25| His Wife

H I S   W I F E

W O R D  C O U N T: 2621

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The performance for the night was not supposed to take place in the main foyer and as Anaabiya stepped into the grand hall where the much-anticipated performance of the night was about to take place, she immediately sensed his presence. It wasn't because she was looking for him—at least, that's what she told herself. But the moment he entered the room, something in the air shifted.

She refused to believe it had anything to do with her own heightened awareness of him. Humza was excruciatingly handsome—that was a fact, not an opinion. It was impossible to imagine that every woman in the room didn't notice him the second he walked in.

The seats were already filled, round tables elegantly arranged throughout the hall. Laughter and hushed conversations filled the space as people settled in. He arrived late, making an entrance with effortless confidence, the beautiful woman still at his side. Anaabiya reminded herself of what Rafiya Aunty had told her—that the woman was a trained security personnel, nothing more. Some part of her, a part she didn't want to acknowledge, felt at ease knowing that.

Maybe she had been wrong about him.

Maybe he wasn't the Casanova she had believed him to be.

Her gaze dropped to the table where her name had been placed. It was surrounded by women, with Ahad being the only exception. The realization settled in instantly. This was his doing.

Of course, it was.

Humza slipped into a chair near the front, surrounded by his business associates, his posture relaxed yet commanding. From where Anaabiya sat at the back of the dimly lit hall, she remained motionless, watching him settle in for the performance. He hadn't looked her way—not even once. The shadows and the romantic golden glow cast by the chandeliers cloaked her presence, making it unlikely that he could see her.

Still, she couldn't shake the thought that he always knew exactly where she was.

Her gaze reluctantly shifted to the center of the room, where Miss Catherine made her grand entrance. The foreign dancer moved with an effortless sensuality, her body a hypnotic blend of grace and temptation. Dressed in a crimson two-piece ensemble that hugged her curves, the fabric shimmered with every flick of her hips. Tiny golden embellishments adorned the edges, jingling softly as she moved. The deep neckline and sheer sleeves only added to the illusion of delicate elegance, though there was nothing delicate about the way she owned the space around her.

The air grew thick with anticipation, the men entranced by the slow, deliberate way she moved. Her long, dark hair cascaded down her back, bouncing lightly with every fluid step. With a knowing smirk, she let her gaze wander across the room, teasing, luring, as if silently promising a taste of something forbidden.

Anaabiya's stomach twisted as she observed the men around her. Their eyes burned with open hunger, their restraint hanging by a thread. Some whispered amongst themselves, others leaned forward in their seats, utterly spellbound. A few even reached out boldly as she twirled past, attempting to grasp her waist, but she was quicker—always slipping just out of reach at the last second, a playful glint in her eyes.

Anaabiya clenched her jaw, repulsed by the scene.

Her gaze shifted back to Humza. Unlike the other men, he remained composed, leaning back in his chair, watching the performance with unreadable detachment. He wasn't reaching for her, nor was he watching her with the same lustful admiration as the others. He simply observed, cool and unaffected.

And then, as if sensing her stare, he turned his head.

His eyes met hers across the room, cutting through the dimly lit space as if he had known exactly where she was all along.

Her breath hitched.

The moment lasted only a second—just long enough for her stomach to twist in confusion—before he turned back to the performance, as if the brief exchange had never happened.

Miss Catherine continued her dance, moving from table to table, trailing her fingers along the backs of chairs, her lips curved into a teasing smile. The men grew more eager, their hands bold and desperate. Some nearly yanked her into their laps, but she merely laughed, expertly maneuvering away, playing the part of an untouchable temptation.

And then Anaabiya's worst fear came true.

The dancer was advancing towards Humza's table.

The dancer's gaze was locked onto Humza, her eyes offering silent, sultry invitations. Every tilt of her head, every slow, deliberate sway of her hips was meant for him.

Anaabiya didn't know why that bothered her so much.

She told herself she was merely observing—nothing more. Just curiosity. She wanted to see if he would react the way the other men had, if he would reach for the dancer with the same desperate hunger they displayed.

Because wasn't this exactly who he was? A man incapable of loyalty. A man who had never hidden what he was. If anything, this would only confirm what she already knew. She should have felt smug. Vindicated.

But instead, an uncomfortable weight settled in her chest.

Disappointment.

