bright eyes and quiet strength.

The longing to reach out, to bridge the space between our separate worlds, gnaws at me with quiet ferocity. But I know the cost of such a leap, the price of vulnerability when one’s life is built upon foundations of expectation and responsibility.

A cough scratches at my throat, an unwelcome reminder of the fragility that lurks beneath the surface. I clear it, hoping to dispel more than just the physical irritation it brings. Yet, the sound echoes in the spacious room, and for a quick moment I ache dreadfully to have someone close — no, not justanysomeone.

Her. And not as my doctor. Not as a bearer of my biggest secret. I ache to have her as an equal, as a partner.

Lying back, I stare up at the ceiling. Tara’s face hovers in the darkness behind my eyelids — the curve of her smile, the warmth in her hazel eyes. It’s a dangerous indulgence, this dance with what can never be.

Sleep tugs at the edges of my consciousness, but I don’t fight it, already knowing that my dreams can provide more happiness than reality ever could.

CHAPTER 14

TARA

The sound of the garbage truck wakes me, the noise coming in through the bedroom window I didn’t realize I’d left open. I stay in bed, gazing at the ceiling, my focus still all tangled up in last night.

It’s one of those rare moments when the world doesn’t rush in — no immediate thoughts of my daily responsibilities, no mental lists to check off. Just me, wrapped in the warmth of my bed, and an image that flickers behind closed eyelids: Faiz.

I shouldn’t be doing this. Shouldn’t let my mind waltz into territory that’s off-limits, yet here I am. I can’t seem to help myself; he invades my thoughts, unbidden but not unwelcome.

In my fantasy, his dark eyes lock onto mine, the corners crinkling ever so slightly with a smile that hints at secrets shared between us. The silence around us is comfortable, intimate. We’re in his palace, but it’s different this time — we’re alone, no pretext of medical protocols or royal duties.

A sigh slips past my lips as I visualize his strong hands reaching for mine. His touch is gentle but firm, grounding me, pullingme closer into the orbit of his world — a world where whispered confessions and tender moments dare to exist.

The fantasy shatters as my phone beeps insistently, dragging me back into reality. Embarrassment blooms deep within my chest. How foolish to indulge in such daydreams about him, especially right before…

Please come to my palace today for a checkup.

The text from Faiz is bold against the screen, each character a reminder of the line I’m toeing dangerously close to crossing.

My heart races, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe. Does he know? Can he somehow sense the direction of my thoughts this morning?

I shake my head, trying to dispel the absurd notion. Of course he can’t know. This is merely a coincidence — timing that plays tricks on both heart and mind.

But even as I prepare to respond to his message, I can’t deny the thrill that courses through me at the thought of seeing him again so soon.

… Until the gravity of the situation sinks in.

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