You noticed the way the color of the cover don change to red? That's so you'll know we've entered the shege phase of this book🌚

Buckle up. It's truly not for the faint hearted.

Book your therapist appointment tonight. Toh, i have said my own.

KUBI CALIPHATE.

The morning of the coronation came, and the air, as everyone could testify was tense, and cold in preparation for the big day ahead. Amir Qasim lingered in bed for a while, before he had to pull himself away, knowing he had no time to dawdle around. His phone buzzed endlessly from the bedside cabinet, and upon checking it and seeing the messages were all from the same person, he silenced the phone, keeping it with the screen facing downwards.

Turning around, his gaze fell on Asma's sleeping figure, sound asleep, unaware of the chaos the day held. Then again, she'd been on her toes the day before, and was only able to fall asleep after tossing and turning around for a while, resorting to taking her sleeping pills at long last. She had been determined to keep herself away from him, avoiding him the entire day since their conversation as if she had turned off her switch around him, and even sleeping in a different room.

As much as he wanted to give her space though, sleeping in another room wasn't something he was willing to compromise on—even if it meant moving her after she'd fallen asleep back to their room which he did. Maybe she was too exhausted, or she just couldn't bring herself to argue with him so early in the morning, but when she woke up for Subh due to the alarm she hadn't set up and realized she wasn't in the same room she'd fallen asleep in, she already knew who the culprit was despite him not being in the room, no doubt went out to pray.

Yet, she didn't attempt to move away again. Instead, she prayed, and with her lids still heavy from the remnants of the effect of the drug she took, slipped back into bed and snuggled the pillow that smelled a bit too much of the man she had been trying to avoid.

Amir Qasim caressed her exposed arms with one hand, the robe she had on covering the nightwear long tossed aside during her sleep. She was a restless sleeper, he'd noted. The feeling of his hand on her had her stirring for a moment, but she didn't wake, rather exhaled a deep breath and carried on with her sleep.

His lips curved into a small, faint smile, and in that moment, he wished he could freeze time so they could remain in that moment—with she unaware of the chaos he knew the future held. His heart clenched at the realization, but he pushed it away, knowing he had bigger issues to worry about at that moment.

"I am sorry, Fulani." He whispered, one hand patting down her braids—the long, silky hair soft underneath his touch. Her condition's citrus scent inviting. Yet, it did nothing to calm his nerves. "I'm sorry for everything that had happened, and I'm sorry for what you'll find out." His voice dropped as he uttered the last part, heavy on his lips. "Please don't leave me."

She didn't move, didn't react, and her soft, heavy breathing told him she was indeed fast asleep and couldn't hear his apologies that might mean nothing to her when she does find out.

A heavy breath escaped his lips before he leaned down to press a lingering kiss on her exposed shoulder, one arm wrapped around her and the other still on her head, where he moved onto next.

"May Allah make things easy for you," He whispered against her hair, "I truly hope you find it in your heart to forgive me someday. You'd hate me, I know," His eyes flicked close, his voice thick with emotion, "But I'd rather you see me as a selfish person than to let you go. I won't, ever." He took in a sharp breath, before he exhaled it, his shoulders slumping. "You and me, it's a forever thing." He pressed one last kiss on her temple, before he pulled back, and pulled the duvet to cover her properly before he got out of bed.

Picking up the file she'd given him which he'd kept on the bedside cabinet, he slipped into his shoes and picked up his phone, dialing the first contact there. The moment the person picked up, he spoke, walking away from the room. "Tareeq, get ready, we're heading out now."

Tareeq on the other end, after receiving Amir Qasim's call, got ready for the day as well. However, before he could head out, he decided to stop by and see Karima, whom he was sure was awake because he'd realized she was an early bird.

Except she was not in her room, he realized after knocking a few times and eventually going in. So, he went on the search for her, running into some maids whom he'd inquired of her whereabouts, and was informed she was at the kitchen. With drawn in brows, wondering how she was there when he'd clearly given strict orders not allow her to do any form of her, he headed in the direction of the kitchen.

