26| Lilies And Roses

L I L I E S   A N D   R O S E S

W O R D C O U N T: 3444

And I will surprise you like this. Just an example joonams 😉

Because I love you guys soooo much.

Vote and comment as much as you can. I wrote this chapter only because of it ☺ ♥

Also it's a mixed POV. A little bit of Anaabiya and a bit of Humza too.

Enjoy!

Anaabiya stiffened as a lilting, feminine voice with a distinct Italian accent filled the room.

"I must say, I'm amazed you settled down so soon. I never thought I'd live to see the day Humza, of all men, would be in love."

Anaabiya bit her lip.

"And who told you I'm in love?" came Humza's unmistakable voice, smooth and unbothered.

A sharp pang shot through her chest. She didn't know why it stung—this was exactly what she had expected. He wasn't lying. This marriage was nothing more than convenience. But hearing it confirmed so casually still left an odd, uncomfortable feeling curling in her stomach.

She shut her eyes in frustration. Trapped in a room with Humza and his would-be lover—could life get any worse?

Well... yes. She could be discovered. That would certainly be worse.

"Oh, come now, Humza," Miss Catherine's voice purred. "It's all anyone talks about. The mighty Humza, finally tamed."

Silence followed, but Anaabiya could practically feel the shrug in his response.

Soft footsteps. A slow, measured movement that made her stomach churn with an inexplicable sense of dread.

"People will believe anything." His voice was dismissive, edged with amusement.

"Then I'm relieved," Miss Catherine said, her tone playful.

Anaabiya wanted to gag.

"You know I'd never break your heart," Humza added, his voice dripping with effortless charm.

"I have no interest in fleeting affairs," Catherine murmured, her voice taking on a coy lilt. "Marriage is out of the question, of course—I'm not a fool. But when I do choose a man, it will be for something more... enduring."

Footsteps again. Was Humza closing the distance between them?

His voice dropped lower, husky and smooth. "I don't see the issue."

"Your wife might," Catherine teased.

Humza chuckled. "The only reason a man gives up a mistress is if he loves his wife. And we both know that isn't the case."

Anaabiya's hands clenched into fists beneath the desk.

This man... this infuriating man.

He flirted with such ease, just as he had with her. So what had been real? What had been an act?

She wanted to grab him by the collar and shake him. Or better yet, march right out of this wretched hiding spot and tell him exactly what she thought of him.

But she couldn't.

So instead, she seethed in silence, trapped with the unbearable knowledge that Humza could charm any woman he wanted—and that she, too, had once fallen for the same easy, reckless charm.

If she weren't currently squatting like an awkward little frog, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees, Anaabiya might have burst out of her hiding place and strangled the man on the spot.

Instead, she remained frozen, straining to decipher the murmured conversation between Humza and Catherine, hoping—praying—that things wouldn't take an unspeakably intimate turn. The mere thought made her stomach churn.

A moment later, Humza's voice emerged, smooth and unhurried.

"Would you like something to drink?"

Catherine hummed in approval, and then Anaabiya heard the steady thud of Humza's footsteps as he strode across the room.

Her heart nearly stopped.

The decanter.

It sat innocently on the windowsill—directly opposite her hiding spot beneath the desk. If he kept his gaze fixed on the glass as he poured, she might just escape detection. But if he turned, even slightly...

Anaabiya's entire body went rigid. She didn't dare breathe. Could eyelids make a sound?

With wide, unblinking eyes, she watched in pure horror as Humza came into view, his tall, athletic frame impossibly imposing from her ridiculous vantage point on the floor.

The crystal tumblers clinked together softly as he set them down, then the pop of the decanter's stopper sent a jolt through her nerves. Amber liquid sloshed into the glasses in a slow, steady pour.

Don't turn around. Don't turn around.

"Everything all right over there?" Catherine's voice drifted lazily across the room.

"Perfect," Humza replied, though his tone carried a hint of distraction.

Then, just as Anaabiya thought he would return to his mistress and leave her in peace, his voice cut through the air again.

"Actually, Catherine, I need a favor."

Anaabiya stiffened.

There was a pause, then Catherine must have gestured for him to continue because he carried on smoothly, "You worked for Malik and Ahmed before, didn't you?"

"Mmm, I did," she responded, sounding mildly curious.

