It was now around four hours after Anaya's whole fiasco with Ali. She took a shower and changed into her abaya- the same one she had on when she came here. She didn't have any other ones so she had washed it and hung it in the tub, and it took three days to dry.

She wrapped her hijab around her head and pinned it secure. She was going to leave her room, for the first time in what felt like decades. She turned the doorknob, and when it actually twisted she couldn't help but smile.

She opened the door not even halfway, just enough to poke her head out. The place was as quiet as a stone, she peeked around to make sure no one was there especially him. He had mentioned her earlier that they were going to have a Nikkah this evening, but she wasn't sure when it was going to happen, she knew that it was, and she had wrapped her head around that fact.

Of course, she dreaded it. She didn't want to marry this ruthless jerk who kidnapped her and scared her to no end, and then now wants to marry her. But she had to do it, to leave, to get out of this trouble her dad had put her into.

Speaking of, Anaya continuously wondered what happened to her father. After that call, she had heard nothing about him.

Is he trying to rescue her?

Is he okay?

What if he was also kidnapped?

Anaya's had many assumptions in her head, but she had not a single clue of what could have happened.

Anaya finally stepped out, and the freezing tiled floor touched her bare feet, as a shiver traveled through her. Her shoes were broken that day she had run, and she wasn't given any other. She looked around, and the house did not fail to impress her.

The house was wildly huge, the staircase curved ever so gorgeously in the middle of the home, she couldn't even perceive how wide the second floor went. As she walked through and came to the living room she saw the front wall- which was a glass wall that put on display the cities buildings and shores, and right outside you could see the lavish patio and pool.

The decoration- though it wasn't entirely her type it was too elegant to ignore, each piece of decor complimented the other in the shades of black, white, and gray.

Anaya's bewilderment was cut short by a voice coming from the kitchen.

"Huh?" She asked, turning around and looking at the maid that was washing a glass in the kitchen.

"I said, it's beautiful isn't it?" She repeated, in her rhythmic Arabic accent.

"Yeah, umm, it's different," Anaya said, smiling as she walked towards her. Taking a seat on the barstool.

Anaya wasn't the biggest fan of huge luxury houses but she was astounded by this one because she had never seen one like it, that didn't mean she fancied it. Anaya was more of a cozy apartment type of girl.

"Sir told me to get you back to health. So what do you want to eat?" She said.

Anaya wanted to scoff, the only way she would get back to wellness would be if she got out of this hellhole and returned to her life, with all due respect sir- Anaya thought.

"Just anything halal." She said.

"Of course, this is an Arab household. We bring halal groceries, even though it's not a priority for sayidi." She spoke.

"Oh," Anaya replied.

"I am going to make you a turkey sandwich, it that okay?" She asked.

"Yes, thank you."

Anaya looked at her cut the bread in halves, and it reminded her of Jameela. Anaya felt a thick lump form in the middle of her throat, her Amee, oh she missed her so much. She wondered if she was safe, and not too worried. She had been dreaming of just magically waking up and being with her, engulfed in her warm embrace.

That is why Anaya was ready to risk it all. She just wanted to go back. She knew how these kidnappings ended, they could kill her after they get what they want, it was a huge deal that she had a possibility of going back home, even if it was false hope that they gave her- she had to try.

"Here you go," She served Anaya a sandwich, which was served as if Anaya was at a five-star restaurant. The sandwich was cut skillfully and surrounded by basil leaves, there were some chips that were neatly stacked on the side as well.

"Wow! Thank you." Anaya said.

"You're welcome, Miss." She replied.

"Please call me Anaya, what is your name?" Anaya asked.

"Oh, that is thoughtful of you. It's Martha."

"How long have you been here Martha?" Anaya asked, eating her sandwich.

"Oh, it's been only four years here, alone with sayidi. But I have been working with his father for now 25 years."

"Woah. I can't even bear that guy for more than two minutes." Anaya mumbled.

Martha chuckled at Anaya's words.

"Oh, sir can be unkind at times. But he is a good child, trapped with the wrong people." She said, shaking her head as she wiped the counter.

Anaya comprehended her words, as she finished her meal. Somewhere in her, she wanted to know more. Who he was, why he was so harsh, why did he act the way he did? why did he have to exert so much dominance? His name had caught her attention, how such a notable name was given to such a heartless man.

Ali.

Ali Ahmed Sheikh.

Ali.

His name felt so foreign yet so familiar. Even his name held power.

"Do you want more?" Martha asked, taking the finished plate from Anaya to rinse it.

