The days seemed to blur into one another as Maya’s pregnancy advanced. Her body had changed in ways she didn’t recognize, and her emotions were unpredictable. Sometimes, she found herself staring at Zayed, the man she had once feared, and wondering when he had become the center of her existence.

She was no longer just his possession; she was also the mother of his child, bound to him in a way that was irrevocable. But with each passing day, she felt a tug of war within her—her growing love for him and the oppressive weight of his control.

One night, as the villa stood bathed in the soft light of the setting sun, Maya stood in front of a large mirror, her hands resting on her swollen belly. The reflection that stared back at her was no longer the woman who had stepped into Zayed’s world months ago. She had changed.

A knock on the door broke her reverie.

“Come in,” she called out, her voice softer than she intended.

Zayed entered, his presence commanding as always, his eyes immediately finding her. Without a word, he closed the door behind him and crossed the room toward her.

“You’ve been distant again,” he observed, his voice low, as though he already knew what was bothering her.

Maya turned to face him, her gaze locking with his. There was something almost possessive in the way he looked at her, something that made her feel as though she was a part of him, inescapably so.

“I’m just…” she hesitated, her fingers subconsciously tracing the curve of her belly. “I’m not sure of who I am anymore.”

Zayed’s brow furrowed, and his jaw clenched as if the very idea of her questioning her identity was something he could not tolerate.

“You are mine,” he said, his voice harsh, but not unkind. He stepped closer to her, his eyes never leaving hers. “You will never have to wonder who you are. You belong to me, Maya. And that is enough.”

The words were a reminder of the bond between them, but it wasn’t what she needed to hear. She had become more than just his possession, more than just the mother of his child. She was a woman who had her own needs, her own desires.

“You can’t just make decisions for me, Zayed,” she whispered, the words escaping before she could stop them. “I want to be more than just… your wife.”

He stepped back, his expression unreadable. For a moment, there was a silence that stretched between them, thick and tense. But then, his expression softened, just a fraction, as if he were considering her words.

“I’m not asking you to be anything you’re not, Maya,” he said softly, his voice gentler now. “But understand this—I am your husband. And I will not let anyone or anything come between us.”

There was something so raw, so intense in his gaze that Maya felt the walls around her heart start to crumble. She had been fighting him, fighting what they were becoming. But deep down, she knew that she could never truly escape him.

“I understand,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

Zayed’s hand reached for hers, and for the first time in a long while, she didn’t resist.