23| Something Possessive

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W O R D C O U N T: 5012

Please read the previous chapter before reading this one, incase you directly opened this one. It was a double update.

Anaabiya's chest heaved, her fingers trembling slightly from the force of her own actions, but her gaze—fierce and unwavering—held no regret.

Humza slowly turned his head back to her, his expression eerily blank.

She had some audacity.

Fury coiled in his veins, thick and scorching, demanding release. She was his. And yet here she was, feeling for someone else, crying over another man, slapping him as if she had any right.

But this wasn't even a real marriage. Some part of him screamed but he shrugged the thought away.

His fists clenched at his sides, his control hanging by a thread.

It took everything in him not to remind her exactly who he was.

Humza took a step forward.

Anaabiya instinctively moved back.

His eyes flicked around the room, catching the stunned expressions of the staff and guards who had just witnessed what no one had ever dared to do—strike him.

His blood boiled. His pride, his control, his very authority had been challenged in front of them.

And he would not allow it.

"Out. Everyone. Now."

His voice was lethal, slicing through the tension like a blade.

No one hesitated after that. Footsteps shuffled hastily, gazes dropped to the floor, and within seconds, the room emptied, leaving only the two of them.

A deadly silence settled between them.

Humza inhaled sharply through his nose, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached. His cheek still burned from her slap, but it was nothing compared to the fire raging inside him.

"This was a mistake," he seethed, voice gravelly with restrained fury.

Anaabiya lifted her chin, eyes flashing with defiance. "You are a mistake."

His lips twitched into a smirk—one devoid of humor. But his eyes... his eyes were wild. Unpredictable. Dangerous.

"You have no idea what you've just done," he murmured, almost as if he was amused by her audacity. "You'll regret this."

"What will you do, huh? Kill me?" she hissed, stepping closer instead of retreating. Challenging him. "Go ahead! You already said I have no family, no one who would care if I die. So do it!"

Her hands shot forward, grabbing his wrist, forcing the cold weight of his gun against her forehead.

"Pull the trigger, Humza!" she screamed, eyes blazing with something that made his chest tighten. "Isn't that what you do best?"

His grip on the gun remained steady. Unwavering.

He could feel her breath—shaky, rapid—against the barrel. The metal pressed against her skin, a single move away from ending everything.

And yet, he did nothing.

His finger hovered over the trigger, but he didn't squeeze.

Because he couldn't.

He had killed before—many times, without hesitation, without regret. Yet now, standing here, staring into her unyielding eyes, he felt something foreign, something unexplainable, something infuriating.

She should be afraid. She should be begging. She should know that he was not the kind of man to test.

Instead, she was challenging him. Pushing him. Daring him.

Foolish. So fucking foolish.

He exhaled sharply and, without her noticing, flicked the safety back on. Because if he didn't, if something went wrong, if even by accident—

No.

His jaw ticked.

She was trembling, but it wasn't from fear. It was from sheer, unrelenting rage.

So was he.

Humza's eyes burned with a dark intensity, an unreadable glimmer that was both twisted and terrifying as he fixed his gaze on her. In the charged silence of the room, she sneered, her voice hoarse and laced with defiance, "What? Afraid, Mr. Mafia?" Her taunt cut through the tension like a knife. The situation was spiraling out of control—and even though he had ordered everyone to leave, he couldn't risk anyone else hearing, for if the guards or staff discovered his hesitation, they would conclude that she meant something to him. That thought alone made her a dangerous target—a pawn for his enemies to use against him.

Determined to make a statement, to show everyone that she was nothing more than a nuisance he could dismiss at will, he began to speak, his voice low and dangerous. He needed to ensure that his reputation remained untarnished, that no one ever doubted his ruthlessness.

Without warning, his hand shot out and clamped around her wrist with a crushing grip, so forceful that she staggered. "Aren't you pushing your luck too much, woman?" he growled, his breath hot against her skin, his fury radiating in palpable waves. The raw power in his voice sent tremors through her, yet she met him with equal fire. "I'm just getting started," she spat. "You said I'd regret it—what are you going to do, punish me?"