It coiled around her heart, heavy and suffocating, leaving her slumped slightly in her chair.

As the performance concluded, Anaabiya couldn't help but notice the way Miss Catherine, after graciously accepting her applause, strutted confidently toward Humza. Her lips curved into a slow, seductive smile—the kind Anaabiya was quite certain she could never master, even if she had a dozen belly dancers coaching her.

There was no mistaking the meaning behind that smile.

Good heavens, the man didn't even need to chase women. They practically fell at his feet.

It was disgusting. Truly, profoundly disgusting.

And yet... Anaabiya couldn't look away.

Humza, for his part, seemed entirely at ease with the attention. He offered the dancer a mysterious half-smile before reaching out and—Anaabiya's breath caught—tucking an errant lock of her raven hair behind her ear.

A shiver ran down her spine.

Now he was leaning in, whispering something close to her ear. Anaabiya found herself leaning forward slightly as if, by some miracle, she might actually hear what he was saying.

Not that she cared. Of course not.

But still—did he just kiss her neck? Or was it just another whisper? Surely, even he wouldn't be that brazen. Not with his mother present.

She shook her head. Then again, what else had she expected? Maybe the security personnel was just a show for others, but was this? Was this also some elaborate deception?

"Anaabiya? Anaabiya?"

She blinked, barely registering the voice beside her.

"Anaabiya?"

"Right! Yes?" she stammered, nearly jumping in her seat as she turned toward Ahad, who was watching her with an unmistakably irritated expression.

"Can you stop making it so obvious?" he hissed.

"I wasn't—well, all right, maybe I was, but did you see him?" Anaabiya whispered urgently. "He's shameless."

She stole another glance in Humza's direction.

He was still there, still effortlessly charming, still utterly unfazed by who might be watching. And Miss Catherine, hanging on his every word, looked more than pleased with the attention.

Anaabiya clenched her jaw.

He obviously didn't care who saw them.

A few guests stepped forward to greet Miss Catherine, their admiration evident in their eager expressions.

"Forget that! Let's go. You're going to introduce me to her," Ahad declared, already tugging at Anaabiya's wrist. "She performed so well."

Anaabiya scoffed, digging her heels in. "I am not going. I don't even know her. How exactly am I supposed to introduce you?" she whispered sharply.

Ahad gave her a pointed look, as if the answer were the most obvious thing in the world. "You're the host's wife."

She opened her mouth to argue, but he wasn't wrong. The realization only made her more irritated.

She had no real desire to go up there and embarrass herself. But Miss Catherine was still beside Humza, still speaking to him as if the rest of the room didn't exist. That, more than anything, made Anaabiya straighten her spine and rise to her feet.

Much as she hated to admit it—especially while the woman in question was all over Humza—Miss Catherine moved like liquid silk, effortlessly graceful and confident.

"I'd suggest you don't go there."

Anaabiya nearly jumped out of her skin at the unexpected whisper from behind her. She whirled around, clutching her chest.

"Ya Allah! You scared me," she accused, shooting a glare at Huzaifa.

He barely reacted, his expression unusually serious. "Stay here. Don't go over there," he said, almost as if he were requesting rather than ordering.

Anaabiya narrowed her eyes. "And why exactly would I listen to you?"

"Please, we'll just be back after meeting her," Ahad interjected before Huzaifa could answer. Then, without another word, he tugged Anaabiya along, completely ignoring Huzaifa's warning.

With Ahad's arm firmly guiding her forward, Anaabiya made her way toward the front of the room, forcing herself to wait for an appropriate moment to greet the performer.

Ahad, she noticed, seemed far too excited about the introduction, his face alight with anticipation. Typical man. She rolled her eyes at his enthusiasm.

Meanwhile, even as Miss Catherine acknowledged other guests, her attention remained firmly on Humza. The way she kept speaking to him, as if he were the only person in the room, sent an annoying prick of irritation through Anaabiya.

Finally, they reached the front of the small crowd. The moment Humza's gaze landed on her, Anaabiya saw the briefest flicker of tension in his eyes. But just as quickly, he masked it, effortlessly slipping back into his casual demeanor.

"Hello, Miss! That was an exceptional performance. We were delighted to be your spectators," Ahad chirped beside her, grinning like he was meeting a celebrity.