"Oh no, thank you!" She said again.

"I'm going to go to the room now, and pray," Anaya said,

"Okay, dear."

Anaya hopped off the barstool and started walking towards her room again. She dusted her abaya as she walked, and right before she turned to her room she heard someone call her.

"Miss. Anaya," A lady called her.

"Yes?" Anaya replied.

"Sir would like to see you, please follow me." She said, heading up the stairs.

"For what?" Anaya wondered.

Anaya slowly followed her up the staircase and took in the width of the second floor. There was a whole other living room set up, with two separate hallways one on the right and one on the left that stretched so far down.

"In here." The woman said, stopping at the two large closed white doors.

Anaya hesitatingly touched the knob and slowly twisted it, her anxiety hastening as she went in. There he was sitting so casually, on the sofa that was on the far left of his desk.

"There she is." He said, even a simple sentence as that sounding satirical to Anaya.

"Come sit." He added.

She walked very slowly towards them, and she saw a man sitting in front of Ali who had a topi on, and behind the couch were three men just simply standing there.

Oh. This is it. This is the Nikkah. Anaya wanted to sprint out, maybe even jump out a near window. Except, this was her chance to get back her life. If she did this, she might be able to go back.

Never in a million years, would she have imagined her "wedding" to be done in this manner, in these circumstances. She thought her marriage was going to be all happy, with flowers around the house, and sweets being served. Not in some mobster's study, where he just sat there intimidating her into signing their marriage form.

Anaya stayed standing and didn't speak a word. The man in the hat began to read some quotes of the Quran, and then the rules of Nikkah.

"Do you accept the daughter of late Abdul Qadeer Siddiqui in your marriage?" The man asked.

Anaya went blank as she heard his words.

Late? Late?

"Late?" She whispered.

Ali looked up at her for a second, and then looked back at the man and said.

"I do."

Her father, her father was dead? What did they do to him?

Tears began to stream from Anaya's eyes, as she thought of her dad. He couldn't be gone. There was no way.

"I do."

She didn't care if he paid no regard to her, he was still her father. Anaya was now alone. Completely alone. She had no parents anymore.

"I do."

"May the lady sign these four pages," The man said.

Anaya looked down at the paper which was blurred from the thick coating of her tears. She grabbed the pen taking a deep breath, not being able to stop crying. Each stroke of the pen was slow and shaky, as her tears dampened the paper.

"The Nikkah is now complete."

Anaya looked at Ali with her soaked face and mournful eyes, and he looked back with his untroubled orbs staring at her as if nothing particularly important had happened.

"M-m-my f-f-f-father is...?" Anaya tried to ask.

The man who performed the Nikkah, as well as the three witnesses, began to leave the room.

"Yes," Ali stated standing up and putting his pen inside his coat.

Anaya gaped at him, as she tried to grasp the situation.

"Why?" She cried.

Ali put his hands in his pockets as he towered over Anaya's whimpering form.

"Hmm. Well, to begin. He was a bastard," Ali spoke indifferently.

"So-so... so...you...killed him?!" Anaya wept harder.

"Aw, do you even know who you're crying over?" Ali said, scrunching his nose at her.

"MY FATHER! YOU KILLED MY FATHER! BOTH MY PARENTS ARE GONE ALI! WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO!" Anaya screamed, her voice cracking repeatedly as she cried vigorously.

Ali couldn't help but notice how she yelled his name, it felt strange yet so efficacious coming from her, his lips twisted into a grin.

"Oh, fatina," Ali spoke, Arabic coming out of his mouth like honey.

"He abandoned you. He ran away after I called him. You really want to use your precious tears to mourn that son of a bitch?" Ali spoke walking closer to her as he grasped her chin with his index finger and thumb.

Anaya froze, as she apprehended his words.

No way, how could he run away like that? But then again this was Ali, lying was his mother tongue.

Anaya slapped his hand off of her face.

"Sure, sure he did that. But just because you think my father is a bad person it doesn't give you the right to KILL HIM." Anaya spoke, her eyebrows furrowed as red furious tears rolled out.

Anaya was utterly baffled, mourning for her dad and raging at this man at the same time, driving her into a frenzy with shooting pains in her heart and urges to punch Ali to no limit.

"Why would I lie to you? If I told you he didn't run away, and we killed him anyway. What would you do?" Ali spoke.

"Nothing," He whispered.

"You're sick. You're so sick! He was my father, my father..." Anaya sobbed, as a sudden wave of anger took over and she shoved Ali, even though he didn't even move more than an inch from the impact of her tiny fists.

