Ibrahim and Bashir stayed up more than half the night, idly sitting on our porch with nothing but the past painting their light, painting the paths to their futures, and they reveled in it. The warm glow of dawn shot through the skies when I found them asleep in each other's arms, muscles relaxed and eyes closed.

For a moment, I didn't want to ruin their blissful silence.

These two boys had thrusted into my life without warning, forcing me out of my hiding place and into the arms of a chaotic millionaire life. Though I had never complained about my life or financial situation, I learned about the great burdens that came with Ibrahim's title. It wasn't all looks and show.

He had to fight hard, draw his sword against those who did everything to tear his name apart. Scandal after scandal, risk after risk, he strained against a public backlash as if he were a fallen angel trying to redeem himself for a crime he never committed.

For a moment, I wished his body stayed in a serene state of mind, where the only intruders were his loved ones, not the outside world.

My fingers brushed the hair from his forehead, gently stroking his cheek with my thumb. His milky skin, so soft and smooth, warmed under my touch like a small flame during a snowy day. Ibrahim's head rested against the wooden stand behind him, Bashir snoring soundly on his chest like a newborn.

My heart lurched at the scene. Even in his sleep, Ibrahim protected his brother like a father would to his son, shielding him from the horrors that threatened to seep into their skin like a forbidden ink.

"Tasneem?" asked Ibrahim, stirring from his deep slumber. I froze as his eyes slowly opened, adjusting to the change of scenery before him. "What the-"

I smiled. "You fell asleep here."

His eyes immediately trailed to his little brother, who clutched onto the fabric of his wrinkling dress shirt, gripping it with all his strength like Ibrahim would vanish like his parents if he didn't. His gaze softened, a ghost of a smile feathering his lips as he continued to watch the snoring child beside him.

"He grew up so fast," he said quietly.

"Don't they always?"

He chuckled deeply. "Yeah, but sometimes it feels so surreal. He's been under my tutelage his whole life."

"He'll still always be your little brother, Ibrahim," I said softly.

His eyes met mine, a dark hue of brown mingling with flecks of ebony to create the portrait of a broken man who'd finally found his purpose, a man who saw me as the sustaining light of his world. He stared at me as if I meant everything.

Then he spoke in that husky tone that brought chills down my arms and made my stomach flip a million ways. My breath caught in my throat, my mind spinning. Ibrahim was like an addictive sedation, calming me with his presence yet consuming my mind with his leveled words, flowing effortlessly with the movement of his lips, subtle yet heavy with emotion.

"I will never be able to thank you for everything that you've done for me, sweetheart," he whispered, inching closer. "How could I ever repay you for your patience and kindness?"

"That's the thing about kindness," I said, smiling, "you don't ever have to pay it back."

Ever so slightly, his lips brushed against mine in the softest kiss, one that resembled the touch of a rose petal, gentle and sweet. I kissed back, losing myself in his taste and his sensual mouth. Ibrahim's musky wood scent touched my senses with feverish strokes. I was lost.

I was lost in his touch, drowning in his love, breathing his scent like an intoxicating drug, a woman lost to her desires. He was my husband, a man I'd grown to love, a beast I'd learned to tame. His scars were my sorrows, his joy was my reason to smile. We were connected like two songbirds, our melody entwined with destiny.

His lips molded perfectly with mine, a puzzle created to fit. And then he pulled himself away, opening the raw desire in his smoldering gaze with a lingering passion for more, a passion to love until he couldn't. He was scared, and he had every right to be.

"Stop worrying," I whispered, kissing his cheek, much to his surprise.

"Fine," he sighed with a tight smile. "I'll stop."

"Promise?"

"Yes," he said breathlessly as his wandering eyes stared at my lips, darkening at the sight. "Although, I think there's something more beneficial that we could do with our time."

My eyes widened at his crude words. "Bashir is here," I weakly protested. Why am I edging him on? There's a child here!

That devilish smile touched the corners of his mouth, slow and seductive. "You don't seem to be putting much a fight with my idea," he murmured, lips so close that one move would connect them. I blushed. "Could it be that you fancy my preposition?"

"Well... I..."

