Chapter 3: Does He Really Have A Son?

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Everything from the previous night flashed through Noor's mind like scattered reflections on the window before her — their images ghostly, shifting, yet clear.

How she had found him, wounded and unconscious, barely breathing; how empathy had driven her to call her cousin sister, borrow a car, and carry this mysterious stranger to a hotel.

How she had cleaned his wounds with tender care, tended to him through the night, and now, this morning, had returned quietly with antiseptic and medicines in hand, only to find him asleep. She had moved toward the window, giving him space, trying to steady her own racing thoughts.

And then, without warning, the cold press of a knife at her neck.

What was he doing? What had he become? Why, instead of gratitude, did she feel suspicion, betrayal—as if she were the enemy? The knife pressed harder, a sharp reminder that she was no longer lost in memory but trapped in this tense present.

The cold sensation pulled her back fully as his voice cut through the morning silence. "What are you thinking?"

Noor said nothing, but in the silence of her mind a bitter thought took shape, sharp as the blade: I saved your life, and this is how you repay me? Have you forgotten all compassion? What has happened to you in these three years?

His gaze lingered, cold and piercing, while the knife traced the delicate line of her neck.

She met his eyes with a steady, defiant calm. This was no stranger now—this was Sadiq-al-Amoudi, a name heavy with power and fear, and yet a man she scarcely recognized anymore.

Her pulse quickened, the air thick between them. Despite the memory of the night past—his unconscious form, the faint warmth when she had pulled him close in pretense, the shared moments of silent understanding—now all felt shattered under the weight of his suspicion.

She was no ally in his eyes. She was a trap, a threat.

But Noor would not falter.

An idea flash on her mind. Slowly, her fingers found the knife at the edge of the nearby fruit bowl—silent, unseen—her only means of defense in this perilous moment.

She pretended to lose balance, her body swaying slightly as any girl would when caught off guard by fear. In that moment, the man's arms instinctively wrapped around her waist, steadying her and pulling her close.

Their eyes locked—his gaze intense and searching, hers calm but sharp, almost daring. The air between them thickened, charged with unspoken tension. Noor stayed composed, the knife still hidden but ready in her grip.

Then, with swift resolve, she pressed the cold steel against his neck.

He stumbled back, crashing into the sofa, and she landed on top of him. Their bodies barely an inch apart, the thin barrier of her mask between them like a fragile veil over deeper truths.

His eyes locked on hers, fierce and unreadable. Doubt. Anger. Confusion.

She saw the man who had once been vulnerable and silent now rise from beneath the weight of suspicion and fury.

Despite the familiarity, despite the way she had seemed to care for him the previous night—she could still be part of a larger plan against him.

He couldn't let his guard down. He had to keep searching for the truth.

He couldn't allow himself to be deceived, not again.

When Noor was about to get up and loosened her grip on the knife, Sadiq reacted swiftly.

He pushed her hard against the sofa, grabbing her wrist to prevent her from attacking with the knife.

He pressed the knife lightly against her neck, which he was holding.

His voice was low and menacing.

"What did you think?

That sending you to me would trap me in your scheme?

It seems you all have forgotten who I am—

I am Sadiq-al-Amoudi."

His hot breath fanned against her face as he held her tightly, his gaze fierce and questioning.

Noor was still in shock. Her mind raced, trying to understand what was happening.

Why was this man acting so strange? Who was he really?

She had done nothing but offer him help. Yet, here she was, trapped in his hold.

What was he thinking?

Her thoughts spiraled as she struggled to comprehend the situation, but didn't show it.

The weight of his name hung heavy in the air—silent but cutting.

"I don't tolerate betrayal. So, tell me… who sent you?"

Sadiq's voice was low, precise, a quiet edge beneath his calm exterior.

Noor's gaze was steady, almost unreadable, lips curled into a subtle, knowing smirk. Her voice came out cool, smooth, and measured—calm as if she were merely stating a fact.

"I saved your life, Sadiq. I didn't ask for anything in return. If this is how you repay loyalty."

Sadiq's eyes narrowed slightly, caught off guard by the effortless confidence in her tone—the way her voice seemed to thread through the silence, both alluring and cold.

"Loyalty?"

he repeated softly, a trace of dark amusement in his calm voice.