His grip tightened further, nails biting into her flesh as he leaned in close. "Is that what you want?" he murmured, his tone laced with a menace far beyond simple anger—a promise of retribution that chilled her to the bone. In that moment, he moved. With brutal, uncompromising force, he wrenched her forward, dragging her so roughly that she nearly lost her footing.

"Let go of me!" she screamed, twisting and kicking in a desperate bid to break free. Her cries mingled with the echo of his relentless presence, a violent dance of power and defiance that left no doubt: this was not a game, but a declaration. And deep inside, Humza seethed with the knowledge that if anyone learned he had hesitated—even for a heartbeat—she would be marked, a vulnerability exploited by his enemies. That possibility ignited a furious determination in him, one that promised nothing but ruthless retribution.

The room pulsed with the intensity of their struggle—a clash of wills where every heartbeat pounded with raw, unfiltered rage and desperate need for control. In that charged moment, Humza's expression revealed the true cost of his fury—a simmering storm that threatened to consume everything, even as he silently vowed that no one would ever use her against him again.

"Shut. The. Fuck. Up." Humza's voice tore through the air, raw and unforgiving, vibrating with barely restrained fury. The walls themselves seemed to shudder under the weight of his rage.

"Humza, stop!" she gasped, her steps stumbling as she struggled to keep up with his relentless pace.

But he didn't stop.

Didn't slow.

Didn't even acknowledge her protests.

He was a storm tearing through the dimly lit corridors, dragging her in his wake with an iron grip that refused to loosen.

"You were desperate to know your punishment, weren't you?" he sneered, his voice laced with cruel mockery.

"Let me go, Humza!" she shouted, voice sharp with fury and laced with something else—panic.

He ignored it.

His jaw was locked, his expression carved from stone as he hauled her forward. The few staff who had dared remain on the first floor froze at the sight, their gazes flicking to the ground, terrified of drawing his attention.

Good. Let them see.

After Zauq's betrayal, he had learned the hard way that trust was a fool's weakness. He couldn't afford another lapse in judgment. Couldn't afford to let them believe she meant something. Because the second they did, she would become a weapon to be used against him.

So he made sure they saw this. The way she struggled. The way she screamed. The way he didn't yield.

They needed to know that no one—no one—defied Humza and walked away unscathed and she didn't mean anything to him.

He took her to her room.

The door slammed shut behind him with a resounding thud, sealing them inside.

Humza barely registered the sound. His pulse was a dull, steady drum in his ears, his body thrumming with an energy he couldn't place.

Anaabiya turned to face him, breathless, her wide eyes burning with fury, defiance... and something else. Something wary.

"What are you trying to do?" she demanded, her voice unsteady.

Humza let out a low chuckle, dark and taunting.

And then—he began unbuttoning his shirt.

Slowly. Deliberately.

He didn't have to do this. The show he had put on outside was enough—convincing, ruthless. There was no need to continue it behind closed doors.

And yet, he did.

Because he wanted to remind her who was in control. Because the fire in her eyes, the defiance in her voice, made him want to push her just a little more.

Because he couldn't stand the thought of her wasting another tear over that bastard, Uzair.

He saw it immediately. The way her body went rigid, the way her hands curled into fists at her sides, the way her breathing turned uneven. He wasn't blind. He could see the panic creeping into her gaze, the warning bells ringing in her head.

Good.

Step by step, he closed the distance between them.

Step by step, she backed away.

His smirk deepened. She had so much fire, yet right now, she looked so damn breakable. He hated how it made something twist inside him.

Her back met the wall.

Her breath hitched.

"I swear, Humza, if you take one more step—"

He tilted his head, amused. "Or what?"

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed.

Then she moved.