His sensual, husky voice cut my stammering self. "You know," he said as he cradled my cheek till my lips were angled to where he wanted, "I'm starting to wonder why I ever thought it'd be a good idea to let you go."

"Clearly, you weren't thinking right," I joked.

He chuckled, eyes hooded with a wanton desire that coursed through both of us. "I'm not sure I would be able to resist these lips," he whispered, placing a chaste kiss at the corner of my mouth, "or those exotic eyes." He kissed above my brow. "In fact, I'm not sure I can resist you when you look at me like that."

I laughed softly, not wanting to wake up Bashir. "Someone's been deprived of attention lately," I said coyly, biting my lip.

His eyes darkened.

I closed my eyes, anticipating a brute, smoldering kiss that would force my body to surrender to the temptation and desire that surrounded a couple. My body hummed under his touch, his love, his attention. His hand had moved from my cheeks to my waist, and I heard the low growl from the back of his throat, wild and primal, a man ready to conquer what he sought after.

But that kiss never came.

I opened my eyes, confused. "What's wrong?"

His eyes widened. "We're going to miss Fajr (dawn prayer)!"

Crap. He was right. I allowed myself to get so distracted that it entirely slipped my mind. Astaghfirullah (may God forgive), Tasneem. You had one darn job.

"Stop yelling," grumbled Bashir in his arms.

Ibrahim frowned. "Wake up, kiddo."

"Ten more minutes."

I scoffed, standing. "We don't have time for this. Hurry up, you two!"

"You heard her, get up."

"I'm sleeping," the young Tarkan protested.

"I was hoping it wouldn't come to this," sighed Ibrahim, "but you leave me no choice."

Within a second, Ibrahim held Bashir by his legs, swinging him upside down. The sleep-induced child could do nothing but weakly flail his arms, trying to catch more sleep, before Ibrahim caught him with a lecture, harsh words touched delicate hearts.

"You think Allah cares that you're just sleeping? He asked you to pray five times a day, so you're going to pray five times a day. That's your obligation as a Muslim, so wake up," he scolded.

"I'm up! I'm up!" yelled Bashir. "Put me down."

Ibrahim dropped him.

"Ow! Hey, what was that for?" he asked, rubbing the back of his head.

I immediately rushed to his side. "Bashir, sweetheart, are you okay?" I questioned, searching for any injuries.

"If you make me cookies, I will be."

I exhaled a breath of relief.

Bashir jumped to his feet, grinning. "Don't worry about it. Ibrahim always wakes me to pray like this," he shrugged as if it were as perfunctory as the rest of his daily life. "It's pretty effective."

"Fajr is slipping away from us, let's go," pushed Ibrahim. "If we don't go now, we miss it."

I smiled at him, finding the new information to be pleasing than anything else.

Ibrahim's eyes narrowed. "What?"

Leaning up, I kissed his cheek. "You'd make a great father to our children one day," I whispered in his ear before stepping back. "Come on, Bashir."

I already knew that Ibrahim's snow pale skin had seeped the colors of cherry blossoms and roses, an ember of embarrassment coating the apples of his cheeks. Like a spell or love potion, cupid's arrows hit Ibrahim too hard that morning.

* * * *

Bashir and Ibrahim left early. Before he left, I found Jared's number on his phone, quickly writing on the palm of my hand.

Knowing Ibrahim, he was going to protect the Tarkan name starting with his family. Bashir's bullying incident was a serious matter, not one to take lightly, so the two had ventured to talk to the principal about proper consequences to those who wronged Bashir.

If all went well, justice would be served on a silver platter by afternoon, which gave me enough time to settle the score with that deceiving Russian. The second the door locked, I pulled out my phone, pressing the numbers into the dial pad.

"Hello?"

"May I speak to Jared Gavlik?" I asked, trying to sound as sweet as possible even though the bitter storm brewed within like a toxic waste.

"You're speaking to him," he said, voice a little smug. "If I'm not mistaken, I am speaking to Mr. Tarkan's wife, am I not?"

My teeth clenched. "Yes, you are," I grit out.

