Arranged To The Devil (Incest Romance) Prt 7

 

Chapter 7
Sakina’s POV

"You didn’t have to take me home," I said to Omar, nervously fidgeting with my fingers until they turned tender and red.

As soon as class ended, I left with Omar and our group of friends. We shared a bond that felt effortless; especially Khalifa and me. She was the one I was closest to. But even that closeness had limits; I couldn’t bring myself to tell her just how drastically my life had changed in just one day.

"I always take you home, baby. What are you talking about?" Omar replied with an easy grin.

"Never mind."

"You’ve been quiet today," he said, glancing over at me. "And I know how talkative you usually are."

I offered a tired smile. His smirk was light and carefree. He was just... good. His free, curly hair, that sweet smile, his beautiful skin. He was my boyfriend, and I loved him. Our relationship felt real; even if it wasn’t officially recognized the way my family wanted it to be with Hassan.

"I’m just tired."

"You didn’t come to class yesterday."

I didn’t want to lie, but I couldn’t tell him the truth either. "I was with my cousin. She hasn’t seen me in a while."

"You know, I’ve never officially met your family, just your parents. Is it really just the three of you in that big house?"

He had always been skeptical about that. Family meant everything to Omar. His home was filled to the brim with cousins, aunts, uncles, brothers, and sisters. Love poured out of every room.

At least his family was normal—not busy arranging marriages between cousins.

Seriously, my parents were actual siblings. Brother and sister. Just thinking about it made my stomach turn. That was the blood running through my veins, and yet... I didn’t feel any desire to sleep with my cousin. What happened this morning made me feel sick. Kissing her wasn’t something I enjoyed—it was awkward, deeply wrong, and uncomfortable.

I didn’t like it.

I had scrubbed my lips raw trying to get the memory off of them. I was still overwhelmed with disgust—yes, curiosity lingered, but it was buried beneath layers of repulsion over my family's twisted history.

I shrugged and reached for the soda cup in the holder. "It gets lonely," I said. "But I also kind of like being an only child. No annoying siblings to deal with."

Omar glanced over, his warm russet brown eyes soft on me. "You’ve met mine and they’re not that bad."

"That’s because I don’t live with them. Just imagine if I did," I replied, sipping my soda through the twisty straw. I always loved those, the way my drink had to travel around corners and curves before it reached my mouth made something about it more satisfying.

"You’d get used to it."

I shrugged again. "That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t be annoyed all year long."

He let out a deep, rich laugh that made me smile without meaning to. Omar really was the one I loved. He never made me feel like I had to shrink myself, or submit to anyone. I could be exactly who I was around him.

My cousin, on the other hand, carried a completely different energy. She made me feel like I was always moments away from crying. And what was up with my heart pounding so fast when I thought about her?

"Can I ask you something?" I said, my voice quieter now.

"Sure, baby," he said, his voice casual as we neared my house. But my thoughts were spiraling again, fast. Whether I meant it or not, I had practically accepted my cousin’s marriage proposal earlier. Officially.

I regretted it—deeply.

But the thing about Hassan was… I couldn’t tell her no. She was still practically a stranger, despite being family. And yet, there was this absurd, unexplainable instinct inside me, like something hardwired into my very being, that compelled me to please her.

“What’s your view on incest?” I asked, my voice hesitant.

“Whoa,” he said, clearly taken aback. “That’s a pretty strange and intense question.” He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, processing it. “Any reason you’re asking?”

“A friend is doing a school project,” I lied. “You wouldn’t know her.”

“It’s a broad topic,” he said thoughtfully. “But yeah, in this day and age—it’s taboo. It’s disgusting, honestly.”

“I think so too. But… she’s not supposed to write it from a biased perspective. The project has to be done with an open mind.”

But what if I wasn’t as open-minded as I thought? I had gay friends, and I’d always considered myself accepting. But this? This was something else entirely.

He let out a rough scoff. “There’s no ‘open-minded’ way to look at that shit. Just imagine I was sleeping with my sister, that’s straight-up gross.”

