Page 74 of The Billionaire's Timed Wife

I remember perfectly how devastated my father was when my mother died. The love he felt for her almost dragged him along, as if his purpose on Earth had ended.

He began to onlyexist, notlive.

That kind of dependence on someone is terrifying, and it’s precisely why I never deepened relationships. I don’t like losing control of myself.

But now, watching her from a short distance, gorgeous and desirable, smiling at a stranger, a tightness spreads across my chest.

The prenuptial agreement we already signed, with the clauses she demanded, parades through my mind like a silent threat.

I scan my woman from head to toe. Like a madman, I try to see what my potential rivals see.

The white dress she’s wearing isn’t daring and hits at the knee, but her body is so desirable, she could be wrapped in a trash bag and still look stunning.

Like a jerk, I’m pleased her hair is tucked beneath a beige hijab, even though two days ago I signed a decree once again making it optional for women to cover their heads with scarves.

How damned contradictory can that be?

“Adeela,” I call.

She turns to me, and the shy, polite smile she gave the doctor widens to light up her entire face. The shine in her eyes sends a message straight to my brain.

Mine.

No matter how many men want her, she’s already my woman, and what we’ll do in a few days is simply make it official to the rest of the world.

“Your Highness,” she says, stepping closer, immediately engulfing me in her warmth.

I know protocol says she should call me that in public until we’re married, but it grates on me. It feels like a chasm between us.

I shouldn’t touch her now, but I can’t keep a single neuron aligned where Adeela is concerned, so I take her by the waist and pull her in, brushing a kiss against her cheek.

The doctor’s gaze flicks between us and then to her left hand, and I want to punch him.

I stare him down, using every ounce of restraint not to act like a caveman, but my fiancée’s reaction is a balm that soothes my madness.

“While I was talking to Dr. Charles, I was wondering when you’d get here. Mom refuses to sleep before meeting you.”

Like a vain bastard, I feel triumphant when I spot the disappointment in the doctor’s face.

“Oh, right, I almost forgot to introduce you. Your High—”

“To you, I’m just Kaled,” I correct her. “We’re well past social conventions, my fiancée.”

Her cheeks look ready to burst with how red they are, but I also catch a poorly concealed, satisfied smile. “Kaled, this is Dr. Charles. He heads my mother’s team, and he’ll be one of the physicians overseeing her care in Rheadur.”

Just what I need! To endure the puppy-dog look the doctor is giving my woman.

“Dr. Charles, this is Kaled Faheem, sheikh of Rheadur.”

“And in a few days, your husband,” I add, because there’s no way I’m leaving that gap unfilled. It’s good for this idiot to know Adeela is off the market.

“It’s a pleasure, Sheikh—”

“‘Your Highness’ will do,” I say, and the man turns a shade purplish, pressing his lips into a thin line.

Yeah, I know your type, doctor, and I won’t hesitate to use every weapon at my disposal to put you in your place.

“Of course,” he says begrudgingly. “A pleasure to meet you, Your Highness.”