Anaabiya, however, barely heard a word. Her attention was elsewhere—on Humza, who stood effortlessly at the center of attention, surrounded by stunning women. They all seemed to belong in his orbit, like they were made to be near him. Unlike her.

She lost track of the conversation until a sultry voice broke through her thoughts.

"And you are?"

Anaabiya snapped back to the moment, realizing Miss Catherine was addressing her. Almost immediately, Ahad nudged her.

"I'm his wife."

The words left her lips smoothly, but her eyes moved to Humza as she said them, as if emphasizing their meaning. It was unnecessary. Petty, even. But she wanted to say it. She wanted Miss Catherine to hear it.

"Really?" Miss Catherine's lips curled in amusement, her eyes flicking between Anaabiya and Humza as if she had just been let in on a joke.

Humza, however, looked less entertained. There was a flicker of irritation in his expression, but before Anaabiya could feel smug about it, he turned the tables on her.

"Let's be the ones to commence the couple's dance tonight," he announced smoothly.

Anaabiya's stomach twisted as she watched Miss Catherine extend her delicate hand to him, an invitation laced with meaning.

And Humza took it.

"Nice meeting you," Miss Catherine said with a polite nod before letting Humza lead her away, leaving Anaabiya standing there like an afterthought.

A foolish, humiliated afterthought.

The onlookers were watching. She could feel their eyes on her, feel the weight of their silent judgments. Humza's wife—who clearly meant nothing to him.

Anaabiya clenched her fists by her side, swallowing the bitter lump in her throat.

Anaabiya slipped out of the foyer and into the dimly lit corridor that led to various rooms she had never bothered to explore. The air was cooler here, quieter, away from the suffocating crowd. She had sent Ahad off to fetch her a juice, and the moment he was out of sight, she bolted—desperate for a moment of solitude.

She sank onto a cushioned bench about ten yards from the foyer, sighing in relief as she let her head fall back against the wall. The silence was a blessing. No murmuring guests. No prying eyes. No one to witness the storm of emotions swirling inside her.

For a few minutes, she reveled in the stillness, pleased that no one had thought to spill into the corridor. But then—just as she began to relax—a voice rose above the low hum of the crowd.

A voice she would recognize anywhere.

Humza.

And that laugh. That unmistakable, musical laughter.

Anaabiya's stomach twisted. She didn't need to turn around to know who was with him. The oh-so-sensuous Miss Catherine.

"Oh, for God's sake," she muttered under her breath.

The last thing she needed was for them to find her sitting here alone like some tragic wallflower. She could already imagine their assumptions—Humza thinking she had fled the party like a miserable, unsociable failure. That she was incapable of holding her own in a room full of high society.

Her teeth clenched at the thought. A menace to society, was she?

She wasn't about to sit here and let them stumble upon her like some lost, pitiful creature. No, thank you.

Lifting her gown slightly to avoid tripping, she quickly darted into the nearest doorway, pressing herself against the shadowed interior. If luck was on her side, they'd stroll right past her. Then, she could slip back into the foyer without so much as a second glance in their direction.

Anaabiya quickly scanned the room as she shut the door behind her. A magnificent chandelier hung from the ceiling, its glow casting soft shadows across the space. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she realized she had stumbled into some sort of office.

The walls were lined with books—not enough to be Humza's library, but certainly more than mere decoration. A massive oak desk dominated the center, its surface neatly arranged with papers, a pen stand filled with expensive-looking pens, and an inkpot still glistening faintly under the light.

This wasn't just a showpiece office. Someone actually worked here.

Her curiosity piqued, Anaabiya drifted toward the desk, letting her fingers trail along the smooth wooden edge. The air carried the faint scent of ink and, beneath it, the slightest trace of smoke. It was a room built for deep thought, for quiet contemplation.

A person could easily spend hours here, lost in their own world.

Leaning back against the desk, she exhaled, allowing herself to savor the peaceful solitude—

Until she heard it.

The unmistakable click of a doorknob turning.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Panic surged through her veins as she scrambled for cover, her mind racing for a place to hide. With no time to think, she dove under the desk, squeezing herself into the empty space beneath.

She barely dared to breathe.

Heart pounding, she thanked the heavens that the desk was solid, its paneling concealing her completely.

Now, all she could do was wait.

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E D I T E D  on 25.2.2025