Anaya cried her heart out as she punched his shoulder harder and harder, and he just stood there watching her, feeling her feeble blows as he looked at her, and then he took hold of her wrists as she closed her eyes and shook from her weeps.

"Let me go." She said.

"Please, you cannot hurt me more than this. You- you took everything. Everything I had, so please set, me, free."

Ali looked at Anaya, as she stared back at him, her eyes begging him to listen to her. Her naive mournful face almost convinced him, and that irked him so much. Why was she having this influence on him? Ali never had compassion for anyone, ever.

Ali was someone who shot a man in the midst of their begs as they wailed for their lives. He didn't care. Women would always cry in front of him, for one more night, for money, for jobs, for his negligence towards them- but it never affected him.

Ali didn't have a sensation named sympathy, or at least not until he saw at Anaya.

Maybe it was the fact that she had no mother, and her father was a selfish rascal who let her get caught into this world of prejudice and greed.

"You have to wait until our court has concluded the transfer." He replied.

Anaya sank weakly in his arms, there was no stability in the arms he gripped. Anaya slowly took her hands out of his grip and began to walk away. He saw her shoulders shake, and he looked down at her uncovered feet. She stepped so deliberately as if she was going to fall any second.

Ali watched as her small figure left his eyesight, and he felt nothing but- wrong.

Anaya stepped down the stairs tears clouding her vision, and before she knew it her lifeless body got caught into her abaya as she tumbled down the last six steps. She twisted her ankle, and her elbow slammed against the hard floor exceeding her limits of bearing pain.

Anaya sobbed- loudly. Her shoulders shaking up and down.

This was too much.

She had not felt this much pain since her mother passed away.

"Ya Allah where did I go wrong? Forgive me please! please just end this pain," She cried.

"Anaya!" Martha shouted, spotting Anaya on the floor. She ran to Anaya and lifted her up supporting her shoulders.

"What happened? Are you okay?" Martha asked.

Anaya shook her head vigorously, as she cried in Martha's hold. Martha felt so afflicted looking at Anaya's painful actions. She looked at the poor girl's red eyes that sprouted tears of help and anguish, and every inch of her wanted to help but didn't know-how.

"Oh sweetheart. Let's get you to bed." She said, urging Anaya to get up, but Anaya's ankle pained from the fall, so she shrieked from the pull.

Until they both heard footsteps coming down the stairs, and Martha looked up, to her Sir. Ali had stood there watching Anaya breakdown in his housemaid's arms. He kneeled down and put his hand on the back of Anaya's knees, but she swatted them away as hard as she could.

"Don't EVER touch me, with the same hands you killed my father with!" She spoke, her striking statement losing its boldness as she spoke in between her hiccups.

"I didn't kill him, love." Ali thought.

Anaya proceeded to get up holding on to Martha's arm, as she limped to her room. Ali watched as she left. He wanted to scoff at her attitude towards him but he couldn't help but find it adorable, Anaya was a small ball of energy and courage and he always popped that ball, but in the worst way. Her courage came out in the midst of her cries, and her energy left her body because of the tears.

Ali was pestered because he didn't want to hurt her the way she was hurting now. Sure, he had no intention of making her stay here comfortable and joyous but Ali was a man who destroyed with purpose. He didn't need to trouble her because she never denied him, she was always so afraid of him she gave in, one way or another.

Ali walked out and to his kitchen to get a glass of cold water, and as begin to drink it, Martha walked back into the kitchen, he didn't care much and pulled out his phone to check his messages, as he put the glass into the sink.

"Why are you guys doing this to her?" Martha spoke.

"It's business," Ali replied.

"Business? Business is to give this poor girl emotional trauma for life?" Martha spoke, her voice grave as her accent got sharper.

"What's done is done. What do you want me to do?" Ali said.

Essentially, the maids didn't even have a hint of a voice in any matters that would take place in this household. However, Martha was different. She had taken care of the Sheikh's for a long time, and earned herself a place in their hearts. She was family, she took care of Ali when his father was too harsh and comforted him when his mother was too self-indulgent.

"I don't care if she is sad, Abdul had to die," Ali added, walking out of the kitchen.

"Abdul might've wronged you, but what did she do? What if your father's enemy was doing this to you!" Martha said, a little angrily.

Ali didn't reply back to her as he just left the kitchen quietly.

"Do you want anything to eat?" Martha added, a bit loudly so he could hear her from outside the kitchen.

"No!" Ali replied.