The household is buzzing with news: Daniel's sister's wedding has been fixed. Maids whisper about henna and dresses, cooks are planning feasts, and the air is already thick with preparation.
But Linda is absent-minded. Her mind drifts to the riverbank meeting with David the night before, the letter folded carefully inside her trunk. Daniel notices her distracted silence.
At first, he brushes it off, but when she doesn't respond to his direct question about the guest list, his patience snaps.
He slams the desk, his voice sharp:
"Linda. My parents will be here. My uncles, my aunts, my entire family. You will not drift off into your little world when they speak to you. Do you understand?"
Linda blinks, trying to recover. "I was listening—"
"No," he cuts her off coldly, stepping closer. "You weren't. Don't test me."
Her lips press into a thin line. "So what do you want me to do? Sit, smile, nod, like a painted doll? Pretend?"
"Exactly," he hisses. "Smile when spoken to, answer politely, and for once—don't bring me shame."
His words hit like daggers. Linda's chest tightens, fury warring with humiliation. She raises her chin.
"I won't be your puppet, Daniel. If your family can't accept me as I am—"
"They will," he interrupts, voice low and dangerous, "because you'll give them no reason not to. My sister's wedding isn't about you. But if you humiliate me in front of them…" He pauses, his eyes narrowing, "don't think I'll forgive it."
The tension hangs heavy, thick as smoke. Linda glares, biting back her retort. She knows she's walking a dangerous line—yet part of her refuses to bend completely.
Henna Night
The courtyard glowed brighter as the women's songs rose into the night air. Laughter spilled like wine, playful and loud, mixing with the drumbeats that echoed through the stone walls. Linda sat shyly among the circle of women, her hands already painted red, when one of Daniel's aunts suddenly clapped her hands together.
"Ah, daniel's wife !" the aunt announced, eyes sparkling. "She cannot just sit and watch. Give her some henna, too. It will bless her marriage!"
Before Linda could protest, another woman leaned in with a mischievous smile. "Yes, yes — let's paint her husband's initials on her palm. That way, Daniel will be hers forever."
The circle erupted with teasing laughter. Linda's cheeks flamed, her heart racing as she looked across the courtyard. Daniel stood tall, arms crossed, watching her intently. The flicker of lantern light caught in his eyes — and though his expression was firm, Linda swore she saw a flicker of amusement.
"Come, bride," one of the cousins teased, dipping her finger in the henna paste. "We will write his name so deep he cannot escape you."
Linda laughed nervously, holding out her palm. "Do you really think he could escape me?"
The women cheered at her boldness, their laughter ringing. Someone leaned closer and whispered loudly enough for everyone to hear: "If Daniel does not already kneel at your feet, he will after tonight."
The laughter grew louder. Linda's face burned. She dared another glance at Daniel — and this time, he tilted his head ever so slightly, his lips curving in the faintest smirk.
When the henna was done, Linda was pulled into the dance. Red veils swayed around her as the women clapped in rhythm. For a brief moment, she let herself smile, caught between embarrassment and belonging.
But through it all, she felt his gaze — dark, steady, unrelenting — watching her every move.
----
Much later, the courtyard had emptied, leaving only distant murmurs and the faint smell of rosewater in the air. Linda returned to her chamber, her palms still wet with intricate patterns. She sat on the bed, staring at her stained hands.
The door opened quietly, and Daniel entered, carrying a tray. Steam rose from the roasted lamb, bread, and a small bowl of olives.
"You didn't eat," he said matter-of-factly, setting the tray down.
Linda held up her henna-stained hands helplessly. "I can't."
For a long moment, Daniel said nothing. Then he picked up a piece of lamb, tore it carefully, and brought it to her lips.
Her breath hitched. "Daniel, I—"
"Eat," he interrupted softly, his tone brooking no refusal.
She parted her lips, accepting the bite. His fingers brushed the corner of her mouth, lingering just a fraction longer than necessary.
Another piece of bread, another olive. With each bite, the space between them grew smaller, heavier. His rough fingertips grazed her lips, her chin, her skin — and her pulse thudded in her ears.
