TIED IN SILK

Untamed and Undone

The boardroom was ice-cold despite the heat of Nairobi noon blazing through the glass. The air was tense — stiff suits, murmuring investors, Paul seated smugly at the head of the conference table.

Zuri stood tall at the front, flanked by slides, printouts, numbers.

And a single empty chair to her right.

Fahim hadn’t shown.

“Let’s be clear,” Paul said smoothly, tapping the desk. “Our internal audit has flagged multiple inconsistencies — unscanned containers, falsified driver IDs... and a direct trail leading to this man.” He tapped a photo on the screen: Fahim Kombo, arms folded, cape slightly fluttering.

The image looked like rebellion. Like confidence. Like a scapegoat.

Zuri’s stomach knotted.

Her eyes flicked to Paul. “The driver ID was fake — but it was used in his name. Without his knowledge.”

Paul’s grin was all polished teeth. “And we’re to believe this casual dockside worker uncovered a smuggling ring we couldn’t detect? Come on, Zuri.”

She inhaled sharply. Her fingers curled around the edge of the podium.

Say it.

Say you believe Fahim.

Say he was right.

But she didn’t.

Silence.

And that silence said everything.

Fahim watched from the hallway.

He hadn’t walked in. Hadn’t interrupted.

Because what was the point?

She stood there — the woman who had undone him without even trying — and when it counted, she said nothing.

She let him burn.

Later that evening, her phone buzzed. Unknown number. She answered breathlessly.

“Fahim?”

His voice was low. Calm. Cracked in places. “You looked good up there.”

“Please—”

“I came to stand by you. You left me in the hallway.”

“I didn’t know what to say—”

“You always know what to say, Zuri. That’s your thing.”

Her throat tightened. “I wanted to protect the company.”

“And I wanted to protect you,” he said softly. “But maybe you never needed me to.”

Silence.

“I hope your fiancé gives you the kind of power you think you need.”

“Fahim—don’t do this.”

But he had already hung up.

Zuri didn’t sleep that night.

She walked her empty apartment like a ghost. Tossed out Andrew’s flowers. Deleted unread messages. Shut down her work laptop.

For once, it wasn’t about being in control.

It was about finally telling the truth — even if it ruined her.

The next morning, she burst into the office.

Paul looked up from his desk. “Rough night?”

Zuri dropped a thick brown envelope on his table.

“What’s this?”

“Evidence. Of your part in the smuggling. Fake seals. Driver kickbacks. Off-book payments.”

Paul laughed — but it sounded weak. “You’re bluffing.”

Zuri’s stare didn’t flinch. “You should be more careful with your burner phone.”

His face fell.

She leaned in, voice lethal. “You’re done here. The board’s getting that file. Legal is looped in. Don’t come back.”

He stood, rage barely restrained. “You’ll regret this.”

“No,” she said. “I regret not trusting the man who warned me first.”

It took her two hours and six calls to find him.

Fahim was on the edge of Rongai, stripping a truck down with two mechanics, sleeves rolled up, sweat glistening across his neck and arms.

He didn’t look surprised when she pulled up.

Zuri stepped out of the car. For once, no heels. No makeup. No armor.

Just her.

“You found me,” he said, wiping grease off his hands with a cloth.

“I never should’ve let you leave that building alone.”

He didn’t reply. Just looked at her like he didn’t know whether to kiss her or turn away.

“I was scared,” she confessed. “Not of Paul. Not of the board. Of you.”

“Me?”

“Of what you make me feel. Of how you strip me down without touching me. Of how you walked in with that stupid cape and ruined everything I thought I wanted.”

Fahim took a step closer. “And now?”

She looked up at him — no blinking, no defense.

“Now I want to be ruined again.”

That was all he needed.

His mouth crashed into hers, and she gasped against him, grabbing fistfuls of his T-shirt as his arms locked around her waist. He pressed her back against the hood of his truck, hands urgent, lips desperate.

“I tried to forget you,” she whispered. “I let him touch me.”

His eyes darkened. “But you were thinking of me.”

She nodded, breathless. “Every second.”

He growled, his mouth trailing fire down her neck. “You think I didn’t see it in your eyes? Every time you looked at me like you hated me for making you feel.”

He lifted her up, her legs wrapping around his waist as his lips took hers again — deeper this time, slower, more deliberate.

“You still want control?” he whispered against her throat.

“No,” she said. “I want you.”

He laid her down across the bench in the truck bay, her blouse open, her skin lit by slivers of afternoon sun. She reached for his belt, needing him — now, raw, real.

And when he entered her, it wasn’t rushed.

It was surrender.

Her fingers traced the ridges of his abs, the sweat on his back, the dip where his hips carved into heaven. She gasped his name again and again, and every moan was a vow.

She wasn’t going back to safe.

She was staying here — in the wild.

With him.

One Week Later

The board voted unanimously to remove Paul.

Zuri stood at the front again — blazer sharp, mouth calm, spine straighter than ever.

This time, Fahim stood beside her.

No cape.

Just him — his hand on her lower back, his eyes on her future.

Fahim didn’t let go of her hand the entire drive.

They didn’t talk much — there was too much between their breaths, in the way her fingers curled tightly into his palm, like letting go might shatter whatever this was becoming.

He took her to his place — a quiet corner of Lang’ata. Nothing fancy. Just brick, leather, a bookshelf full of adventure novels, and an old record player that hummed as he turned it on.

She looked around, breathless. “I thought you’d live in chaos.”

He smiled. “I only bring the chaos outside.”

When he turned to face her again, his expression had changed. Softer. More real.

“You’re still shaking,” he murmured, stepping in close.

“I’m not scared of you,” she said, barely a whisper.

“But you’re scared of what I make you feel.”

She didn’t deny it.

Fahim lifted her hand to his lips. Kissed each knuckle slowly.

Then, in silence, he undressed her.

There was no rush now — just heat and reverence. He kissed down her collarbone, her breasts, her stomach. Every inch of her skin felt seen. Worshipped.

When he finally slid inside her again, it wasn’t wild like before.

It was slow.

Deep.

Her nails curled against his back as she arched beneath him, his body moving in a rhythm that made her eyes roll back and her lips part in quiet, broken moans.

Every inch of his gym-built frame pressed against hers — powerful, warm, flexing with each thrust. She traced the sculpted lines of his shoulders, the tight curve of his waist, the muscle twitch in his thigh as he picked up pace.

“Zuri,” he whispered against her ear, voice ragged. “You don’t have to be strong with me.”

She let out a shaky breath.

“I don’t know how to not be.”

He kissed her, tender and deep. “Then let me hold the parts you hide.”

And she did.

She cried softly when she came — not from sadness, but from surrender.

And he held her until her breathing slowed.

---

The next morning

Zuri woke tangled in warm sheets, sunlight on her skin.

Fahim was in the kitchen, shirtless, making tea. Music played low from the record player.

His back flexed as he stirred the pot. His V-line peeked over grey sweatpants. She leaned against the doorway, just watching him.

He turned. Smiled. “You watching me again?”

She smirked. “Hard not to.”

He walked over, handed her a mug. “No cape today.”

“Shame,” she teased. “I kinda liked it.”

He pulled her in by the waist. “You’re staying?”

She nodded against his chest.

“I’m done running from this.”

From him.

From herself.