Immediately he reached there, he spotted her by the cooker, stirring the pot making something. By the sides, about two maids stood, looking as though they wanted to step forward and did not get the chance to—which, Tareeq knowing her, must have asked them not to.

They noticed him first, one of them, and then she tapped the one beside her, making their attention both be on him. They parted their lips to speak, but he held a hand to stop them, before gesturing for them to go out, which they did, quickly scurrying away.

With them gone however, Tareeq stared at her for a moment against the nearest wall, his head tilted to the side slightly, before he decided to make his presence known.

"I do remember asking you to rest and not do anything." He spoke, gaining her attention, making her jump back, eyes wide when her gaze fell on him. He then added. "Are you now going against my words, Karima?"

Her lips parted, and she quickly shook her head. "No, I just...I..." She paused, heaving out a breath, her shoulders slumping. "I was just bored out of my mind alone doing nothing." She whispered, her head hung low. "So I thought of cooking something."

"Cooking for who?" He arched a brow, "I hope it's for me."

She looked up, blood rushing to her cheeks before she nodded. "Yes, it is." She confessed in a small voice. "And for Princess Asma as well."

Tareeq exhaled a breath, nearly scoffing. "Now I have to compete with her, great." The sarcasm in his tone was evident. When she parted her lips to speak, though no words came out, he pushed himself off the wall and approached her, stopping only once he was standing in front of her.

Karima swallowed a lump at how close he was, and the way his cologne reached her olfactory lobes. Goodness she could take greedy whiffs of it, wanting to drown herself in it and never leave.

She swallowed a lump.

Tareeq stared at her for a moment, taking her in. Then, he did something that had her heart stopping momentarily. He reached out and pick up her veil that had fallen onto her shoulder, covering her hair with it. But that was not the only thing, he also reached out and wiped away the flour coating her forehead with his hand—and the feel of his hand in contact with her skin made her heart flutter, for some many reasons truly.

But guilt gnawed at her the most, her mind reminding her that this was wrong, yet, she couldn't bring herself to pull away, and neither did he.

"What are you? A child?" He lightly scolded, his finger still lingering on her forehead. When her lips formed a small pout, she could swear she saw the corner of his lips tilt up only slightly. "I guess you are." He whispered.

Karima held onto the spatula a little tighter, her heart racing behind her ribcage. "Tareeq..." The name escaped her lips without thinking, but when she realized her mistake, she was quick to correct herself. "...I am sorry. I didn't mean to. I shouldn't have—"

"Okay now I definitely need to break you out of your shell." He cut her off, pulling his hand away, though he did not move or attempt to put any space between them. "I like you shy, but not so timid." He leaned down to her height so their sights align. "You need to be a little toucher to survive on this side, my love."

Karima could have sworn her heart ceased for a moment, her mouth falling open, and she was sure she looked like a fool then. He did not just call her that, did he?

Lord have mercy on her poor soul. She was sure he'd give her a heart attack soon.

He chuckled at the look she was pulling, and lightly pinched her cheeks. "You're cute." He straightened his spine, unfolding to his full height. "And as much as I'd love to stay with you, I have a busy day ahead." His joking expression disappeared, replaced by his usual stern one she was familiarized with. "Whatever you do, do not leave this side, okay? You can visit Asma if you want, but do not go outside. Kina jina da kyau?"

She swallowed another lump and nodded. Remembering he preferred her vocalizing her response, she added. "Alright. Naji ka."

He nodded to himself, satisfied. "Good." He breathed out. "I will get going now. Take care of yourself for me." He then stepped closer, one hand going to rest on the small of her back, making her hold her breath while he leaned down and brushed a kiss on her forehead. He pulled away calmly, then turned around and walked away, leaving her there.

Kareema's knees weakened, and she wobbled on her feet. She had to hold onto the nearest cabinet to steady herself, lest she fell on the floor because Tareeq was truly after her life.

