Page 53 of The Sheikh's Secret Heir

Ali shifts forward in his seat, eager to hear more. I draw a deep breath. Well. This is certainly a lot for one afternoon. First Ali is seen in public as Faiz’s son for the first time. Then Faiz tells me he loves me — he loves me! And now Ali is asking about his mother, which, judging by Faiz’s reaction, appears to be a first-time thing.

I guess when it rains it pours, and the best you can do is roll with it.

“Ali,” Faiz says, his voice gentle. He casts me a fleeting glance before focusing on his son. “There are things I need to tell you about… about your mother.”

I watch as Faiz, a man so often upheld by stoicism, peels back layers of guarded secrets. He speaks of love and loss, painting the picture of a woman whose memory has been kept alive through whispered stories and hidden photographs.

“Mommy’s in heaven,” Ali says, his words a simple acceptance of a reality he never got to touch or see.

I swallow against a raspy, emotional throat. He doesn’t seem sad, though. More… introspective.

The sun dips lower in the sky as we glide through Zahrania’s heart, tinted windows shielding us from prying eyes.

“Father wants to know if you’re with us,” Faiz mutters, his thumb hovering over the screen.

“Tell him yes,” I say, not missing a beat. The decision feels monumental, yet inevitable — like stepping into a destiny I’ve been tiptoeing around for far too long. Faiz’s gaze cuts to mine, a smile gracing his face, and I grin back.

“Are we going to see Grandma and Grandpa?” Ali asks.

Faiz looks to me, waiting for my response. I understand. He’s silently asking me if I want to do this — reveal our relationship to his family.

My chest swelling with excitement and pride, I nod.

“Yes, little man,” Faiz answers, voice softening. His hand finds mine, a silent thank-you etched into his touch. We’re entwined in ways that words can’t capture — a web of the past, future, and glorious present.

“The main palace it is,” Ahmed announces, steering the car onto a road lined with blooming flowers.

We reach the palace just as the last rays of sunlight caress its golden stones. It’s a sight that never fails to steal my breath — majestic and unwavering. Yet tonight, it feels different; it’s not just a symbol of tradition but a totem of the future. Of good luck.

“Ready?” Faiz asks, his gaze locked on the grand doors ahead.

“As I’ll ever be,” I reply, my heart marching to a rhythm of hope and trepidation.

The sheikh and sheikha await us in the grand foyer. Their presence is regal as always, yet their eyes hold the warmth of family. Hamza stands beside them, his posture rigid, betraying an inner turmoil.

“Faiz, Tara…” the sheikh begins, but it’s Hamza who steps forward, cutting through formalities.

“Brother, I…” His voice falters, and he looks down, suddenly humbled. “I am sorry. For the pain I’ve caused, for the rift I’ve widened. I was wrong.” He looks up at me. “I am also sorry, Tara. Very.”

“Thank you,” I say tightly, and while I won’t say I forgive him — not now, anyway — I know that I can at least live with what he did… As long as Faiz is willing to, that is.

Faiz’s jaw clenches, the muscle ticking as he processes the apology. I squeeze his hand, a silent plea for peace. He lets out a long breath, a little bit of tension releasing.

“Thank you, Hamza,” Faiz says after a moment, his voice steady but not unkind. “Let’s move forward from here.”

It’s not just an acceptance of the apology; it’s an offer of absolution, a chance to mend what’s been broken.

“Growing up in your shadow was never easy,” Hamza says, each word carrying the weight of long-held pain. “But my actions… they were fueled by bitterness. It was wrong to let jealousy dictate my choices, especially at the cost of our family.”

I watch Faiz’s face soften, his usual bravado stripped away to reveal the vulnerability beneath. “Thank you for your honesty. I appreciate it.”

“Uncle Hamza is smiling,” Ali whispers beside me, his small hand finding mine. “Does this mean we’re all happy now?”

“Sometimes, happiness needs a little help,” I murmur, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “But, yes. I think we are.”

“Come,” the sheikh gestures, his expression lightening. “Let us sit together. There is much joy to be shared.”

We gather, a circle of individuals united by love, forgiveness, and the unexpected turns of life. The past lingers, a ghostly presence, but here in the present, there is a promise of healing.

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