When a crumb clung to her mouth, he leaned forward without thinking. His thumb brushed it away, slow, deliberate.
Her eyes widened, her breath shallow. "Daniel…" she whispered.
His gaze locked onto hers — steady, burning. Then his voice dropped low, almost a growl.
"You ask if I like the henna. I don't."
Her heart sank — until he leaned closer, his beard grazing her cheek, his lips a whisper from her ear.
"I prefer your skin bare. Untouched. Just as it is now."
Her entire body flushed with heat. She swallowed hard, unsure if she could breathe.
When she finally found her voice, it trembled. "Then why feed me like this?"
His lips curved faintly, almost dangerous in their softness. "Because you're mine, Linda. Even in something as small as this — you'll remember it was my hands that fed you."
The air between them tightened, charged, fragile — one wrong move, and it would break into something far more dangerous.
Linda chewed slowly, her lips brushing against his fingertips as he fed her another bite. The silence thickened, the only sound the faint crackle of the oil lamp. Her heart raced — every touch of his hand, every brush of his beard when he leaned closer, sent her mind spinning.
She dared to glance at him. His gaze was sharp, unblinking, like a hawk watching prey it had already claimed.
Linda's lips curved — a reckless spark in her chest. "And what if…" she began softly, her voice almost playful, "what if I wanted someone else to feed me?"
The words hung in the air like lightning before a storm.
Daniel froze. His hand, still holding a small piece of bread, stilled inches from her lips. His jaw clenched, and his eyes darkened, dangerous.
"Say that again," he said, his voice low, flat, the kind of tone that could make lesser men tremble.
Linda swallowed, pulse racing, but the rebellious fire in her would not die. "I only wondered… maybe someone gentler. Someone whose hands weren't so rough."
The piece of bread dropped back onto the tray. Daniel leaned in so suddenly she gasped, his face inches from hers. His beard brushed her cheek, his breath hot against her ear.
"You think gentleness makes a man worthy?" he murmured, his tone sharp as a blade. His hand cupped her jaw, not harshly but firmly, forcing her to meet his eyes. "No one else will ever feed you. No one else will ever touch you. Understand that, Linda?"
Her lips parted. For a moment she wanted to argue, to flare up with that same fire — but her body betrayed her. A shiver raced down her spine, her breath caught in her throat.
He smirked faintly at her silence, the corner of his mouth curving against her cheek. "That's what I thought."
Then, softer, almost as if against his own will, he added:
"Your lips… were made to open for me alone."
Linda's chest rose and fell rapidly. The tray of food sat forgotten between them.
And though part of her bristled at his arrogance, another part — a part she refused to name — melted beneath the weight of his possessiveness.
Daniel's thumb brushed over her lower lip, almost lazily, yet his eyes burned into hers like hot iron.
Linda's breath hitched. She knew she should turn away, push his hand aside, scold him for treating her like some possession. But instead… she froze, caught between defiance and something far more dangerous.
His face hovered so close she could see the flecks of steel in his irises, could feel the warmth radiating from him. The barest tilt forward, and his lips would claim hers.
Her heart thrashed wildly in her chest. Is he… is he actually—?
But Daniel lingered there, cruelly slow, savoring the way her lashes trembled, the way her lips parted just slightly in anticipation.
His smirk deepened. "You want me to kiss you, don't you?" His voice was velvet-wrapped steel, teasing yet commanding.
Linda's pride surged. "N-no," she whispered, though the slight quiver betrayed her.
Daniel's chuckle was low, wicked. He leaned in closer still, his mouth grazing the corner of hers—so close she swore she could taste his breath. For one suspended heartbeat, the world tilted…
And then he pulled back.
His hand dropped, his smirk firmly in place. "Not tonight," he said smoothly, rising to his feet as though he hadn't just unraveled her nerves. "You'll have to wait, little rebel."
Linda's cheeks burned with both fury and an unfamiliar ache. She hated him in that moment—hated how he wielded restraint as a weapon.
But in the deepest part of her chest, she hated herself more… for wishing he hadn't stopped.
PLEASE SUPPORT
LOVE FROM,
♡LINDA AND DANIEL♡