What was all that? Was he forgetting she told him she was married? And even if she was not, she was educated enough to know all that was haram yet she couldn't bring herself to push him away.

This had to be the devil's doing. He was tempting them both, and she feared she wouldn't be able to pass this test.

"Astagfirullah." She mumbled to herself repeatedly, her heart hammering behind her ribcage.

She was not sure how long she stood there, but the shrieking sound of her phone ringing nearby gained her attention, snapping her out of her trance. She looked around, sporting the device Tareeq had gifted her on her first day there nearby—the brand-new iPhone model alien to her. She had to get help from Asma the day before to teach her how to use it.

Seeing the caller ID made her heart drop to the pit of her stomach—her step mother's name staring right back at her. She had a small phone back then, and simply transferred the sim to the new phone so she wasn't surprised how the woman got her number. What she was surprised by however, was why she was calling her then of all times.

Karima almost did not answer, wanting to let it ring out, but at the very last ring, she slid the answer button and brought the phone to her ear, swallowing a lump. Her heart hammered behind her ribcage. "Hello?"

"Hello, Karima!" The woman's voice came flooding in, and judging from her tone, she was not so happy.

"Na'am." Karima's voice was low when she responded, instinctively cowering away. "Ina yini—"

"Hold your greeting! I do not want. Hold it to yourself!" The woman snapped, sounding enraged. "Wai Karima when did you grow wings? Where did you get the audacity and the guts to play me, to play us all for fools? Or is it because you have those royals backing us up?"

"I do not understand what you are talking about..." When did she play her for a fool, what did she do?

"Kar ki rena min hankali mana." The woman hissed. "Your marriage, daurin auren ki da mukayi a nan..."

Karima felt her heart drop to the pit of her stomach—the guilt from earlier returning all over.

"Ashe Karima raina mana hankali kukayi? You all played us for fools and made us marry you off knowing we wouldn't agree otherwise. Ashe shegiya arziqi kika bi? And you decided to play us to get what you want??"

Karima's brows drew in, trying to make sense of what her step mother was saying but none of it made any sense, not in the slightest. "I...I don't understand. Me ke faruwa?"

"Gidan ku ke faruwa! Nace gidan ku ke faruwa shegiyar yarinya." The woman hissed loudly, her voice raising with each word she uttered. "When you did your hypocrisy and fooled us into marrying you off to that man, ashe you had planned it. You made us marry you off to that Sokoto Prince while disguised as a poor man ko? Because you know I will never allow you to marry him otherwise."

Karima felt her world stop as her step-mother's words registered in her mind. All that played on repeat and stood out was...made them marry her off to that Sokoto Prince.

Married to a Sokoto Prince? Her? It couldn't be...

She glanced at the door Tareeq had just disappeared off to, and everything that had happened in the past few days leading up that a few minutes ago came crashing on her, and her head throbbed with how much she had to process.

It truly couldn't be, right?

"What was his name again?" Her step mother's voice came once again. "Oh right, Tareeq! The soldier."

So, it's true.

Karima's knees gave up on her then, and she found herself crouching, the world around her spinning. Her heart hammered behind her ribcage, her mind struggling to accept what had been confirmed.

Her step-mother's voice sounded so distant to her ears as she carried on. "Mark my words, Karima, you might have married royalty but I hope you keep it in your head and remember, you will never be the same as them. They will never accept you. Even him, if you think he loves you then you are dead wrong. I promise you one day you will regret ever marrying him. Na gaya miki. You'll understand that we come from different worlds!"

The phone slipped from Karima's hands, her step mother's words disappearing into oblivion as she forced herself to accept what she'd just learned, what had changed everything she'd known so far.

She was married...not to an old stranger, but to Major Tareeq Muhammad Haroon.

And he'd known all the while but kept her in the dark.

Did he plan all this? Her head spun at the thought.

Yet one thing remained, unchanged.

