Page 48 of The Sheikh's Secret Heir

“Faiz.” My mother’s voice sounds more hurt than anything else. “Why did you keep this from us for so long?”

I swallow hard, meeting her gaze. “I thought— I feared it would bring shame upon us all,” I confess, the words tasting of bitter truth.

My father sighs, the sound heavy with disappointment but not anger. “We could have been a part of his life, watched him grow.” His eyes hold a sorrow that cuts deeper than any reprimand.

“Nothing will change how we feel about you,” my mother adds, reaching out to place a comforting hand on mine. “You’re our son. But Ali… he deserved to know his family.”

I nod, the truth of their words settling like a stone in my stomach. They are right; I let fear guide me, and in doing so, Istole time from them — precious moments they can never get back. My heart aches with the guilt of it.

“Even if it means scandal?” The question slips out, a whisper of my deepest fear unveiled.

“Scandal fades,” my father says firmly. “Family endures.”

The silence that follows is profound, filled with unspoken forgiveness and the promise of new beginnings. It’s a fragile peace that shatters when Hamza clears his throat, drawing our attention to his brooding figure by the window.

“Have you considered the implications?” he asks, his tone edged with something darker than concern. “The tabloids are already feasting on this, and the people…”

“Times are changing, Hamza,” my father interjects with quiet authority. “If we cannot adapt, we fall behind. Our people will understand in time.”

Hamza’s jaw tightens, and I can see the play of emotions across his face — disappointment, resentment. He had hoped for a different outcome, I realize, one that might have catapulted him closer to the throne.

The air crackles with tension, and a revelation slices through the fog of my combined shock, relief, and distress.

“Hamza.” I swallow hard, but there’s a thick lump in my throat, formed from budding anger. “You knew about Ali long before today, didn’t you?”

His eyes, dark mirrors that look so much like mine but yet are so different, shift away momentarily before filling with reluctant defiance. “I did,” he admits, his tone grudging, a trickle of guilt seeping through the cracks of his composed façade.

I take a step forward, driven by an urge to understand. “Why?” The question is simple, but it carries the weight of years of brotherhood, now frayed at the edges.

I could ask “how,” but that’s so much less important. He’s the one who revealed Ali’s existence to the world — not Tara. I know it as clear as day, looking at him now.

He lets out a bitter chuckle, the sound the result of years of jealousy. “I noticed you and Tara were getting closer. I dug a little deeper… It didn’t take long, not with the best private investigator in town.”

The sharp edge of realization cuts deeper, drawing forth the truth in crimson clarity. He knew about Ali and saw an opportunity in the shadows of my secret. It wasn’t just a leak; it was a calculated exposure meant to undermine me.

“Juicier than an affair, right?” I say, the words laced with coldness.

“Exactly,” Hamza responds, a shrug lifting his shoulders as if to shake off the gravity of his actions.

“Hamza.” Our father’s face reddens. “How dare you do this to your brother? To our family? To our country?”

Hamza’s head drops like a puppy scolded. Clearly, he did not properly think this plan through. Our people might be disappointed in me and, consequently, prefer him as their next ruler, but there are enough legal loopholes to enable our parents to block his ascent to the throne. Even if I am run out of Zahrania.

Right now, though, my future as sheikh is not of the most importance, and neither is my scheming younger brother. It’sTara. I accused her of stabbing me in the back when I had zero evidence — and why?

Because I was scared. I had never been so happy as I was with her, so when the news of Ali broke, I assumed she had to have done it. Of course an unhappy ending was destined for me.

My hands clench into fists at my sides. I must fix this. I’ve allowed my fears to build walls around my heart, and Tara — kind, straightforward Tara — became collateral damage in a war she never signed up for.

“We can talk about this later,” I say carefully. “Right now, I need to find Tara.”

“Faiz.” My mother shakes her head. “She did not tell you? Tara handed in her notice. She’s planning to leave for the States soon.”

Panic, sharp and immediate, slices through the haze of my thoughts. I can’t let her go, not when so much has been left unsaid, not when my heart whispers her name in the quiet spaces between beats.

“Thank you,” I murmur, panic clawing its way up my chest. “I still need to see her. Now.”

Not just see her, but fix this. Fix us.

---