4

I stared at the flickering lantern hanging outside my tent, the faint light casting twisted shadows that danced like ghosts.

This was my reality now—a captive bride-to-be for a monster.

I closed my eyes, desperate to escape, if only in my mind.

I thought back to when I was a little girl, sitting at Baba’s feet as he told me stories of grand love.

He always spoke of how he’d dreamed of seeing me in a white dress, glowing with happiness, standing beside a man who adored me.

But deep down, I knew love was a luxury people like us couldn’t afford.

My family had lived on the edges of ruin for as long as I could remember.

Our village, nestled in the shadow of the mountains, was a place where death lingered in the corners, waiting to pounce.

The sounds of distant gunfire and the echo of bombs were constants in my childhood, lulling me to sleep like a twisted lullaby.

I had always known my life could end at any moment, but I never imagined it would come to this—sold like cattle to a warlord.

I pulled my knees to my chest, my long black hair falling in tangled waves over my face.

My skin, once smooth and warm like honey, was now mottled with bruises and dirt.

I had been proud of my beauty once, despite the modesty Baba instilled in me.

But now, I wished I could disappear, my features blurred and forgotten.

The sound of voices outside jolted me back to the present.

Men laughing, jeering, their words dripping with malice.

My heart pounded as I strained to hear, to anticipate their next move.

Then I heard a voice—a new voice, low and calm, cutting through the others like a blade.

8

KHALID

The camp reeked of death and desperation.

I had spent months infiltrating these hellholes, memorizing their rhythms, learning the faces of men who thrived on chaos.

But tonight was different.

Tonight, I wasn’t here for stolen weapons or smuggled goods.

I was here for her.

Noura.

I remembered the photograph her father had pressed into my hands months ago, his weathered face etched with desperation.

“She is all I have left,” he had said, his voice breaking.

The image of the girl in the photo—a young woman with wide, almond-shaped eyes and a shy smile—had stayed with me.

Now, as I scanned the camp, I saw her, huddled near the entrance of a tent, her eyes shadowed and her frame shrunken under the weight of chains.

She was no longer the girl in the picture.

She was something raw and fragile, like glass on the verge of shattering.

I kept my expression neutral as I approached the guards stationed nearby.

They were drunk, their laughter slurring into unintelligible grunts.

“Who’s in the tent?” I asked, keeping my tone casual.

One of the men smirked, tilting his head toward the tent.

“The boss’s new toy. Pretty, isn’t she?”

I forced myself to nod, hiding the anger that boiled beneath my skin.

These men disgusted me, but I couldn’t afford to break cover.

Not yet.

9

NOURA

The flap of the tent rustled, and I froze.

A man stepped inside, his silhouette backlit by the lantern.

For a moment, I thought it was the warlord, and my stomach twisted with dread.

But as he moved closer, I saw that he was younger, his face lean and angular, with sharp cheekbones and piercing eyes that seemed to drink in everything at once.

His dark hair was cropped short, his jaw dusted with stubble.

He looked out of place here, his movements too deliberate, his gaze too calculating.

“Get up,” he said, his voice low and firm.

I didn’t move.

My body refused to obey, paralyzed by fear.

“I’m here to help you,” he said, crouching down to meet my eyes. “But you have to trust me.”

Trust him?

I wanted to laugh, but the sound caught in my throat.

Trust didn’t exist here.

Trust had died the moment my village burned, the moment my family was torn apart.

“Who are you?” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

“Khalid,” he said. “Your father sent me.”

At the mention of Baba, something inside me stirred—a flicker of hope, quickly extinguished by doubt.