She was Tareeq's wife all along, and she hadn't known.

At the Kubi Royal Palace, the coronation of Zayd Maccido was on full swing, as the 7th Calipha of Kubi Caliphate, and he did not disappoint when it came to the preparations. It didn't matter that half the members, if not all, were against it. It didn't matter that more than half the court were coerced into accepting it. Zayd Maccido had always gotten what he wanted—whether money had to speak, or threats had to.

The grand chambers at the palace, reserved only for the biggest event had been prepared to accept guests from all over the country. Rows of cars lined up outside, convoys of the most prestige, grandeur at its finest. Elites came trooping into the palace, led to the chambers—and the air, all that could be heard were sirens of politicians, and trumpets when other royals arrive. Deep, rich laughter filled the air as connections were strengthened, and as always, Kubi was only second to Maroudi when it came to being the city of Beau Mondes in the country.

Of course, no event is without a hassle, and there were some emirates and influential members of the country that had turned down Zayd's invitation, not blind to his character and the way he handed his issues.

Regardless, it was a big day, and it showed.

At exactly twenty minutes to 10AM, the allotted time for the coronation, his convoy pulled up right in front of the chambers. The press that were allowed in snapped away, desperate to catch any glimpse of the royal, some videotaping it live for those at home to see on their televisions—which included Asma who had woken up, and immediately tuned in and was watching on her feet on edge. The trumpet was at its loudest, and the fadawa rushed to cover him, praises being chanted as they pulled their babban riga to shield him as he stepped out of the car, yet the press were insistent—the flashes almost blinding.

Once he was on his feet and set, the guards pulled away, revealing him.

Zayd stood in his glory, every bit of a monarch in his attire, dressed for the role. His alkyabba the most delicate, embroidered to the perfection. His rawani was made to its very best—the two ears stretched straight, unyielding. He held a staff with one hand, and his eyes were covered with black shades.

He then took his steps into the building, and the crowd rumbled louder. Once inside the chambers, that was when the greetings began. But there was no time to waste, and the greetings could wait for Zayd had then advanced further. A path cleared for him by his loyal fadawa, the din of the outside world faded, replaced by the solemn, rhythmic beating of the kakaki, their sound vibrated through the very marble floor, a claim to authority that shook the foundations of the palace.

He moved with a slow, deliberate grace towards the ornate, high-backed throne draped in the richest brocade. Before it, on a velvet cushion, lay the twin symbols of his impending power: the Ceremonial Sword and the Holy Qur'an. The most senior members of the Emirate Council, their faces impassive masks carved from years of courtly politics, awaited him. Their white beards and pristine white babban rigas stood in stark contrast to the riot of colors worn by the assembled elites.

Kubi Caliphate had a tradition they go through to crown their Caliphas, different from other emirates, and despite the off handed methods he used to get the position, Zayd was still determined to go through it all.

He stopped before the throne just as everyone had settled down in their respective position—the chamber big enough that each and everyone had a seat to position themselves. The kakaki fell silent. In the sudden, ringing quiet, every rustle of fabric, every indrawn breath, was amplified. The Chief Councillor, an old man whose allegiance had been bought with a promise of control over the northern farmlands, stepped forward. His voice, though aged, was firm, carrying to the farthest corners of the chamber.

"Assalamu alaikum everyone," He greeted, his voice loud, and clear, "Thank you all for accepting our invite to join us in celebrating this momentous day. Today, we stand here today, to confirm the leadership of this great Caliphate. By the will of its people and the counsel of its elders, Zayd ibn Hassan Maccido is to be presented to bear the mantle of the 7th Caliph of Kubi."

It was a fiction, and everyone knew it. The words "will of its people" tasted like ash in the mouths of many, it was almost comical how everyone knew the truth of the situation and chose to ignore it. A low murmur of assent, more coerced than heartfelt, rippled through the crowd.

