CHAPTER SIXTEEN: SHADOWS OF THE EL AMIN LEGACY
758 Words
The warm aroma of roasted thyme and honey-laced tea still lingered in the hallway as Amara quietly stepped out of the dining room. Her head swam with thoughts—Zayn’s laugh echoing in her memory like a sound she’d never imagined he could make. For a moment during dinner, he hadn’t looked like the man who kept everyone at arm’s length, cloaked in layers of silence and shadows. He had looked… real. Human. Softened.
As she turned toward her wing of the house, she heard soft footsteps behind her.
“Madam,” Halima said, almost in a whisper. “Let me walk you to your room.”
Amara nodded, falling into step beside her, their slippers brushing quietly against the marbled floor. The air was calm now, almost gentle. She could still hear distant chatter coming from Ayla’s room, a light giggle slipping through the cracks like perfume.
“She’s really sweet,” Amara said without looking at Halima.
“Ayla?” Halima grinned. “She’s everyone’s favorite among the three siblings . Even we, the staff, love her. She always brings us gifts whenever she visits.”
Amara paused by the tall hallway mirror, catching a glimpse of herself—tired, emotionally drained, but curious. “You said she’s the favorite… among the three siblings?”
Halima hesitated.
“There’s a third?” Amara turned fully to her now.
“Yes… Miss Melissa. She’s the eldest. Married. Two boys.” Halima’s tone dipped into a strange mixture of awe and caution. “Very beautiful, very sharp. But she doesn’t come around much. She doesn’t like noise or drama. She’s strict like their mother.”
“And Zayn?” Amara asked gently, genuinely.
Halima smiled faintly. “He’s more like Madam too. Quiet. Strong. But Ayla is different. She’s like their late father, from what I’ve heard.”
Amara’s steps slowed as they approached her door. “You’ve worked here for long, Halima. Why didn’t you tell me Zayn’s family was visiting?”
“I swear I didn’t know until today,” Halima said quickly. “They told us just this morning. Mr. Zayn doesn’t really inform us about his family matters. He keeps it all to himself. Even the senior maids were surprised.”
Amara leaned against her doorpost, staring at Halima. “But you seem to know a lot about them.”
Halima looked down at her fingers nervously. “Only small small things I overhear. I’ve never even met Miss Melissa in person. I just know she’s… like Madam. Beautiful but distant. Her husband is some businessman abroad.”
“And their father?” Amara asked quietly.
Halima’s gaze dropped. “He died eight years ago. Cancer. Madam doesn’t talk about it much. She became even more reserved after that.”
Silence filled the hallway for a moment, pressing like a soft fog.
“That must’ve been hard,” Amara whispered, her voice catching slightly.
Halima nodded. “Yes. From what I hear, Zayn changed a lot after that. They said he was closer to his father.”
Amara opened her door slowly, the soft creak echoing like a sigh. She stepped in and turned back to Halima.
“Thank you for talking to me,” she said.
Halima looked a little surprised, but smiled warmly. “You’re welcome, madam. Good night.”
As the door closed, Amara stood there, her eyes fixed on the floor. Her heart twisted in her chest. She suddenly felt the weight of the mansion’s silence, of the El Amin name, of everything Zayn had kept hidden from her.
She thought back to dinner again—Zayn’s eyes lighting up as Ayla teased him about his cooking skills, the way his mother watched them with a calm, calculating gaze. And now, the name Melissa added another thread to the mystery. Another part of Zayn’s life she hadn’t known existed.
She curled into her bed, pulling the covers over her legs, but sleep wouldn’t come easily. Her thoughts wandered back to her parents’ grave. The secrets she had spilled to them. The pain that still clung to her chest. And now… she was part of a family that seemed just as broken, just as secretive.
What kind of man keeps even his siblings and mother a secret?
And what kind of woman was she becoming, trapped in a marriage built on lies… yet longing for the warmth of the man who had spun them?
She didn’t know the answer yet.
But tomorrow, she would find out more.
She had to.
⸻
- Writer
