Twisted (Never After #4)(23)

I’d do almost anything not to have to depend on Julian.

“Tell me again how much you loved her,” I say.

“I still love her.” He blows out a breath, gripping my hand tighter for a moment before releasing it completely and leaning back in his chair. “Your mama is in everything I do. Every breath I take, every thought that crosses my mind.”

He pauses, and I soak in his look, the way his eyes are tense with longing and his soul seems tired and worn.

“Every time I look at you, I see so much of her,” he continues. “She was a strong woman, and I’m proud to call her mine.”

I swallow over the rocks in my throat, words begging to drip off my tongue. “Then, Baba, how can you ask this of me? How can you have the love you did with Mama and ask me to give up on that chance?”

His eyes grow dark and he shakes his head. “Your mama was the love of my life, but you’re mistaken if you think we weren’t arranged.”

Shock pummels through my middle, the string of hope slipping through my grasp. “What?”

He nods, a slight cough pouring from his mouth. He tries to cover the noise by taking a sip of his tea. “Sometimes the greatest love comes from the most unlikely of places.”

I sit back in my seat, not knowing what to do or what to say. This was my ace in the hole, the way I was going to segue into Aidan, into making my father see reason. But this whole time, his wish for me was borne from his own experience, not in spite of it.

“Don’t you think it’s possible that you and Mama were just lucky?” I try again, testing the waters without diving in headfirst.

He hums as he takes another drink of tea. “There are a lot of people in this world who would do anything to live the life you do.”

“I know,” I reply.

“Do you?” He tilts his head. “The blood in your veins makes you a very valuable person. People, even the ones you think you can trust, are blinded by greed and seduced by the promise of power.”

My stomach tenses. “And the one you marry me off to won’t be?”

“No,” he replies simply. “I would never pair you with a man in need of money or power. Just someone who will treat you well and carry on my legacy. Someone who will protect you from the harsh world of my business and take care of you while he does, because I won’t be here much longer to do it.” He leans forward again, reaching out to pat the top of my hand with his. My eyes follow the movement, locking on the dark bruises from IVs that linger on his skin. “You’ve never let me down before, Yasmin. I know you won’t let me down in this.”

My eyes burn and I grit my teeth, but I don’t speak up again, choosing instead to nod and flip my hand around, threading our fingers together. But my heart splits, desolation smashing against it like a wrecking ball because this means that Julian’s already won, and I haven’t even figured out what game he’s playing.

I have to depend on him. I have to need him.

Just the way he wanted.

I expected Aidan to check in with me hours ago, but it’s evening now, and he still hasn’t. I’m soothing my anxiety, telling myself repeatedly that he’s busy, and it’s okay if we don’t always talk. I left him on read for three days, so I know it’s hypocritical for me to be mad. But I can’t help how I feel. I chew on the inside of my cheek as I glance at my cell that I threw haphazardly on the mattress.

Maybe I should try to call him.

Moving from where I’m pacing a hole in the carpet of my room to the bed, I swipe my phone from the top and sit down, my leg brushing against the cream drapery hanging from the corner of my four-poster bed. I open immediately to my texts to Aidan. Still nothing.

I try to call him, the phone ringing in my ear one, two, three times before it’s sent to voicemail.

My chest twists. I text again.

Me: Everything ok?





Silently, I stare at the screen, willing the three dots in a bubble to appear, showing me that he’s responding. But watching the blank screen is like waiting for water to boil, so I groan, tossing my phone down again and walking over to the full-length mirror tucked in the corner of the room next to the bay window. My hair is thrown up in a messy bun, the large silk scrunchie doing a terrible job of keeping my curls contained, and I’m dressed down in my black sweats and a baggy shirt that says Oregon State across the chest. I look tired. Stressed. Thank god for makeup.

My phone pings and I spin quickly, rushing to my bed and grabbing it, disappointment pricking the hope that was swelling in my chest like a popped balloon when I see it’s Riya.

Riya: What’s the word, bird?





She’s my small sliver of light in this mess. It feels good having her on my side, finally not keeping secrets from her the way I have for years.

I spin around and take a selfie showcasing my sweats.

Me: Trying on outfits for my potential hubby. Think this one will work?





Riya: Wow. Really sticking it to the man there, Yas. You should break a couple nails to complete the look. Show them what they’re getting with the daughter of Sultans.





I scoff, looking down at my almond-shaped red manicure, wincing at the thought of not having them well-maintained. Pass.

Someone knocks on my bedroom door, and I drop my phone and rush to answer it, hoping that somehow Aidan has slipped into my wing of the estate. But I know it’s a pipe dream. Aidan never comes to my room. There’re too many people who could see; it’s too risky.