"A word so easily claimed and so rarely proven.

You speak of loyalty, but your actions tell a different story."

Noor's smirk deepened just a fraction. Her voice remained steady, detached, with a hint of icy challenge.

"What actions, Sadiq?

Helping you when you were bleeding?

Protecting you when you were vulnerable? Is that what you question?"

There was a flicker of something—captivation?—in Sadiq's eyes as her tone held him, hypnotic but dangerous. His jaw tensed.

"Maybe you're innocent.

Or maybe you're just a pawn in someone else's game.

Either way, I won't be played."

His voice low, deliberate, masking the pull he felt toward her composure.

Noor tilted her head slightly, voice soft yet edged with cold defiance.

"You think I'm here to play games?

Look in the mirror, Sadiq.

You're the one treating me like a criminal without proof."

The briefest hesitation flashed across his face, but his tone remained controlled, though quieter now, almost captivated.

"What do you want?"

she asked, voice steady, without any trace of desperation—more like a quiet command.

Sadiq's gaze darkened. Her words clawed at the walls he'd built around himself, but he refused to let her see the cracks.

His reply came slow, voice dark, hesitant yet drawn in.

"My intentions are my own. But yours? Those I question."

She leaned back just slightly, voice methodized, deliberate, every word measured like a blade's edge.

"If you're asking me about my intentions," her tone dropped to velvet-soft yet sharp,

cutting through the space between them, "then why are you so close to me?"

Sadiq leaned in—barely an inch from her face, close enough to see the faint mark traced along her skin, subtle but undeniable.

Though mismatched—his cold, tense presence against her composed, velvety calm—her siren-like eyes held him captive. Deep as an ocean, unreadable and infinite, they pinned him in place.

Her voice turned cold and steady,

"You're the one questioning me while standing too close for comfort."

Then, as if shifting gears, she said softly but firmly,

"Don't you know this? It's prohibited in our faith for a man and woman to be alone together.

Yet here you are—so close to me, questioning my intentions. What about yours?"

Noor's eyes glinted, voice a soft drawl of bitter amusement.

Sadiq's grip on the knife tightened, voice low, almost reverent in its focus.

"You know how to find weakness, don't you? Clever enough for a spy.

But don't think words will change my mind.

I won't leave until I have every answer."

Noor's smirk sharpened as she shoved him with quiet strength, voice cool but commanding.

"Don't you dare touch me again, Mr. Sadiq al-Amoudi."

His stumble betrayed a flicker of surprise, but his eyes remained dark and fixated.

"You question me as if I owe you my soul. But what about you, Sadiq?

What do you hide behind that mask of suspicion?

What are you afraid of?"

Her voice dropped even lower, barely above a whisper—dangerous, mesmerizing.

His jaw clenched tightly. His voice, when it came, was a bare breath.

"Fear is for the weak.

And weakness is not something I indulge in."

Noor laughed softly, a dry, cold sound, voice laced with quiet mockery.

"Keep telling yourself that, Sadiq.

Maybe one day, you'll believe it."

The silence stretched, heavy with unsaid words and lingering tension—until footsteps echoed, breaking the spell.

The door creaked open slowly.

Mehak entered, holding the tiny hand of a boy no older than three.

His eyes were shining bright, curious and a little cautious.

A tall, suited bodyguard followed behind — calm, protective, and quiet.

Sadiq's breath caught. His voice dropped to a whisper.

"…Abid?"

The boy looked at him. Then he turned — not toward Sadiq — but toward Noor.

He walked up to her with slow, sure steps. Noor stood still, her eyes unreadable.

The boy tilted his head up at her, arms lifting.

"ماما…" (Mama…)

And before anyone could react, he hugged her tightly.

Everyone stood frozen.

Sadiq's assistant took a shocked step forward, whispering:

"Sir… he's never hugged anyone. Not even his caretaker.

Only you.

But this woman… he just called her Mama."

"Do you… know her?"

Sadiq couldn't answer.

He was staring at Noor, mind reeling.

Who was this woman? What power did she have over his son?

And Noor…

She simply looked down at the boy, one hand resting gently on his back — face calm, eyes silent and stormy all at once.

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1. Why do you think he called Noor mama?

2. Could there be a forgotten connection between them?

3. Is this mystery deeper than we imagined?

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