He saw it the moment she made the decision—the flicker of desperation in her eyes, the sudden shift of her stance—and then she was bolting.

Toward the door.

Toward escape.

Humza moved faster.

Before her fingers could even brush the handle, he caught her. His arms wrapped around her waist, yanking her back against him with such force that a sharp gasp tore from her lips.

Her body collided with his.

Soft against hard.

His grip tightened. Unyielding.

And then—slowly, effortlessly—he turned her around to face him.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her hands braced against him as if trying to push him away, but she had no idea how much worse that made it.

Humza stared down at her, his jaw clenched.

He didn't know what he wanted.

To punish her? To break her? To prove a point?

Or to do something far, far worse?

"What are you running from?" His voice was low, taunting, dripping with amusement as he stared at her like a predator cornering its prey. His grip was firm, his body thrumming with something dark, something he wasn't ready to name.

Anaabiya's eyes blazed with fury. "You're insane," she spat, twisting in his hold, fighting against him.

Humza smirked. She never learned.

Without another word, he moved.

A startled cry tore from her throat as he lifted her with ease, throwing her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing.

His grip on her legs was unrelenting, his muscles flexing as she fought him, her fists slamming against his back, her legs kicking in protest.

"Put me down, you psycho! Let me go!" she screamed, her voice laced with fury and panic.

He didn't even flinch.

His strides were steady, unwavering, as he carried her across the room with a singular purpose.

She kept struggling, thrashing, her hands clawing at his back, but it only made his jaw tighten. Did she really think she could fight him off? That she had any power here?

And then—he flung her onto the bed.

The mattress dipped beneath her weight, her body bouncing slightly against the sheets. But she had no time to recover.

Because before she could even sit up, before she could form another one of her sharp-mouthed insults, he was already there.

Towering over her.

Trapping her beneath his shadow.

His chest rose and fell with measured control, though inside, he could feel the storm brewing.

She looked up at him, her breath shaky, her hands gripping the sheets beneath her. But her eyes still burned.

Still defied him.

He should've been furious.

He should've wanted to break her for it.

But all he could think about was how much he hated that fire.

And how much more he wanted to claim it.

Her hands flew to his chest, shoving him with all her strength. "Get off me!"

He didn't move.

"Cheating women like you should be taught a lesson," he spat, his voice sharp, but his grip on her didn't tighten.

Her body trembled—not just with fear, but with anger. With helplessness.

Her hijab had slipped, the fabric pooling onto the bed beside her. Strands of silken hair spilled over the pillow, framing her face in a chaotic mess.

Humza stilled.

Something unfamiliar twisted inside him.

His free hand moved before he could stop it, fingers brushing against the strands, feeling the softness against his skin.

He had never touched anything like it before. It was smooth, weightless, slipping through his fingers like silk. He twirled a lock around his finger, watching it fall away, mesmerized by the way it caught the dim light of the room.

Why hadn't he noticed this before?

Why hadn't he noticed her before?

Maybe because he was too occupied that night to calm her down as he tried to wake her up from her nightmare.

When he had first met her, he hadn't cared to look at her—had barely even spared her a glance. She had been nothing more than a means to an end. A deal. A necessity forced upon him by his mother's ridiculous condition.

Marry her, or the house goes.

The house his father had made with all his love. The house that held all the beautiful memories of his once happy family.

He had hated his mother for it. Hated her for using his father's house as leverage but he had no choice. So, he had agreed, signing away his freedom with no interest in the woman he was tying himself to. She could've been anyone. He hadn't cared.

But now... now he did.

Now, he couldn't stop looking at her.

And he hated it.

"Don't touch me." Her voice was low, shaky, but full of defiance.

His gaze snapped to hers, unreadable, unwavering.

A smirk curled at the corner of his lips. Wicked. Knowing.

"I'll do whatever I want," he murmured, his fingers tangling deeper into her hair. He gave a slight tug, forcing her to meet his gaze head-on. "My house. My bed. My wife."

