12 ??Secrets?? (2/2)

I felt like I could breathe normally again. My head fell back to the headboard and I played with the hem of my shirt. It was Zayn's shirt. The only shirt I wore every time I went to bed. Maybe it was tightly-fitted but I couldn't care. It gave me a weird sense of comfort.

”Fine. Good. What about you?”

”Lonely,” He said. ”I miss you.”

”Ammar,” I warned, my heart breaking a little.

”I know, I know,” He sounded frustrated. ”I promised I wouldn't fall for you but shit, it's harder than I expected it to be. I mean, look at you. You're sweet and smart and breathtakingly beautiful. Who wouldn't like you?” He laughs softly at the end.

His words didn't flatter me. In fact, I didn't feel anything at all. He was just a means to an end. Nothing more. He knew that. I knew that. I don't know why he kept acting like this then.

”Two weeks,” I whispered. A reminder. A warning.

The line fell silent. I wished he would end the call but he spoke. ”You're mine till then, Leia. These two weeks. You're mine.”

I hated the possessiveness in his tone. It didn't feel right. In fact, nothing had felt right with Ammar since the day I'd agreed to his stupid idea. But I was a child then. I had no idea what men wanted from girls. He had made sure I knew, though. He'd made sure to take advantage of every moment, every day for the past five years.

”I-I need money,” I hated asking for it. But this was part of our deal. And if he was getting what he wanted from me, then I could do the same. It was fair. Didn't mean I couldn't hate it, though. ”When can you send it?”

He sighed. ”I haven't seen you in a month, babe.”

Translation: Why should I give you money when you haven't given me what I want?

I gritted my teeth. ”We need money, Ammar. Dad's condition is getting worse day by day. He has to see a doctor soon. Mom can't—”

”All right, don't go whining now,” His tone and words made me feel like a . . . like a prostitute. Like I was after the money. This was part of the deal. He was my husband so even if we didn't have a deal, it was still his duty to tend to my needs. ”How much do you need?”

I swallowed. I had too much pride for my own good. ”Fifty,”

”Fifty pounds?” He asked, cackling.

My fists clenched. He wanted to hear me say it. He wanted me to beg for his money. I was desperate. But I would never beg anyone.

”You know what I meant.”

”Relax, babe. The money will be in your account first thing tomorrow.”

”Thanks,” I muttered, ashamed. Of myself, for not being able to earn enough.

”I want to look at you,” He said, his voice sending a chill down my spine. ”Facetime?”

”You know we don't have an iPhone.” Or a smartphone.

He growled impatiently. ”Get one tomorrow. I'll send extra money for it.”

”Okay,” I softly agreed. ”Can I go now? I have to study.”

”No. Talk some more. Please. At least let me listen to your voice. I've missed you terribly, you know?”

”Me too,” It wasn't exactly a lie. Ammar might be selfish in terms of stuff but he was the one that taught me most of what I know.

He got me out of that hellhole my mother had thrust me into when I was ten. A year later, he had to move out to the UK, where he had landed a job with a handsome pay. He'd taken me with him and his family had cared for me more than I could ever repay them for.

He taught me how to drive. He was my older brother until he wasn't.

Until he decided he wanted something more.

I shook my head, not wanting to think about sad things.

”I want to come visit before . . .” He couldn't finish his sentence.

Before we got divorced. Before our deal was over.

My mood lifted. I wouldn't be tied to him anymore. I was free. Just two more weeks and I was free.

”That's a good idea,” I told him, secretly smiling.