Page 38 of The Sheikh's Secret Heir

“Ali needs to be with other children, not just hidden away in this palace,” she continues, her fingers twisting around a lock of her hair. “He can’t stay here forever. What’s your plan for when he gets older?”

Her question slices through the morning’s tranquility, and suddenly, the coffee in my gut turns bitter. Who is she to challenge the life I’ve built, the sacrifices I’ve made?

Clearly, she doesn’t understand any of this at all. My heart races, a drumbeat of panic at the thought of exposing Ali to the world that may not understand or accept him. And then there are the political consequences. My country needs to know their future leader is moral, just. I can at least pretend to be that, but not if everyone knows about Ali. While Zahrania is a progressive country, in some ways things are still very old-fashioned here, and even though Tara is from America, I’m surprised that she doesn’t understand this.

“Overstepping, Tara,” I snap, the words sharper than I intend. “Who are you to tell me how to raise my son?”

Her eyes widen, hurt flickering within them, and instantly I regret the harshness of my tone. But the damage is done, the fear of losing control over the carefully constructed walls around my life causing me to lash out. The possibility of intimacy, once so tantalizingly close, now feels like a threat to the safe bubble I’ve built for Ali and me.

A silence falls, heavy and oppressive, as we sit amid the shattered remnants of the morning’s peace. Tara rises from her chair, her movements stiff, the grace that usually defines her nowhere to be found.

“Faiz, I…” She presses her fingers to her lips. The sentence hangs incomplete, a thread pulled loose from the fabric we’ve been weaving together.

“Look, I’m sorry,” I offer, but it’s a hollow sound, something that doesn’t quite bridge the space that’s opened up between us.

I’m aware that it doesn’t sound like an apology at all, not the way I’ve put it, but I’m too wound up. I’m white-knuckling my way through the conversation, through the moment.

She gives me a small, tight smile, one that doesn’t reach those hazel eyes that just moments ago were alight with sweetness and warmth. Now they’re guarded, shadowed by the results of my defensiveness. My heart clenches at the sight, an echo of loneliness I recognize all too well.

“Please don’t apologize. I understand,” she says, her voice steady but distant. There’s a kindness there, the sort that’s meant to soothe, but it only serves to underscore the divide.

I sigh. “I spoke too harshly, but I stand by my words.”

She bites her lip and looks away. “Perhaps I should go.”

I open my mouth to argue, but nothing comes out.Is she right? Was this whole thing between us nothing more than a mistake?

I watch helplessly as she gathers her things, her every move deliberate, yet there’s a tremble in her hands that betrays her calm façade. I want to reach out, to pull her back into the bubble of contentment we shared this morning, but the fear clings to me, a second skin I can’t shed.

“Take care, Faiz,” she whispers, the words almost lost beneath the songs of the birds and the rustle of the leaves.

She walks into the house. It’s a physical ache, watching her go, knowing that I’m the reason for the distance now measured in more than just steps.

The front door closes softly behind her, and for some reason that hurts more than a slam would. She has nothing to prove, no show of anger or pride to leave me with. She is simply, undramatically, done. Alone on the deck, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. The sun is still shining, but its warmth no longer reaches me, eclipsed by the cold realization of what I’ve just lost.

I had imagined mornings like this, sharing them with someone who understood both the weight and the wonder of raising a child alone. Someone who could soften the sharp edges of my reality with a look, a touch, a word.

But I pushed her away. Not because I wanted to… but because I needed to.

“Damn it,” I mutter to myself, the bitterness rising in my chest. The deck is suddenly too vast, the house too silent, the world outside the walls too immense and daunting without her by my side.

The morning has lost its luster, and with it, perhaps, the one chance I’ve ever had at something real.

CHAPTER 20

TARA

Isit on the edge of my bed, the silence of the apartment the loudest thing I’ve heard in a long time. My clothes still carry the scent of Faiz — musky cologne mingled with a hint of citrus from his skin. It’s a cruel reminder of how quickly warmth can turn to coldness. We were close, so close, and now it’s all in the past. I don’t even know if our contract for me to provide him and Ali medical services still stands.

Closing my eyes, I feel the sting of tears threatening to spill. Is it possible to miss someone so fiercely when you’ve only just left their side? But it’s not just his absence that makes my chest ache; it’s the realization that he could be so incensed by my opinions — that sharing a part of myself could push him away.

A bitter taste coats my mouth. Maybe this is a sign that we’re not meant to be, despite the pull I feel toward him.

I rise, a sense of urgency pushing me toward the bathroom. There’s a need to wash away the night, to let the water cleanse the doubts and the longing. Undressing, I step into the shower, embracing the steam wrapping around me, but it doesn’t penetrate the chill that’s settled in my bones.

After dressing in a professional blazer and skirt, I leave the refuge of my apartment for the main palace. The drive is mechanical, my mind elsewhere, on a little boy with imagination and questions that hold more innocence than I can bear.

Ali. My heart clenches at the thought of him, so unaware of the complexities that shadow his existence.

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