My stomach dropped. That was my reality. My parents were siblings. Not by arrangement, not by force…they had chosen each other. Chosen love before anything was even arranged. And once the time came for the rest of us… it was all too easy. Too accepted.

“I know…” I muttered, trailing off.

That’s when I saw it—my cousin’s car, parked just up the road.

“Shit.” My breath caught. “Omar, let me off here,” I said quickly, rifling through my bag for my headscarf.

God, no. I couldn’t let her see me looking like this. Disheveled, unpresentable.

When the car didn’t slow down, I turned to him in a panic. He’d already noticed how tense I was.

It was too late to play it cool.

“Stop the damn car, Omar!” I snapped, my voice sharp with urgency.

“What’s going on? I always drop you off at your gate,” Omar said, glancing at me with concern.

“Not today. Please, just reverse a little,” I replied, my voice tight as I caught sight of my cousin’s car dangerously close. “Please.”

“Not until you tell me why.”

“Because my parents have gotten strict with me. They don’t want to see me with you,” I said quickly.

“They?” His eyebrows rose. “Who’s she?”

Shit.

He sighed but finally gave in, reversing the car slowly until we were back at the end of the street we’d just come from.

“Thank you,” I said, fumbling with my headscarf. I was doing a terrible job, trying to throw it on in a hurry, but this took time and patience, neither of which I had right now.

“Why won’t they accept us? I fit everything they should want,” he said quietly.

“I know, baby. But you know how they are,” I murmured, still trying to fix the scarf.

As I dug around for the pins, my fingers brushed against something cold and hard. I pulled it up—the ring. My heart leapt, and I quickly shoved it back into the bottom of my bag before Omar could see it. In the process, a pin jabbed my finger for the second time.

Wincing, I hurriedly secured the scarf. Then I leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Thanks for dropping me home... well, close enough.”

“I love you,” he said softly.

“I love you more, baby.” But just as he leaned in to kiss me properly, I bolted out the door.

He gave one last honk before pulling away.

Once he was out of sight, I reached into my bag again and slid the ring onto my finger.

It was already dark, probably around 8 p.m. I usually came home around this time; my parents never had a problem with me spending time with friends. But tonight... something told me things might be different.

I stepped through the front door, calling out nervously, “Mama? Papa?”

To my dismay, Hassan walked out from the living room, her hands always positioned behind her back, which only made her demeanor appear more serious.

“Good evening,” I murmured softly.

She took slow, steps toward me. “You look... very disheveled.”

“School and all the running around. It does that to you.” I avoided her gaze, feeling a cold chill crawl down my spine. I was scared of this woman. Truly scared.

“I was expecting you at 6 p.m. sharp,” she said. “My driver arrived without you, and I almost threw him off the skyscraper.”

My mind screamed in panic:

Nut job!

Nut job!

“Oh...” I stumbled over my words, unsure of how to respond. I always felt the need to say something. I feared that staying quiet would somehow show disrespect.

She leaned down, her breath warm against my left ear. “Are you going to tell me the truth, my dove?”

“I didn’t want to hang out with you. I was scared, and I went out with friends instead.” The words spilled out before I could stop them, my mouth running on its own. I lifted my eyes, meeting Hassan's gaze for a brief, tense moment.

“Get in the car,” she ordered, her tone leaving no room for argument.

“Where are my parents?” I asked, heart pounding in my chest.

“They’re upstairs. I told them I’d handle this.” Her eyes scanned me, a sharp, assessing look that made me feel exposed. She gently took both of my hands in hers.

“Did you take the ring off?” she asked, her voice still calm but with an edge.

“No.”

“Then why is it on the left hand when I placed it on your right?”

Oh God. What do I say? I panicked, searching for an answer. “Uhm—”

“The truth, my wife,” she pressed.

“I took it off today,” I admitted, feeling a knot tighten in my stomach.

“Don’t take it off again,” she warned, her eyes darkening slightly.

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