"I don't belong to you. You're disgusting," she spat, fury burning in her gaze.

He chuckled. A dark, amused sound. But underneath it, there was something else.

Something possessive.

"You should've thought about that before slapping me," he murmured. "I will teach you a good lesson."

She yanked against his hold, struggling, fighting, refusing to submit.

Humza exhaled sharply.

The fire in her...

He should hate it.

But he didn't.

He enjoyed it.

He had never been the kind of man who lusted after a woman. Never.

Love? He despised it. He had seen what it did—how it made a man weak, how it mocked his dead father's memory, blind and helpless in the face of his mother's betrayal. Love was a curse. A sickness. And he had sworn he would never fall victim to it. If his loving mother could move on so fast, how could he expect loyalty from anyone else?

But Anaabiya—

Anaabiya made him feel things he had no name for. She made him burn.

And he hated it.

He hated how, despite every ounce of control he had, she was the one unraveling him. How the fire in her eyes, the way she fought, the way she looked at him as if she would rather die than submit to him—it was intoxicating. It made his blood roar in his veins.

And now, pressed against her, feeling the shape of her beneath him, the soft rise and fall of her chest against his, her full lips trembling, he felt himself slipping.

Losing control.

He could feel himself being so aroused.

He knew it was wrong. He knew this wasn't him.

But just once—

Just once, he wanted to know.

His gaze dropped to her lips, a perfect shade of pink, trembling, slightly parted as she struggled against him. He imagined how they would feel, how they would taste, and something dark and primal clawed its way to the surface.

Without another thought, without another moment to stop himself—

Humza grabbed her jaw, his fingers digging into the delicate skin, and crashed his lips onto hers.

It wasn't gentle. It wasn't soft. It was punishing. A raw, bruising claim. As if it could erase any memory she had of Uzair.

She tried to pull away, to turn her head, but his grip was unyielding. She struggled, her hands shoving at his chest, her muffled protests lost against his mouth, but he didn't let go.

The moment he felt her lips against his, warm and soft and trembling, something in him snapped.

The world faded. The walls he had built so carefully, the control he prided himself on—it all crumbled in an instant.

She tasted like defiance, like fire, like something he never should have had but craved anyway.

And that terrified him.

Humza had never craved anything in his life.

Power, control, dominance—those were things he took, things that were his by right. But this?

This was something entirely different.

His lips pressed against hers, rough and unrelenting, but she refused to yield. She clenched her mouth shut, denying him, resisting him even now. And it only fueled the fire raging inside him.

His tongue flicked against her lips, demanding entrance, coaxing, teasing—but she was stubborn, as always.

His patience, already hanging by a thread, snapped.

With a growl, he bit down on her lower lip, sharp enough to draw a startled gasp from her. And that was all he needed.

The moment her lips parted, he took advantage, his tongue slipping inside, tasting her.

And fuck—he had never felt anything like this before.

She was warm and soft, her taste intoxicating, and he was drowning in her. His tongue brushed against hers, slow, deliberate, savoring every second. He had expected her to recoil, to stiffen in disgust, but her body betrayed her—just for a fraction of a second. And that fraction was enough to undo him.

A deep, primal hunger coiled in his gut.

He wanted more.

He wanted all of her.

He pressed in closer, his hand sliding up, tangling into her hair, tilting her head to deepen the kiss. She belonged to him. Only him. And he wanted to make her understand that, to burn the truth into her so deeply she would never forget.

She pushed against his chest, nails digging into his skin, but he barely felt it.

All he could feel was her.

And he didn't want to stop.

Humza felt the sharp sting of her teeth sinking into his tongue, a desperate attempt to push him away. But instead of stopping, instead of pulling back in pain—he only groaned into her mouth, the sound deep and guttural, vibrating through his chest.

His grip on her tightened, his fingers tangling deeper into her hair, anchoring her in place as he devoured her. She wasn't getting away. Not from this. Not from him.

