Immediately, I see a text from Kamal, but I ignore him and tap on the email icon.
The name of the lab stands out, flashing among other messages, and with a trembling finger, I open it.
With my heart pounding in my throat, I read the unequivocal confirmation that no matter what else happens right now, my life will be irrevocably linked to Kamal’s.
A man I barely know outside the bedroom.
A Sheikh from a completely different culture.
A CEO sought after by famous supermodels and actresses who, up to a few weeks ago, he swapped out like he changed shirts.
My body shakes, and I feel dizzy. I look for a bench to sit on, thinking about the changes that will happen in my life.
I bury my head between my knees, trying not to faint.
“Are you feeling alright, Miss?” someone asks.
I lift my head and see it’s one of the museum guards. “I am, thank you.”
Immediately after I say that, my phone starts ringing, and I know it’s Kamal.
“Hello,” I answer, knowing he’s very upset.
“Tell me where you are, and I’ll come to get you.” Ice drips from his voice, and I know he’s right to be angry.
“I’ll send you my location.”
“Don’t run away from me, Madeline. There’s no place you can hide that I wouldn’t find you.”
Chapter 32
From the moment I found out she had fled the building without telling anyone to the moment I jumped out of the car to find her at the museum, a fury unlike any I’ve felt before in my life coursed through every drop of blood in my veins.
We were photographed together in Turkey and in Ibiza. According to my PR manager, there are already rumors that Madeline is my new girlfriend.
The images alone wouldn’t spark speculation, but the fact that, above all, she worked for me could let the paparazzi put two and two together and realize that Madeline is special to me. I care little for what the press says, but my enemies care far more.
As I walk to the exact location she gave me, I barely notice that we’re attracting the attention of passersby. As always, I’m surrounded by bodyguards, but I’m breaking all the damn security protocols inherent to a head of state.
Normally, I’m a composed man. Few people can tell when I’ve reached my limit, but today I know that my emotions are impossible to contain.
Among them, there’s one I loathe. Despise actually.
Fear.
The idea that something might happen to a girl like Madeline, just because she’s with me, plays on my mind, causing unwanted anxiety.
I’ve escaped countless murder attempts, and even here in London, I diverted a kidnapping attempt. My bodyguards are trained to be strategic, besides being physically strong, but none of that matters if protocols aren’t respected.
My already hyperactive mind is prepared for the moment I see her. I have no doubt we will have an argument. I’m so fucking pissed off.
I stride forward, looking ahead. Then, as if it were a sudden opening and closing of curtains or an improper game of hide-and-seek, I catch a glimpse of the shine of her hair that is so unique, only to lose her in the crowd shortly after.
I pick up the pace, and just as I get close to her, people take a step back as if by unspoken agreement, and I can see her sitting on a bench.
I want to argue because I’m feisty by nature. I react if provoked and misbehave with twice the intensity. But when Madeline raises her head to meet my gaze, I see she’s miserable. Her tension is palpable. I instantly restrain myself.
I don’t have much time to think because as soon as Madeline sees me, indifferent to the dozens of onlookers, she closes the space between us and hugs me.
