Chapter 52
Berlin - Germany
“Don’t come any closer,” she says, pointing her finger at me. “You’re not going to touch me.”
I keep walking closer to her. “I would never touch you against your will, but we both know perfectly well what the problem is, don’t we? Why don’t you confess that your fear isn’t of me but of yourself?”
“You must be crazy if you think I still desire you and—”
I pull her to me and silence her insolent mouth with a kiss. She resists for about five seconds before she practically climbs my body.
I pick her up, pressing her against the wall.
“I don’t want you.”
“Liar,” I accuse. Lifting her skirt, I caress her soft thighs.
“It’s just a physical reaction,” she continues, stubbornly. “I can’t control my body.”
I steal another kiss, even more wanton than the last. “I wanted to talk, but I swear you drive me crazy, woman.”
“This is lust. I want your love,” she says, but her hands are already tearing off my suit and opening my shirt, her teeth licking and biting my nipples.
Mad with desire, I unzip my pants and, at the same time, pull her panties aside. I tease her only once before thrusting deep inside her.
“This is love, habibti.”
“Lust,” she insists.
I slowly pull out and penetrate her again, while pressing our foreheads together.
“Love, my Adeela. Mad, passionate, faithful, devoted. Yours.”
Our mouths seek each other, trying to convey what our minds cannot.
For entire minutes, our bodies move in sync. It’s not a gentle or tender fuck but a needy, impetuous, almost violent one.
When she comes, biting me, I follow her like a good disciple.
We don’t move, even after the orgasm.
The fear I had of losing her makes me want to be with her forever.
To forget the days and the nights.
To maintain the bond in our silent union.
“How could you betray me?” Her voice sounds sad.
“I didn’t betray you, and I’ll prove it. Deceiving you would be deceiving myself, my wife. Why can’t you see that I am yours? That there will never be another?”
Hours Later
“So that’s what happened?” she asks a very red-faced Amin.
“Yes, Your Highness. She found out, I still don’t know how, that His Highness, Sheikh Kaled, had a meeting at that hotel and arranged to be there with a photographer to stage a fake photo.”
“But what would she gain from it?” my wife asks.
Adeela is too na?ve for this world. She has no idea what some people would do for five minutes in the spotlight.
“Regarding the photographer, I’ve already arranged what you asked for, Your Highness,” he says, addressing me. “But what should I do about the model?”
“Sue her. I want an astronomical fine for every time she mentions my name or my wife’s. Amin, you can leave us now, thank you,” I say.
When he leaves, I turn to her. “To answer your previous question, some people profit from lies, Adeela. Magazines buy these stories as if they were true. You yourself believed I betrayed you,” I accuse, without pity. She needs to learn to trust me, because we will always be victims of gossip.
Her face turns the color of a tomato. “I’m ashamed.”
“You should be. The way you judged me without giving me a chance to explain was very bad.”
I’m not as angry as when I arrived. Even though I was furious at the time, now that I’ve calmed down and measures have been taken to punish the guilty, I’ve concluded that there’s no point in dwelling on the story.
Famous people have always been involved in scandals because of opportunists. Why would it be different with us?
The only opinion that matters to me is that of the woman who is pacing back and forth, head down, in the hotel room.
“How bad?” she asks.
“What?”
“You said what I did was very bad. How much did I damage the trust between us?”
I try to keep a serious expression, but I fail. “Pillow attack? Roses? A shoe? I thought I could do better than that.”
“You’re not angry with me, then?” she asks, coming into my arms.
“I can’t say I was happy that you doubted my love, but putting myself in your place, the images led you to believe in betrayal. I probably would have thought the same. The difference is that I would never give you up. I would destroy my rival.”
She sits on my lap, facing me. “You didn’t understand anything if you thought I would renounce you. I was crazy with jealousy, yes, my sheikh, but I’m not temporary in your life. I’m here to stay.”
Rheadur
Three Months Later
I had to hire a CEO to run my shipbuilding company, since my role as sheikh is for life. But being the control freak that I am, I still keep both eyes wide open. I want to know everything that happens there.
Every morning, I open the board’s emails and check how our stocks are doing.