Humza lifted the glasses, his fingers idly tracing the rim of one as he exhaled a low hum, as if deep in thought.

Then—he began to turn.

Anaabiya felt the blood drain from her face.

Keep walking. Keep walking.

If he turned and walked at the same time, he'd go straight back to Catherine, and she'd be safe.

But if he turned first—if his sharp eyes scanned the room before he moved—

She was dead.

And she had no doubt that if he found her crouched beneath his desk like a trespassing fool, he would kill her.

Maybe not literally—but if looks could wound, she'd be left bleeding on the expensive rug.

Slowly, agonizingly, he turned.

And turned.

And didn't walk.

Anaabiya's pulse pounded in her ears, so loud she was sure he could hear it. Every muscle in her body coiled, ready to bolt, but where would she go? She was trapped.

This was it. The end.

She tried to console herself with the thought that dying at twenty-two wasn't that tragic. People had died younger. At least she'd lived long enough to witness her sister's utter indifference toward her, to endure a marriage she hadn't wanted, and to spend what could very well be her final moments suffocating under a desk.

How poetic.

Ya Allah, if I make it out of this alive, I swear I'll never eavesdrop again.

But then she saw his feet shift, his body still angled toward her hiding place.

Waiting.

Sensing.

He knows.

The realization struck like ice through her veins.

Humza knew exactly why he had brought Catherine back to his study. It wasn't for pleasure, nor for the thrill of flirtation—it was for information. She had worked for Malik and Ahmed, two of the most dangerous men in his world, and she could unknowingly reveal something crucial. And yet, the easiest way to get her to talk was to play a part he had long perfected—the charming, rakish man who made women feel as if they were the center of his universe.

Any other man in his position might have been momentarily swayed by her allure. She was undeniably beautiful—long, silken sable hair cascading over one bare shoulder, full lips curved in an enticing smile, dark eyes shimmering with mischief and confidence. She knew her effect on men, and she wielded it like a weapon.

But for Humza, there was nothing. No spark of desire, no pull of attraction. His mind was elsewhere. She was elsewhere.

Anaabiya.

The moment her hurt expression had flashed across his mind, he clenched his jaw. He hadn't meant for her to see him with Catherine, hadn't wanted her to misinterpret the act. But she had, and it bothered him—more than he wanted to admit. Especially because she had looked breathtaking in the gown he had chosen for her. He had wanted to tell her, wanted to run his fingers through the soft waves of her hair, to pull her close and lose himself in the warmth of her scent.

It had taken every ounce of self-restraint not to do so.

And now, sitting across from Catherine, who was purring flirtatious words in his direction, he could think only of his wife. The same wife who had never once listened to him, who had defied him at every turn, who had likely ignored his request to stay away from the scene she found so distasteful.

She was infuriating.

And yet, she was his.

He had tried—tried—to push her out of his thoughts. But the memories taunted him, invaded his mind at every turn. He could not sleep without dreaming of her, could not rest without the persistent ache of longing gnawing at his resolve. He craved her in a way that was beginning to feel like an unbearable torture—wanting her but knowing he could not have her.

He exhaled sharply, forcing himself to focus.

This wasn't the time to think of Anaabiya. He had a role to play, a mission to complete.

But even as he leaned forward, flashing Catherine an effortless smile, his mind remained consumed by the one woman who had no interest in playing his games.

The mere thought of taking Anaabiya to bed sent a shiver through him—half from raw desire, half from the certainty that she'd probably murder him before she ever let it happen. Not unless he made things right between them first. And God knew, he hadn't done that.

But that didn't stop the images from creeping into his mind, unbidden and relentless. The memory of her, warm and soft beneath his touch, the way she tasted—sweet, maddening, utterly addictive.

He used to think he didn't even like Anaabiya. That she was nothing more than a thorn in his side, an obligation wrapped in fire and defiance. And yet, somewhere along the way, he had grown to love that fire.

Now, the thought of having her, of truly possessing her, made his pulse kick hard against his ribs.

Except the only way that fantasy would ever come true was if she were delirious with fever, utterly unaware of what she was doing. Because if she was in her right mind, she'd probably slap him into next week before he got anywhere near her.

Still, something was wrong.

Even as he poured a glass of the finest whiskey for Catherine—one of the few women he knew who could actually appreciate both a rare whiskey and the heady intoxication that followed—his mind was elsewhere.

Because he could smell her.