Zayd, with a final, almost imperceptible adjustment of his alkyabba, removed his black shades, revealing eyes that were cold and triumphant. He turned to face everyone, and it was in that moment that he noticed another guest—unwelcomed, notbut one that couldn't be kept away, strode in his glory.

His sharp eyes narrowed, the words of the council members dimming in the background as he followed Amir Qasim with his gaze—and the man in return held his gaze. As expected, he wasn't alone—for alongside him was a face that resembled him, another Sokoto prince that had yet graced the state with his presence. Sadiq, the Sarkin Dawaki title holder accompanied his brother to the coronation ceremony.

A vein ticked in Zayd's jaw as the two were led by their own fadawa to their designated front row seats. He hadn't extended the invitation to them personally, but out of courtesy, and in an attempt to show off his power, had invited the Sultan who was clearly represented by his two sons.

But it wasn't Sarkin Dawaki's presence that rubbed Zayd in the wrong way. No, it was Amir Qasim, who carried himself as though it was his palace. Shoulders squared, chin up, and his eyes—shielded by shades despite knowing it was against royal protocols to have one on when the monarch does.

Apparently, he does not care.

And when he settled down, flagged by his guards who settled down in front of them, his gaze found Zayd's, and his lips curved into the faintest smirks.

Zayd's hand curled by his side.

"Do you, Zayd Maccido," the Chief councilor intoned, his voice echoing in the silence, gaining Zayd's attention once more, as he was handed the Quran, "swear by Allah, the Most Beneficent, the Most Merciful, to rule with justice, to protect the weak, to uphold the faith, and to govern the people of Kubi with wisdom and..."

He couldn't finish his words, he did not get the chance to because a new group suddenly made their way in, cutting the ceremony midway, gaining everyone's attention. There were about two different people, one of which were the police, judging from the police, and the other, soldiers, though there were only two soldiers and five police that stepped into the royal court—all others waiting outside.

They came to a stop in front of Zayd, whose guards instantly flanked him, but the police held his gaze unwavering.

"Pardon our intrusion, Your Highness..." One of the police officers spoke, his tone composed, and unbothered by the guards. "...but I am afraid your coronation has to come a halt."

"Who are you?" The chief councilor inquired, stepped forward in an attempt to stand in front of the police officer, but was pushed back by another before he could come near him.

Another person from the council members spoke, followed by the others.

"What do you think you are doing?"

"Do you not know this is the palace? Have you no respect for us?"

"Kai bakusan a fada kuke ba? Qaryan ku wallahi yayen talakawa! Hattara!"

"The audacity you have to approach His Highness—"

"I am Agent Aadil Bashir Kari," The police officer pulled up his ID card, his words directed towards the Zayd, who glared at him, standing firmly, though unable to a word. Agent Kari, unbothered by everyone else continued. "And I have an immediate arrest warrant for you, Zayd Maccido--"

"Hattara dan talakawa! Baa ma Yerima mai jiran gado haka! Qaryan ka!"

"—and you can come calmly, or we would do this the hard way. Your choice." His gaze flicked to the royal guard that just spoke, his voice dropping when he added. "And whoever gets in the way of our work would be taken care of with immediate effect. So," His gaze found Zayd's once more, "What will your decision be?"

"He's asking merely out of respect for the royal palace, not because you have a choice." This time around, it was Tareeq who stood beside him, fully clad in his uniform that spoke, staring at him dead in the eyes. "Then again, the one disrespecting fada the most is you."

"Hattara—" The royal guards' words were cut midway when the soldier standing behind Tareeq stepped forward, kicking him right in the knees, the sickening sound of a crack coming as he fell on the floor, wailing in pain.

No one dared to speak again.

"What are you arresting him for?" This time around it was one of the guests that spoke, calmly inquiring. "What could possibly make you arrest a Calipha-to-be during his coronation?"

"We have multiple cases of assault, rape, and even instigating the murder of a lawyer, Khalil Wambai, who took up one of his rape cases." Agent Kari's gaze found the one questioning, "Do we need to go into details? Or is this the kind of Calipha you want?"