His kiss was ruthless, punishing—purgatory and paradise all at once. He didn't just kiss her; he claimed her, possessing every inch of her mouth like it was his by right. Every flick of his tongue was a demand, every movement a declaration that she was his to touch, his to taste, his.

And she fought him—of course she did. But her struggles only made the fire in his blood burn hotter.

She could fight, resist, claw at his skin all she wanted. None of it mattered.

Because the moment he had her beneath him, tasting her, owning her—he knew.

He wasn't going to stop.

Humza could feel it—the way her resistance was weakening, the way her frantic thrashing had slowed, her body going rigid beneath him. He knew she was struggling for air, knew he should stop, but damn it, he didn't want to.

Not when she moaned against his lips, not when her hands—small yet insistent—pushed at his bare chest, as if she could create distance between them.

But there was no distance. There never had been.

His breathing was ragged, his pulse hammering like a war drum, but he forced himself to pull away. Slowly. Reluctantly.

The moment their lips separated, a shuddering gasp escaped her, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she gulped in air.

Humza stared at her, his own breath uneven, his gaze locked onto her swollen lips—red and glistening from his kiss. A part of him felt victorious. The other? Restless. Agitated.

Because even though he had let her go, even though the kiss had ended...

It wasn't enough.

He wanted more. All of her. And he didn't know if he'd ever stop wanting.

Her whisper sliced through him like a blade. He began to lean in, going for more.

"Please... no!"

It wasn't a scream. It wasn't defiance. It was something worse. A quiet, broken plea that sent a violent shudder through his entire being.

Humza stilled. His breath was heavy, uneven, his body wound so tight it ached. He could feel the warmth of her skin beneath him, the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the way her lips—still swollen from his kiss—quivered ever so slightly.

He had been ready to take more. To claim what was already his. To drown in her, lose himself in the taste of her, the feel of her. But then she had turned away, rejecting him—not with force, not with fire, but with fear.

And that did something to him.

Humza didn't stop her.

Blow after blow, she rained her fists against his chest, her shoulders shaking with the force of her fury. She struck him like she wanted to tear him apart, like she wanted to break him down piece by piece. But he just lay there, unmoved, letting her vent every ounce of rage she had in her small, furious body.

"You are a monster."

He felt the tremor in her voice, the raw hatred in her words, but it didn't faze him. Not at first. He had been called worse. He had done worse.

He could see it was tiring her.

She struck again—one last time—and before her knuckles could connect with his shoulder, he caught her wrists, locking them above her head. His full weight settled over her, pressing her into the mattress. He felt the sharp rise and fall of her chest against his, her warmth searing into his skin.

"Stop being childish," he bit out, his voice low, steady. "This was to punish you. You asked for it, remember?"

She twisted beneath him, her wrists jerking against his grip, but she was trapped. Completely, utterly trapped.

Her next words made his stomach clench.

"I hate you."

Humza smirked, but something inside him twisted at the venom in her voice.

"Mutual feelings, darling," he sneered, but even he heard the edge in his own voice. The reality was far from it. "But I must say, I'm honored to be your first." He meant to provoke her, to remind her that he had been the first to claim her lips, the first to push her past her limits. But the way her expression changed—the flicker of something dangerous in her eyes—made unease creep up his spine.

Then, she spoke.

"You're wrong. You weren't my first."

The words slammed into him like a gunshot.

His grip on her wrists tightened instinctively.

She was lying. She had to be lying.

"You're lying," he said coldly, his voice sharper than intended.

Anaabiya only smiled, slow and taunting. "I'm not. Why would I?"

His jaw locked.

He knew women. He had kissed more than his fair share of them. He knew the hesitation of inexperience, the stiffness of someone unfamiliar with the act.

And she—she had been all those things.

"Hah!" A humorless laugh left his lips. "You don't even know how to kiss. This was your first. I'd bet my life on it."

