The table goes silent and no one speaks after that.

That mistress of his runs away crying.

My breakfast is almost finished, so I stand and am about to walk away when he bangs his hand on the table and looks at me.

If looks could kill, I would be dead for sure — I wouldn’t be breathing anymore.

“IN MY OFFICE. NOW!!” he says, and he shouts the last part at me.

I just nod and follow him. Now I’m standing in his office as straight as a soldier. He isn’t looking at me; he’s staring in another direction, taking deep breaths.

After a few moments of silence he looks up and our eyes meet.

He starts taking long steps toward me as if I’m his prey.

With each step he takes, I take one back.

Not wanting to make a scene — this isn’t a romantic gesture, and I don’t want to trap myself between him and the wall — I start walking in circles and he follows.

When he realizes we’re not going anywhere, he stops.

“Why did you do that?” he asks, and to my surprise, he’s calm.

I clear my throat and reply, “I don’t care what you do or whom you are with. Just don’t involve me — tell them to stay away from me.”

He studies my face for a moment, trying to find something by looking deep into my eyes, but I don’t lie.

Suddenly, he takes two steps forward and pushes me against the wall.

He sandwiches me between the wall and him.

It happens so fast that it knocks the breath out of me.

I look at him, and the fear I’ve been trying to control breaks free.

My heart races, my breath quickens — reflexive reactions.

“You say you don’t want me, you say you don’t care how many mistresses I have, but your body and your reactions say the opposite,” he says, coming so close that our bodies touch.

My front is against his front and our lips are only centimeters apart.

“What do you want? Why did you marry me and then say you don’t want me?” he asks calmly, looking into my eyes.

We stay like that for a few minutes — or seconds; I don’t know — until I break eye contact first.

“As if i had anysay in it...

I don’t want to be your wife. I want someone who can love me and stay loyal to me. I want someone who cares for me. Someone I can trust. Looks and money don’t matter to me. I don’t want you and I never will, because I can’t consider you my husband,” I say, looking everywhere but at him.

He walks away from me and, to my surprise, says, “Leave.”

He doesn’t have to tell me twice.

I am more desperate to get away than he thinks.

I leave his office as fast as I can.

I lock my room door and curl up on the floor, and then I start crying.

All the bravery I mustered — all the drama I showed — it feels wasted.

I want him to love me.

Leo... My Leo.

He is my husband, but has he ever considered me his wife?

What are you doing, God? Why are you doing this to me?

I shouldn’t have said those words to him. Now he’ll think I am stupid.

I think I will lose hope — and maybe even my life.

I am not the optimistic one. My spirit will leave me if I live like this one moment longer, but at the same time I know nothing is going to change.

I will open that door and my reality will slap me. My reality will beat me and laugh at me.

I can’t give up, and at the same time I can’t live.

It’s been three days since that incident, and thank God he’s ignoring me as much as I’m ignoring him.

But I have to face him because my match is in a few days. I can’t miss it — it’s important for my career.

The problem is I don’t have the courage to talk to him after what happened.

I have to find a way. After thinking about it for a long time, I decide to ask his father about it.

The only problem is I don’t know where to find him.

I walk out of my room hoping to find someone who can tell me where he might be. To my luck, I find someone in the kitchen drinking water.

I clear my throat. He looks up and raises an eyebrow.

After that incident with his mistress, I’ve become quite famous around here.

I place the glass on the table and start walking toward him. He has this smirk and a mischievous glow in his eyes.

I raise my hands to stop him from coming closer, but he grabs both my wrists and presses my body into his.

This is my second time alone with him in his office.

He enters the room, goes to his table, sits, and starts working on his laptop as if I don’t exist.

I huff and clear my throat to get his attention. It works—he looks at me.

“I just wanted to talk to him,” I say.

His face darkens.

Yes, I think you can guess why I’m standing here. That other man did it on purpose to piss him off—and it worked. He was standing behind me, and even though that man took a punch from him, I still want to be the one to beat him.

My breath hiccups when he slams his table.

What the hell did I do now? I want to scream at myself.

He stands and comes toward me.

I glance to the left and make a run for the door, but he catches my wrist and slams my fragile body into his hard one, knocking the breath out of me.

Anger and irritation blaze through me. What is he trying to do by getting so close?

“Get away from me!” I shout, trying to push him, but he doesn’t budge.

“You don’t want to be close to me, huh?” he whispers harshly, his breath fanning my neck and ear, sending shivers down my spine.

“No, I don’t,” I manage to reply.

His hold tightens. He pushes me back and punches the wall.

I jump a bit and a tear slips down my cheek.

He takes a long, deep breath and traces the path of my tear with his finger.

We stand in that awkward position for a moment, and then I speak.

“You can’t touch me—it's haram. Non-mahram cannot touch me,” I say.

His eyes darken, and I gulp.

Then it hits me.

He is my mahram.

Oh my God.

Suddenly his lips crash onto my neck. He starts kissing from my jawline down to my neck. Slow...gentle yet forced.

I struggle to push, to kick, to punch, but nothing works.

When I try to slap him like last time, he grabs both my wrists and pins my hands above my head. He leaves open-mouthed kisses down toward my chest.

I try to put my hijab back in place, but my mind and body refuse to cooperate.

I try to stop the disgusting sound that leaves my mouth, but a moan escapes.

He freezes for a moment, then a smile appears on his lips.

“Now it didn’t feel wrong or forbidden, did it?” he says as his hand stops just below my stomach.

I feel disgusted.

When I don't reply, he steps back and looks into my eyes.

“Nothing is forbidden between us if it happens between you and me. And if you think it’s a sin, then I will make you a sinner. You will do it once, twice, and then again. You will be a sinner with me because you will enjoy it, and you will shout my name from beneath me when I make love to you. You will love me inside you and beg for more,” he says.

I stare at him, feeling nothing but revulsion.

“Sana, will you be able to satisfy me?” he asks, pressing his body against mine.

At that moment my tears break and I start crying uncontrollably.

“I hate you,” I whisper, then look up at him.

“I HATE YOU,” I shout.

“I will never consider you my husband, nor will I give myself to you. I am not for you and never will be,” I say angrily.

He releases my wrists and places two fingers under my chin, whispering, “You will see. You will find yourself wrong, because I will make you mine tonight.”

My knees buckle. Before they hit the ground he scoops me up in his arms, carrying me bridal-style.

“Nothing is forbidden between you and me, Sana, because I am your husband—your mahram,” he says, making my glossy eyes widen.