That maddening combination of lilies and rose. That scent that had clung to him when he had kissed her, that had driven him to the edge of sanity.

His jaw clenched. He knew she was somewhere in the house. Knew she was probably wandering where she shouldn't, ignoring every damn instruction he had given her.

And right now, if any man so much as looked at her the wrong way, he was going to kill them.

He hummed under his breath, a quiet habit of his when he needed to steady his thoughts.

Everything was going according to plan. A little flirtation, a little coaxing, and soon, Catherine would give him what he needed—information on his enemies.

He turned, ready to step toward her. She was waiting for him, after all.

But then—that scent.

Lilies and roses.

It was unmistakable.

The lilies intrigued him, but the roses made sense. Anaabiya would use something practical, something that smelled clean but still enticing.

His foot hesitated midair. His usual long stride shortened into something more cautious. The scent wasn't fading. In fact, it seemed to be getting stronger.

His nose twitched, his instincts stirring as his gaze flicked around the room. He knew there couldn't possibly be lilies in here, yet the scent lingered, taunting him.

And then—

His blood went cold.

No.

It was impossible. Surely this was a trick of his imagination. A nightmare.

And yet—there she was.

Crouched beneath his desk.

His wife. The most maddening, stubborn, utterly infuriating woman he had ever met.

She was huddled beneath his desk like some absurd little frog, her hands wrapped around her ankles, eyes wide with panic.

Humza's grip on the whiskey glass tightened.

What the hell is she doing here?

Their eyes locked, and a silent war raged between them in that instant. Hers were filled with pure, unfiltered panic. Good, he thought savagely. She should be scared.

Because this? This was beyond reckless.

He had asked her—no, warned her—to stay away. And yet here she was, hiding in his study, spying on him like a child caught where she shouldn't be.

His mind raced through the possibilities. Had she followed him here? Had she been eavesdropping on his conversation the whole time?

And worse—if Catherine saw her?

Shit.

Humza's jaw clenched as a fresh wave of fury rolled through him.

If Catherine noticed Anaabiya, word would spread like wildfire. The rumors would be uncontrollable. And if Malik and Ahmed caught wind of it?

He didn't even want to think about what could happen.

But right now?

Right now, all he wanted to do was haul his wife out from under that desk and demand to know what in the hell she was doing there.

"Catherine," Humza said smoothly, stepping forward with deliberate ease—right onto Anaabiya's hand.

He didn't press down hard, but the sharp little squeak she let out was immensely satisfying.

"Catherine," he repeated, barely suppressing a smirk, "I just remembered an urgent matter that requires my immediate attention."

Catherine arched a perfectly shaped brow. "At this hour?"

"I'm afraid so—ugh!"

Catherine blinked. "Did you just... grunt?"

"No," Humza lied through clenched teeth, struggling to keep his voice even.

Anaabiya, it seemed, had taken her revenge. Her nails—at least, he hoped it was her nails—had just dug straight into his knee through his pant. And if that wasn't enough, she was sinking them in deeper.

"Are you certain everything is all right?" Catherine asked, skepticism lacing her tone.

"Absolutely—ahh!"

A sharp pain shot through his leg. That little devil had either driven her nails in further or—God help him—bitten him.

She bit him. The evil beauty actually bit him.

His instinct kicked in before reason did, and his foot shot forward, knocking into something solid—most likely her stomach.

For a brief second, a pang of guilt struck him. He never laid hands on a woman, but this was a rare exception.

"Allow me to walk you to the door," he said, shaking Anaabiya off his ankle and schooling his expression into one of polite disinterest.

But Catherine wasn't convinced. She took a curious step forward. "Humza, is there an animal under your desk?"

He let out a sharp laugh. "Something like that."

Anaabiya's fist crashed down on his foot.

"A dog?" Catherine asked.

For a brief, wicked moment, Humza considered saying yes.

Anaabiya must have sensed his evil intent because she abruptly released his leg.

Taking advantage of his sudden freedom, Humza swiftly moved away from the desk and toward Catherine. "Would I be terribly rude if I walked you to the door but not all the way back to the foyer?"

Catherine let out a rich, sultry laugh, one designed to seduce. "I think I'll survive. I am a grown woman, after all."

"Forgive me?" he asked, tilting his head with just the right amount of charm.

She smiled, slow and knowing. "With a face like that, there isn't a woman alive who wouldn't."