He smirked again, forcing himself to appear unaffected, but there was something boiling beneath his skin—something he couldn't name.

Her next words pushed him over the edge.

"Then go ahead and die, because I'm not lying."

Something inside him snapped.

His fingers curled tighter around her wrists, his breathing coming harsher.

"It's not that I don't know how to do it. I've done it plenty of times. I'm just not attracted to you."

He didn't realize how hard he was clenching his jaw until the sharp sting of pain radiated through it.

She leaned in, her breath fanning against his face, her next words slicing straight through him.

"Being in your arms disgusts me."

A thick, suffocating silence settled between them.

His breaths were uneven, chest rising and falling with the force of emotions he didn't want to name. He felt the phantom weight of her beneath him, the heat of her skin still lingering against his own. It should have satisfied him, should have put her in her place. But instead, all he felt was a gnawing frustration, a hunger that had nothing to do with desire and everything to do with the fact that she got to him.

She wasn't supposed to.

Humza had spent his whole life being feared, being obeyed. He had seen hatred in people's eyes before. But this? This was different. This wasn't just hatred.

This was contempt.

And it made something ugly and possessive unfurl deep inside him.

A muscle ticked in his jaw as he forced himself to pull back, his hands still braced on either side of her. His blood burned, every nerve in his body screaming at him to take what he wanted—what he deserved.

But for the first time in his life, Humza hesitated.

He hated it.

He hated the way she made him feel—like his own desires were suddenly at war with something deeper, something unsettling. He should have ignored her plea, should have ignored what she was saying. He should have taken what was his without a second thought but he couldn't.

The thought of her with Uzair made his blood boil. The mere possibility that she had given him her first kiss was enough to send a wave of rage crashing through him. Uzair didn't deserve that. He didn't deserve her.

Humza should have killed him when he had the chance. He should have erased him from existence, wiped him off the face of the earth. But it wasn't too late. If Uzair so much as tried to contact her again—if he even breathed in her direction—Humza would make sure he regretted it.

His eyes flickered to the nightstand, to her phone lying innocently beside her. Without a second thought, he snatched it up, shoved it into his jeans pocket. She wouldn't talk to him. Ever again.

He braced himself for her resistance, for her fury, but—nothing. No fight. No anger. She just lay there, staring at the ceiling, her breaths steady but hollow.

Humza hated it. He hated the stillness, the lack of fire in her eyes. He wanted her to fight, to scream at him, to prove that he hadn't broken her.

His mind raced with a thousand conflicting thoughts, but one burned brighter than the rest—he wanted her.

Not like this. Not in anger. Not when she loathed him.

He wanted her willingly.

He wanted her to look at him without hatred. He wanted to erase the disgust he had seen in her eyes, but he never wanted to extinguish that fire. He wanted her sharp tongue, her defiance, the way she stood up to him like she wasn't afraid—even when she should be.

And more than that, he wanted to protect her. To keep her safe, to make sure nothing and no one ever hurt her.

The realization unsettled him. He didn't do attachments. He didn't do care. But this woman—his wife—was weaving herself into his thoughts in ways he couldn't control.

He couldn't erase the fact that she had a past. That she had a life before him. And no matter how much he hated it, no matter how much it burned him from the inside out, there was nothing he could do to change it.

For the first time in his life, Humza felt powerless. And he hated it.

His hands curled into fists, nails digging into his palms as he fought the urge to turn back. To look at her. To do something.

His strides were slow but heavy, each step carrying the weight of everything he refused to acknowledge. He reached the door, unbolted it with more force than necessary. The creak of the hinges felt deafening in the silence between them.

Still, he didn't look at her.

Didn't let himself take in the rise and fall of her chest, the way her lips were swollen from his kiss, the way her hair was splayed across the sheets like a dark halo.

If he did, he wouldn't be able to leave.

So he stepped out. Walked away without a word, without a glance, even when every part of him screamed to stay.

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E D I T E D on 23.2.2025