No one spoke, none daring to because the accusations were far too grace. Even some of the guards flanking him pulled back, throwing him looks.

Zayd's face was flushed red, his nose flaring, his teeth gritted. "How dare you?"

"Oh no, we don't just dare," Tareeq cut in, "He's giving you a choice but I am not. Walk out on your own, or my boys outside would be more than willing to do so for you. Take your pick, Yerima."

Zayd glanced outside, and through the floor length windows, he could indeed see the chaos that was outside. Multiple police cars and that of soldiers—not to mention the media that were snapping everything away. If he were to be taken out...every respect people had for him would be long ago.

So, he swallowed a bitter lump, and then glared at Tareeq. "You'd regret this." He promised.

"Keep threatening me. I already have a score to settle with you." Tareeq smirked. "I would see who would save you from me later on."

Zayd huffed out a breath.

"Let's go." Agent Kari moved aside, giving the man way to walk ahead.

Still fuming, Zayd still held his head up and started making his way out, flanked by police and soldiers now, even though some of his guards still followed. His head turned to the side, his gaze finding Amir Qasim's who was watching everything calmly, and when their gaze met, the corner of his lips tilted upwards as if to say he did not need to raise a hand or get involved personally to get rid of him.

He was too regal for that.

Zayd gritted his teeth, then looked ahead as he was escorted out, and was swamped outside by the press scuffling to get any sight of him, still giving live coverage to everyone that had just seen everything transpire, including Asma whose shoulders slumped in relief, exhaling a heavy breath.

She covered her face with her hand for a moment, her heart rate slowing down, relief flooding in her. This was it, the end of Zayd was coming and she would finally be free from his shackles. A moment passed, and Amir Qasim crossed her mind, as well as his promise.

Suddenly, she felt grateful to him, knowing he had indeed played a role in this, and she could not refute that. She'd even made up her mind to thank him properly when he returned, which included rushing off to take a shower and changing into a new outfit she'd picked out after careful consideration.

She believed she could be cordial that much with him. Call it a moment of truce.

They'd celebrate this momentous occasion together.

She bathed herself in the perfume he'd mentioned loving, and had almost thought of making a quick snack for him. Anything to lighten the mood really. As she'd reached the bottom of the stairs however, one of the maids approached her, announcing that she had a guest, which had her brows drawing in, not expecting one.

Then the thought that it could be Karima crossed her mind, and she excitedly rushed off, hoping to see the woman. Except upon reaching the living room, it was not Karima that she'd seen, but the very last person she thought she'd ever see, not there of all places.

Upon hearing Asma's footsteps, the woman whom was staring at a painting on the wall turned around, their eyes clashing. Her lips curved into a smile. "Oh, hello there."

Asma's eyes narrowed. "What are you doing here?" She gritted out in a low voice. "What are you doing in my house, Hadiza?"

Hadiza chuckled, "That's not the warm welcome I was expecting but I'll make so with it." She waved her off, turning around to face her fully. "And to answer your question, I am not hear to see you. I am here to see Amir Qasim."

"Bakida hankali." The response escaped her lips before Asma could process it, her heart rate picking up. "What gave you the right to come here to see my husband?"

Hadiza's lips parted, her eyes slowly widening. "Wait, he didn't tell you?" Her hand covered her mouth in mock disbelief.

"Didn't tell me what?" Asma's eyes narrowed even more, and she could feel her blood beginning to boil.

Hadiza's grin rubbed her off in the wrong way, as well as the way she carried herself—as if she knew something Asma did not, as if she had something strong backing her up. "So, he did not..." Hadiza's grin slowly widened, "...oh, you poor thing."

What nonsense is this one spewing? Asma wondered with a glare.

Asma eyes flicked close, taking in a deep breath to calm herself down. "You have thirty seconds to get the hell out of my house else you know what I will do to you..."

