Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Certainly! Here's the translation of the text into English:

"Alexandre Aguiar hadn't slept for days, he was extremely nervous. His new approach was to scream endlessly at his security guards and anyone who appeared in front of him.

The head of security, Carlos, chose to call a doctor for his boss before taking off. Alexandre was only contained when four of his security guards held him down to receive a hefty dose of a powerful sedative.

Upon being immobilized, Alexandre threatened everyone, even the pilot, and then passed out.

"Is he okay, doctor?" Carlos asked, concerned.

"Yes, he'll just sleep for a good while. When they reach their destination, if he has another anxiety attack, seek help," the doctor responded.

Carlos thanked him and began the preparations for takeoff, securing the boss in bed.

Looking at him now with a serene demeanor, he doesn't seem as arrogant, especially since his daughter was kidnapped.

"Morgana," Carlos whispered softly, remembering the beautiful woman.

No one knew that Alexandre's head of security harbored a platonic passion for his daughter. How many times the poor man was forced to watch over her when she went out on dates... It was discouraging to wait outside houses or hotels while she was involved with another man.

Carlos knew that Morgana didn't get attached to anyone, he was living proof of it, having seen her leave various rooms for months. His boss's daughter changed men as frequently as she changed underwear.

Did it hurt him? For God’s sake, of course it did. But there was nothing Carlos could do; he was paid to protect her and failed on the day she needed him the most. He still had a cut on his arm from the glass that broke when he punched the subway car window upon realizing he had lost the only lead he had.

Sighing, he went to the cockpit to tell the pilot that they were ready to take off. Then, he sat in his seat and fastened his seatbelt. Carlos would do anything to find Morgana, and if he was lucky, he would try to win her over, even if only for a day, as she does with everyone.

The next day, Nana was the first to wake up. She made Zayn's breakfast and when she finished, she went to look for him in his room.

Gently knocking on the door, she entered. She frowned at the empty armchair and saw the young woman with clean skin and shiny hair sleeping like an angel. The sunlight passed through the curtain's slats, making the girl's face shine even more.

Nana left and went to the other room. Knocking on the door, she asked:

"Son, may I come in?"

Zayn heard some movement in the distance. He was exhausted, barely able to move a muscle.

Dazed, he sat on the bed. After a few seconds, still feeling very sleepy, he put on his pajama pants and grabbed a shirt to put on, and then responded:

“Come in, Nana.”, Wearing his pajama shirt, while Nana entered chattering:

"Son, did she take a shower?”

"Yes, she woke up and managed to eat a little…”

"Oh, my dear! How did you get hurt?" Nana interrupted upon seeing the inflamed wound on his arm. "Come, I'll take care of this before it becomes pus. You men are so careless!"

She led him to the living room, took the first aid kit, and cleaned the wound, complaining all the while.

Zayn smirked. He considered Nana as his mother and enjoyed the excessive care she bestowed upon him.

"There, it'll get better. Now come and have your breakfast," Nana called out, and the two proceeded to the kitchen. "Here it is, just the way you like it!"

She showed everything she had prepared. The table was set for an army, and Zayn cracked another smile, finding it amusing, as he usually only had a plain cup of coffee in the morning when Nana wasn’t around to spoil him.

"While you eat, I'll check on the young lady," Nana said, taking a white cloth and a small bowl. She left the kitchen without giving Zayn any chance to respond.

Passing through the living room and heading straight to the room, entering slowly.

"Hello!" she said in Arabic, watching the young woman shift until she opened her eyes.

"Hi. Do you speak English?" Morgana observed the woman, who couldn’t be more than sixty years old.

"Yes, of course. I'm Jamile. Sheik Zayn calls me Nana. How are you feeling today?"

"A little better, thank you."

"I saw you had burns on your shoulders and feet yesterday while taking care of you, so I brought a little honey dissolved in water to help with healing. Let me help you," Nana said, approaching.

Dipping the cloth in the water with honey, Nana waited for the young woman to take off the robe she hastily put on the previous night.

Nana gently applied the cool liquid to her skin, and Morgana immediately felt a refreshing sensation.

"I needed a bath so badly that I ended up worsening the wounds with the hot water. But it relieved a lot of the pains in my body," Morgana conversed as if she had known Nana for a long time.

"Now you'll feel better." After finishing applying the honey to the wounds on her back, Nana moved to her feet. "Can you stand on the ground? You can join Zayn for breakfast before he goes to work."

"I can even run," Morgana replied, smiling at her own joke as she remembered how she ran during the night while fleeing from him.

Then, she got up and followed Nana, Jamile, to the kitchen. In the doorway, she almost stopped immediately to observe the sheik.

Nana looked at the young woman, knowing the effect her beloved Zayn had on women. He is a highly sought-after Arab, much like her father was. His beauty comes from many generations of the Al-Abadi family.

Morgana resumed walking and sat in front of Zayn, who immediately took his eyes off the phone.

He observed with interest Morgana's youthful and beautiful face. Her hair looked beautiful after being washed, resembling shining flames that slowly consumed his heart.

"This young woman is so beautiful! There's no way I couldn't be interested... I'm lost, by Allah!" he thought.

"How do you feel?" he asked to buy time to organize his thoughts. "We could introduce ourselves formally. I'm Zayn Al-Abadi."

"I'm Morgana Aguiar. I'm Brazilian."

"Beautiful name, beautiful face, and beautiful hair," Zayn said, imagining how it would feel to run his fingers through her red curls.

The conversation was interrupted by Zayn's phone ringing. He answered the call in his language. Morgana was taken by his melodic tone, regardless of the language he spoke.

She began to have her breakfast while observing him. Every now and then, he would release a breathtaking smile. She was curious about who made him laugh like that.

The medication she had taken hours before significantly eased the pain in her throat, and now she could eat without difficulty.

"Nana, I'm going out, but I'll be back shortly," Zayn announced after ending the call. "Get ready; we're going to my new home today. You'll like it there, Morgana. I'll bring some clothes for you, then you can get whatever you want from the resort. At my palace, you'll feel better. It's a spacious and open place; the air is pure, and there's a private beach at the back of the mansion."

Morgana blinked, feeling a bit embarrassed. She wasn't entirely sure what to think.

The man in front of her had saved her from the hands of a trafficker, and he didn't act as if he owned her. Now, it seemed like he wanted to pamper her. And why would he do all this? An act of philanthropy? Did he want something more?

Morgana looked at Zayn again, who left the kitchen. Until a minute ago, she felt like a guest, but now it felt as if she were the sheik's wife. And he said everything so naturally, as if he had known her for a long time.