And that’s exactly what I’m doing today—reading the weekend messages—when my phone lights up with a text from a private number that, theoretically, shouldn’t exist anywhere.
I blink a few times, making sure I’m seeing correctly.
It’s a geographic coordinate.
I tap the link, and it takes me to Bucharest, Romania.
Then a second message arrives:
Unknown number: I’m a father too. Watch over your son. He isn’t safe yet.
But it’s the third message that confirms who’s behind them. It says:
Unknown number: One life for another. I eliminated the monster that haunted my wife. I’m giving you the chance to do the same with the one who threatens yours.
Odin Lykaios.
He just handed me the location of Arif Ghazal.
At last, I’ll have my vengeance.
Rheadur
Six Months Later
“Are you sure you want to be there for the sentencing?”
“Yes. I need that closure, Kaled.”
She didn’t attend the first week. Just like during the trial of my father’s former first wife, Adeela only wanted to be present for the reading of the sentence.
Unlike Eiza’s case, there was no plea bargain for Arif, so his trial went through every stage: witnesses questioned by both sides, presentation of evidence, recesses.
It was exhausting, but I made a point of attending every session.
I owed it to my wife and my son. I also needed to stand there for my mother-in-law, for the innocent ones who had done nothing but have the misfortune of being tied, by blood or fate, to that bastard.
“Theory and practice are two different things, my love,” I say, still unsure how it will affect her to hear the judge read the verdict aloud. I have no doubt Arif will be sentenced to death.
“I know what you mean,” she says, “but believe me, I don’t see him as my father anymore, only as a psychopath who planned to kill his own grandson and, probably, you as well.
He chose which grandson he wanted to see on the throne, and it wasn’t mine.
When I look at our Tajj and think that he might not be here with us, I feel like I could lose my mind. ”
Who could blame her? I can’t say with certainty that, if I weren’t ruling Rheadur and didn’t know Arif would be punished, I wouldn’t have killed him myself.
After the anonymous message, my lawyers contacted the local police in Bucharest and began the extradition process.
There’s a treaty between Rheadur and Romania, so it didn’t take long before the wretch was handed over to us.
Ironically, the only person with the power to grant him a pardon, to commute his death sentence to life imprisonment, is me, as the ruler of this country.
That’s not going to happen.
It’s time for our reckoning.
Arif will pay for his crimes.
Hours later
As we expected, the verdict was guilty, and Arif Ghazal was sentenced to death.
At the end of the reading, the judge gave the defendant an opportunity to apologize to me and to his daughter.
He refused, keeping his gaze fixed straight ahead.
With everything that’s happened—arrests, murder plots, betrayals, and escapes—I had started to wonder if there wasn’t still a missing piece to this puzzle. I even considered the possibility that Naim might also be Arif’s son.
I brought it up with my father, and he told me he’d already thought the same thing, but that Naim was definitely his.
He reminded me of an incident from when my half-brother was a teenager and had an accident that required a blood donor.
My father was the first to volunteer, and they were compatible.
That alone doesn’t mean much—it could simply have been a coincidence in blood type—but when I looked at it more carefully, it didn’t add up. If Naim had been Arif’s son, they would’ve schemed to put him in power long ago. They wouldn’t have waited for my father to abdicate of his own accord.
The judge calls my name. By law, I must approach the stand to confirm the sentence.
Adeela squeezes my hand, knowing what I’m about to do.
I look at her one last time before standing. For her alone, I could’ve reconsidered my decision, but when she nods, I rise to fulfill my duty.
After a few formal words, the judge asks the question everyone has been waiting for. “Your Highness, do you confirm the sentence?”
“Yes,” I say, locking eyes with the man who disgusts me. “I confirm that the crime committed by Arif Ghazal shall be punished by death. I am Kaled Fouad Ayad Badawi Faheem, Sheikh and Supreme Leader of Rheadur. Anyone who dares threaten my family will never have my forgiveness.”
“Thank you, Your Highness,” the judge says as I return to my wife’s side. “The sentence is to be carried out within six months.”
An hour later, I step out onto the palace balcony to greet the citizens who’ve filled the streets to celebrate the decision.
My pain is theirs.
And now, it’s finally over.
I’m ready to lead my country.
To honor my people.
To live and die for my family.