Wanted by the Billionaire Heirs

"Say it again,” Mariam’s voice purred behind the half-closed bedroom door. Soft. Breathless. Almost begging. “That if I wasn’t already married to you,” her husband’s voice followed…low, teasing, dangerously clear ; “I’d beg for you from your father’s house all over again. Even if your sister was watching.” I froze at the threshold. I hadn't meant to eavesdrop. I had only come upstairs to borrow Azeerah's perfume. But now, with my palm still hovering over the doorknob, my cheeks burned like fire. “Hmm,” Mariam giggled, “steal me again, huh?” “Over and over,” he murmured. “Until you knew no name but mine.” I spun away, nearly tripping over the rug. Astaghfirullah, my mind screamed. But my heart… my heart betrayed me, drumming wild in my chest. --- I have no idea why that part of my last visit to my married sister's house just played in my mind. I shouldn’t have heard it. But I did. And then, as that part rushed back in my mind, my thoughts weren’t just scandalized. They were... wondering. Would any man ever want me like that? Speak to me like that? Hold my name like a secret only he deserved to whisper? I took a deep breath. Let me forget about that and focus instead on my break. I need that. Looking out of the moving car. I could only keep my mouth opened. I had never stepped into a palace before. Not an actual palace, no, but Mariam’s home looked like one, felt like one. The kind of home that didn’t just speak of wealth…it whispered of legacy. Long, sun-drenched courtyards. Delicately carved archways. Windows taller than two men, crowned in gold. Walls of polished limestone that caught the sunlight and scattered it like secrets. The house stood behind high gates that gleamed beneath the warm late-afternoon sun. An estate hidden away in a quiet corner of the Emirates, nestled behind palm trees and draped in the kind of stillness that only comes with money too old to show off. I adjusted my brown jilbab, smoothing the front as I stood before the towering gates. My Jilbab was nice; a soft beige cotton that matched my abaya, plain, modest, clean. My suitcase stood at my side, wheels lightly dusted from the driveway. Just for the weekend, I reminded myself. Just for a few days. It had been Mariam’s idea. “Come over,” she’d insisted. Just rest. No lectures. No weird campus stares. No Professor Hassan.” The last part had made my stomach knot. He hadn’t done anything wrong. Not really. But he’d crossed a line just before the semester ended, words too warm, eyes too steady. A confession wrapped in scholarly concern. And I... I didn’t know what to say. So I didn’t. I just smiled, packed my things, and told him I’d be away during the break. Now here I am. In front of an estate I never thought I’d see in real life, about to spend the weekend surrounded by a kind of beauty that made me feel smaller with every breath. I reached for the intercom beside the gate and pressed the button. The buzz came a second later. A voice followed, low and clear. “Name?” “Zaynab. I’m here to see Mariam.” There was a pause, then the gate gave a soft metallic groan and began to open. The car that dropped me off slowly drove forward into the compound, tires whispering over smooth, white stones. The air shifted, crisp with oud and orange blossoms. My fingers clenched the straps of my bag as I stepped out, heart thudding too hard for a simple visit. And then the front door opened. I wasn’t sure what I expected. A servant, maybe. Or Mariam herself, in her usual whirlwind of color and laughter. But not him. He stood tall at the entrance, dressed in a white thobe that fell on his ankles like silk. His shoulders were broad, posture perfectly straight, like he carried something invisible but heavy. His face was sculpted, composed...too composed. Thick brows, sharp cheekbones, a mouth that didn’t look like it smiled easily. But it was his eyes that struck me first. Dark. Cold. Observant. He didn’t speak at first. He just looked. And something about that silence made my chest tighten. Then, finally… “You’re Zaynab?” I nodded, straightening despite the weight of his gaze. “Yes. Mariam invited me.” He gave a slight nod and stepped aside. “Come in.” No smile. No warm greeting. Just those two words, clipped and precise. But I still said thank you. Because that’s what people like me did around people like him. I stepped past him into the entry hall, and the scent of the house hit me immediately, like rose water, sandalwood, and something sweeter. I didn’t dare look back. I didn’t need to. I could still feel his eyes. “Zay!” Mariam’s voice broke through the silence like sunshine through clouds. She came flying down the grand staircase, arms outstretched, her abaya swaying like wind-caught silk. Her scarf barely clung to her head, as usual. She wrapped me in a hug before I could breathe. “Finally! I thought your ride got lost!” I laughed softly. “Your directions were… vague to me, so I left the directions to your driver.” She pulled back, grinning. “I wanted it to feel like a surprise.” I glanced past her briefly, catching the tail end of the man’s thobe as he turned down the hall and disappeared. Mariam followed my gaze and smirked. “Ignore him. That’s my brother, Faruq. He was probably born frowning.” I blinked. “That was Faruq?” “The one and only.” She rolled her eyes affectionately. “CEO in all. Master of cold stares. Don’t take it personally.” I wasn’t sure I could. I wasn’t sure what I’d just taken in. He hadn’t done anything, and yet, I felt as though something had shifted. Mariam linked her arm with mine and tugged me forward. “Come on. I’ll show you to your room. Then you’ll meet Asiya. She’s already here.” “Asiya?” “My other half,” she said dramatically. “You’ll love her." She’s loud and honest. Like a prettier, bolder version of me.” I laughed. “Impossible.” We walked through the halls, past high ceilings and arched doorways. Every step echoed. Every rug was handwoven. The walls bore framed verses of the Qur’an, hung like crowns of light against ivory. This wasn’t a house. It was an experience. Still, something within me began to loosen. Mariam’s warmth was like a cloak, pulling me into her world one smile at a time. When we turned the corner into the lounge, I spotted her. Asiya. Reclined on the cream sofa like it was a throne, phone in one hand, date in the other. Her scarf matched her coral abaya, and her face, which was makeup-free, looked in a way that didn’t beg attention, it demanded it. Her gaze lifted when she saw me, sharp and assessing. Then, surprisingly, she smiled. “So you’re Zaynab,” she said, setting her phone aside and standing gracefully. “You’re even prettier than Mariam said.” I flushed. “Thank you. That’s kind.” She walked over and hugged me, softly scented like jasmine and something richer. “Welcome to our little palace,” she whispered. I glanced around. “It’s… beautiful.” “You’ll get used to it,” Mariam said, flopping onto the sofa. “Now the weekend can finally start.” I sat beside them, already sensing the rhythm between these two; Asiya’s bold elegance and Mariam’s playful ease. And me? Somewhere in the middle. We spoke lightly for a while. Mariam teased Asiya about her perfume collection. Asiya rolled her eyes about some beach outfit plans. I just listened, trying to shake off the feeling that something deeper had already begun. Because it wasn’t just about being invited here. It was the way Faruq looked through me. The way the air changed when he entered the room. The way Mariam’s voice dropped when she said, “Ignore him.” As if I was going to need to. And really I don't know why this bothers me so much. As if something about him was already inevitable. Just then, my phone vibrated in my bag. I almost ignored it… until I saw the name on the screen. Professor Hassan. I stared at it, throat suddenly dry. Mariam and Asiya were still chatting, lost in their world of scents and silk. But my world had just shifted again. Why now? Why here? And more importantly… Why did a single text from him make me think of Faruq?