"No, that's not going to happen." Hadiza tutted with a shake of her head, making her way over to one of the couches, then settling down on it, crossing her legs in the process while resting an arm on the armrest. "I am not going anywhere. And if you're so curious about what's going on..."

The sound of the front door opening came, accompanied by rushed foot steps which halted Hadiza's words midway. Their gaze shifted in the direction of the sound just in time to see Amir Qasim appearing, his gaze falling on the irked Asma first, then at Hadiza who waved at him, her grin unwavering.

He glared at her.

"He's here." Hadiza declared. "Now why don't you ask him the same thing you asked me? Why I am here?" She shifted her attention to Amir Qasim. "She wanted to know why I would come to see you."

"Didn't I tell you not to come here?" Amir Qasim snapped, glaring at Hadiza, "Which part of that do you not understand?"

"I missed you though." She pouted, "I couldn't help it. I wanted to see you, so I did. Was what I did wrong in any way?"

"What the hell is going on here?" Asma asked, her voice low, glaring at the two of them. Her heart raced so fast she feared they'd be able to hear it, but she wanted answers, and she wanted them fast.

Amir Qasim found her gaze, and then he took a step forward to approach her. "Fulani, please go to your room first. I will come and explain everything to you--"

"You're not going to keep hiding it from her, will you?" Hadiza cut in, "Because she'd find out sooner or later. I believe it's best if you just come clean."

"Shut your mouth, right now!" He snapped, his glare momentarily on her, before it softened and found Asma's gaze again. "Fulani..."

"Tell her." Hadiza pressed regardless.

"Tell me what?!" Asma's voice rose, staring between the two, knowing there was obviously something Amir Qasim was hiding from her, she could tell from how guilty he looked, and she feared she wouldn't be able to take it if it does come to light.

Still, he tried to coerce her. "Fulani—"

"Oh, for goodness' sake!" Hadiza groaned. "Fine, if he won't tell you, I would."

Both Asma and Amir Qasim whipped their heads in her direction.

"Hadiza—"

"Amir Qasim has been hiding something from you since he came here, and he does not want you to find out that--"

"Hadiza—"

"We are married." Hadiza blurted out, holding onto Asma's gaze. "He is my husband now, which makes you and I, co-wives."

Asma could have sworn she heard her heart break and the world crumble right in front of her eyes, and all she could see was Amir Qasim's guilt-ridden face and Hadiza's smug grin.

"I look forward to us taking care of our husband, kishiya ta."

*****

Repeat after me. MEN WILL ALWAYS BE WHAT???

Lallai ma Amir Qasim ka Sami gu.

Wai ni, who was the one claiming he'd never marry Hadiza and was even assuring us? Was it not this same man???

Yanxu, you don go marry Hadiza??? CHAIIIIII.

Sai Kuma Tareeq Ashe Kai be huzbannnn 🫢 na why you Dey do the stuff you want like that. Sai da Kai Dan qunar baqin wake🤣🤣

Su Karima an shiga gari osheyyyy princess Matar Major Kuma Matar Prince. Kar dai a manta asali. Tam. I've said my own.

Team "update soon" Dan Allah ku min haquri. If you ever read my ongoing books before you'd know I don't disappear for no reason, I'm consistent. Me disappearing meant shit got real and life was lifing really.

Just because I wrote a new book doesn't mean my brain is automatically wired to write this constantly. I needed my break. I've deleted so many comments because of this. Now I'm jobless, I fit reply anyhow you Dey comment.

Oh and btw, to the sensible people here, the 99%🌚🫶🏽 thank you for checking up on me. I'm good Alhamdullilah. Been sooooooooooooooo busy but Alhamdullilah, it's coming to an end. 95% done with uni soooo yeah, you'd have me back full time soon.

While you're on it, have you read my new book from Burnt Roses? It's available on Selar and there's a link in my bio. Let me know what you think!!

Stay safe as always,

Love, Jannah Mia.