I stare at Sisi, my heart pounding. Did I hear her correctly?
"You're not the first to imagine killing him," she had said.
The words hang between us, heavy and quiet. My lips part, but no sound comes out.
Sisi, on the other hand, looks completely unbothered.
I swallow. "What do you mean by that?"
She blinks, then lets out a low chuckle.
"Ah, see your face," she teases, nudging my arm. "Relax, I was only joking."
Joking?
I narrow my eyes, searching her face, but Sisi is too skilled at hiding the truth.
"Don't take things so seriously, amarya," she says, grinning. "You looked like a baby goat caught in the rain."
I scowl, but before I can respond, the maids finish setting the jewelry boxes on the table. Sisi claps her hands. "That's my cue. Enjoy your new treasures."
And just like that, she's gone.
Was she really joking? Or did she just let something slip?
I don't know. And that bothers me.
⸻
Later that afternoon, a knock sounds at my door. Before I can answer, Uwar Gida steps inside, draped in a flowing abaya.
"Get ready," she says. "We're going shopping."
I blink. "Shopping?"
"Yes. You need new clothes. New jewelry. New everything. Alhaji has given me permission to make sure you start looking like his wife."
His wife. The words sit like stones in my stomach, but I nod.
As I move to wear something appropriate, her phone rings. She answers immediately, her voice softening.
"Yes, my son?"
I freeze.
"Where am I?" she repeats, glancing at me. "I'm in Hauwa's apartment."
Seconds pass before she smiles. "Ah, okay. Just come."
In less than five minutes, the door opens again—and there he is.
Ali.
His black polo clings to his toned arms. He glances between his mother and me, smiling cheerfully.
"Good afternoon, Ma," he greets, then turns to me.
Our eyes meet.
"Good afternoon," he says, his voice lower this time.
A strange warmth prickles my skin. I nod, murmuring a quiet response.
Uwar Gida adjusts her scarf. "I'm taking Hauwa shopping. The driver should be here soon."
Ali frowns slightly. "I can take you both."
She waves him off. "No, it's fine."
"It's not an inconvenience," he insists, then turns to me. "You don't mind, do you?"
I hesitate. Unsure.
Uwar Gida watches me with mild curiosity.
"It's okay," I say finally.
Ali smiles slightly. "Settled then. Let's go."
⸻
The Shopping Mall is everything I expect—extravagant, elegant, and completely out of my comfort zone. The boutique section is the first place we enter. Uwar Gida picks out clothes, jewelry, and perfumes without asking my opinion. The attendants bag everything like it's routine.
At the phone section, she turns to me. "You'll need a new one."
An iPhone—the latest model—gets added to the growing list of things I now own.
By the end, I have more than I ever imagined. Clothes, jewelry, shoes, skincare—things I never asked for but am now expected to wear.
Outside, she places a card in my hand. "Your ATM card. An upkeep allowance will be sent to you every month."
I stare at it, sitting pretty on my palm.
"Thank you," I murmur.
⸻
On the drive back, Uwar Gida turns to her son. "Drop me at my friend, Alhaja's place. We have something important to discuss."
Ali nods and changes routes.
Minutes later, he pulls up in front of a grand house. Uwar Gida gathers her things, a few skincare products she had picked out earlier at the mall, then turns to me. "Make sure you check everything out when you get home. I'll see you later."
Then she's gone.
Ali exhales, tapping the steering wheel. "Guess it's just us now," he murmurs before pulling back onto the road.
My stomach twists in a tense but pleasant way. I don't know how to describe the feeling, but I know I feel both scared and excited.
When we arrive home, the estate is its usual quiet self. Most people are either napping or out, and the maids are nowhere to be seen.
Ali parks and comes around to open the door for me.
I hesitate, my arms full of bags. He reaches over and takes most of them.
"You don't have to—"
"It's fine," he cuts in smoothly. "Just lead the way."
Inside, the apartment is eerily silent. Sisi is nowhere around, Allah be praised.
Ali sets the bags down. I turn to thank him, but the words catch in my throat.
He's watching me.
That same meaningful look. That same intensity.
And for the first time, I wonder—What exactly does he see when he looks at me?
He straightens, rolling his shoulders. I fidget with my sleeves, unsure of what to say.
"Thank you," I murmur.
Ali smiles. "You don't have to thank me, Hauwa."
Something in his tone makes my skin prickle.
His gaze drops lower, lingering on my lips.
And then—
"You have beautiful lips."
My breath catches.
I blink. Did I hear him correctly?
Ali doesn't look away. His dark eyes trace the curve of my mouth, slow and deliberate.
This is wrong.
Heat flushes through me, but beneath it is fear. If Alhaji ever finds out…
And yet, I don't move away.
"Perfectly sculpted," he murmurs. "Like they were designed just to drive a man insane."
I open my mouth—to protest, to say something—but no words come.
No one has ever looked at me like this before.
Ali takes a step closer.
Then another.
Soon, he stands right in front of me, his scent wrapping around me like a second skin. My heart pounds wildly.
Then, gently, he reaches for my hands.
His fingers brush against mine before he takes both hands in his own.
I freeze, breath hitching.
"Hauwa…" His voice is quieter now. "I'm sorry."
I frown. "Sorry?"
"For my father." His grip tightens slightly. "For what he's done. For what he's doing."
I have never expected an apology from anyone in this family. It feels good.
Ali exhales. "You're not alone in this. I care about you, Hauwa." His thumb brushes over my palm, sending shivers up my spine. "I will always protect you."
I stare at him, completely speechless.
The world feels like it's tilting.
Ali isn't supposed to say things like this. It's haram.
I want to look away, but I don't.
Something inside me cracks, an invisible barrier I hadn't realized I'd built. I'm helpless against the way his voice wraps around my name, the way his touch sends little sparks through my skin.
Then, slowly, he reaches down and cups my face in his palm.
I suck in a breath.
His hand is warm, his thumb lightly grazing my cheek. My skin tingles.
Ali's gaze drops to my lips again.
And then—he leans in.
Closer.
His breath fans against my mouth, his lips barely an inch away. My eyelids flutter, my body swaying slightly toward him.
Just when I think he might kiss me, he exhales shakily and whispers—
"Marry me, Hauwa."