He smirked. "You are one of a kind, Catherine."

She laughed again, though there was something wry in it. "Not rare enough, apparently."

And with that, she slipped through the doorway.

Humza shut the door behind her with a decisive click. But then, just for good measure—and because some devil on his shoulder egged him on—he turned the key in the lock and pocketed it.

Then he spun around.

"You," he boomed, closing the distance in four long strides, "show yourself."

When Anaabiya didn't immediately emerge, he reached down, grabbed her by the upper arm, and hauled her to her feet.

"Explain yourself," Humza hissed, his grip firm around her arm.

Anaabiya's legs wobbled as the blood rushed back after kneeling for what felt like forever. She reached for the edge of the desk, steadying herself. "It was an accident," she gasped.

His eyes narrowed. "Funny how often that excuse leaves your lips."

"Because it's true!" she protested, swallowing hard. "I was sitting in the corridor, and—"

She faltered. The look in his eyes was sharp, unreadable. He wasn't just angry—he was furious. But underneath that rage, there was something else. Something darker. Something that made her pulse hammer.

He was dangerously close now, his broad frame crowding hers. His gaze flickered down to her lips, and before she could stop herself, her own parted. He licked his lips absently, like he was contemplating something, and then took another step forward.

Anaabiya's breath hitched. "I was sitting in the corridor," she repeated, her voice raspier than she intended. "I heard you coming and—I was just trying to stay out of your way."

Humza tilted his head slightly. "And yet, somehow, you ended up in my private office?"

"I didn't know it was yours!" she insisted. "I—"

Her words broke off when she realized just how close he was. The crisp whiteness of his shirt brushed against the delicate fabric of her gown. His nearness was suffocating, intoxicating.

And what was worse—her body wasn't repelling it.

Days ago, she had pushed him away without hesitation. But something had shifted. One emotion had overpowered the other. It made him bold enough to try too.

Humza reached out, his forefinger tracing the line of her cheek, a slow, deliberate caress. "I think," he murmured, "you knew exactly where you were. Maybe you didn't come here to avoid me at all."

Anaabiya swallowed hard, her entire body betraying her.

His fingertip traveled along her jawline, featherlight but searing all the same. "Hmm?" he pressed, his voice smooth as silk. "What do you say to that?"

Her lips parted, but no sound came out. It was as if his touch had stolen her ability to think, to breathe—to exist outside of him. Every movement of his sent a ripple through her body, controlling her like a marionette.

"Or maybe," he whispered, his breath brushing her lips, "you wanted something else entirely."

Anaabiya tried to shake her head, to deny the suggestion, but her body refused to obey.

"By the way you look beautiful tonight," he murmured, his forehead pressing gently against hers. His eyes slid closed, his breath warm, steady.

She didn't know what was happening. She only knew that her mind and body were in complete rebellion against each other.

But she had to get out. Now.

Summoning every ounce of strength, she forced herself to move. With a sharp inhale, she turned and stepped past him, making her way to the door. Her fingers curled around the handle, twisting desperately.

Nothing.

It wouldn't budge.

Her stomach plummeted as she realized what had happened.

A slow shiver ran down her spine at the sound of his voice behind her.

"I have the key."

She whirled around just as he approached, his movements unhurried, deliberate.

Her back met the door before she even realized she was retreating.

He leaned in, so close she could feel the warmth of his breath against her lips. For a fleeting second, she thought he might kiss her. Her heart slammed against her ribs, and she braced herself, eyes threatening to flutter shut.

But then—click.

The sound of the lock turning snapped her back to reality.

She exhaled sharply, realizing only then that she had been holding her breath. Without wasting another second, she grabbed the knob and yanked the door open, stepping out as fast as her legs would carry her.

"Now do as I say," Humza's voice followed her, firm and commanding. "Stay out of danger."

Anaabiya turned, her pulse still racing. "Or what?"

He took a slow step forward outside in the foyer, his smirk downright sinful. "Or I'll kiss you," he murmured, eyes dark with promise. "And this time, you won't be able to stop me."

Her stomach flipped violently, betraying her in ways she wished it wouldn't.

PS: I am going back to my in laws's house for the first ten days of Ramadan. The updates are gonna get slow probably. I am not very sure. It will be one chapter a day in sha Allah.

E D I T E D on 26.2.2025