A deep chuckle was heard on the other end. The jerk was enjoying himself. "What a delightful surprise!" he laughed. "Does Mr. Tarkan no longer please you?"

"You have a lot to fix on your end, Mr. Gavlik," I said, ignoring his previous comment. "You have used lies to slander my husband's name. When that wasn't enough, you decided to expose a dark history that had nothing to do with you or your business."

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong, dear."

"Please withhold the pleasantries. You and I are not friends nor are we business partners. I am speaking to you as an observer of this whole ideal, and I ask for you to tell the truth to the public or else I will send a recording of this conversation to every major news outlet."

"Is that so?" he asked, seeming more amused than anything else. "Do you know why I'm chasing after his business?"

That's odd, I thought with suspicion overwhelming my logical reasoning. He's not even denying my accusations. Something isn't right.

"Well, Tasneem, do you?"

"No."

"Then allow me to enlighten you and your crummy, little tape," he continued mockingly. "Tarkan Industries holds some shares that would greatly increase my company's wealth, not only that but the economic powers would serve great purpose when I try to negotiate other contracts."

"That's bull, and you know it," I hissed. "You just want to own everything because your ego cannot be satisfied with anything. You thirst for more. You chase after helpless victims. You seek to ruin their lives all for personal gain."

"Oh, you wound me, my sweet."

"Stop it."

He chuckled again. "Then don't interrupt me when I speak. As I was saying, given Mr. Tarkan's scandal, it is very important for the public to understand his underlying mental issues. The past provides concrete evidence of that."

"How did you get information on what happened in Turkey almost a decade ago?"

"I have connections," he said evasively.

Anger coursed through me, a flame to my previous cool. It ignited my sanity with madness, with a wild drive for vengeance. My vision became hazy, red with fury, a flurry of a million ways to dispose of this despicable Russian.

Mercy flew into a dust of feathers compared to the heartache and pain he caused.

Yet Jared was correct in his assumptions. This recording would not be enough to indict him. In this state's court system, if one was recorded without consent, it would not be valuable evidence before a judge, thus being ignored. However, there were some loopholes.

He did threaten us first, but would that be enough to salvage Ibrahim's image?

My head spun in circles, wielding me like a slab of iron, a fist of strength melting into the devil's claws. Jared Gavlik found loopholes to every solution. He was one step ahead, one connection further from destroying the man I loved. I couldn't let that happen.

I couldn't be the damsel in distress when my knight in shining armor withered in his tower.

I had to do something, anything. Desperation lunged against my chest, spiraling into a pit of doom as doubts evolved into realities like a mutant experiment gone wrong, like an interior design marred with imperfections.

"What do you want from him?" I asked, dejected. "What must we do to end this once and for all?"

I heard shuffling on the other head, his voice as thunderous as a furious rainstorm. "I want Tarkan Industries," he whispered menacingly. "One way or the other, I will have it, even if I shred you and Mr. Tarkan into pieces."

My fingers clutched onto my phone like a lifeline. The murderous tone of his words vibrated a horrifying fear within me, one I had been trying to avoid since the day the scandal started, a fear that I refused to acknowledge because hope and faith always guided my path to success.

He wanted Ibrahim to not only lose his business, but his honorable reputation at the hands of gullible woman who screamed indecency at the hands of Jared.

Faith led Muslims to a certain degree of accomplishment, but faith and action combined presented gratifying results as shown through my people's history. Ibrahim had too much on his plate. This time, I would lead the battle against Jared Gavlik.

"Are we in agreement?" he asked, bored at the expected turn. Little did he know.

"No, we aren't," I stated firmly. "The truth always comes out, Mr. Gavlik. The honorable always prevail. This isn't your conquest. This is our revival. Do you understand?"

"Well, this will be quite an entertaining show," he remarked coldly. "May I ask when the clowns come back for an encore?"

This little brat. "I'll take my leave here. Please do remember common human decency the next time you choose to threaten another person. It might save you a lawsuit," I said dryly, hanging up before he could even respond.

Ibrahim may hate me after I set my plan into motion, but at least he'd be saved. At least my husband would be at peace.

Like a roulette, I gambled with fate. The reward was the truth.