For eight long years, the sheikh treated marriage like ownership, crushing the spirits of his wives and branding them as if they were cattle. He called them his property, stripping them of dignity and freedom until the day a young student crossed his path and set into motion something surprising.

The sheikh lived as though he ruled the entire earth. His wealth, authority, and limitless influence made him believe he managed not only kingdoms and riches but also the very lives of the people around him.

Each year, his harem developed. New women disappeared and some dazzled by promises of gold and luxury, others dragged there through trickery or outright force.

Yet none of them were adored . He shattered them all.

To him, a wife was not a partner, but an object. On each one’s back, he left a crimson mark—a permanent reminder that they no longer belonged to themselves.

That mark wasn’t just for show. It meant exile from freedom: no contact with family, no way out of the palace walls, no chance to live their own lives again.

This tyranny lasted for years. Until the day she appeared.

A young student – beautiful, intelligent, unbending. She dared to defy him. To say “no.” And in doing so, she wounded his pride.

The sheikh resolved to claim her, no matter the price. His fortune, his reach, his power – he used them all. Within weeks, her life was dismantled: expelled from university, her family home seized, her sick mother left without medicine, her job removed.

She was cornered. To protect her family, she agreed to marry him.

The sheikh was certain she was broken, just like the others. But he didn’t see what was coming. Something darker. Something d3adly.

In time, she gained his trust.

An elderly servant tended to the harem. At first, the girl only asked harmless questions about teas for pain, about herbs for sleep. Slowly, her curiosity transfered to rare plants of the desert.

That’s when she learned of “scorpion tears” – a fine powder from dried venom. Harmless in trace amounts, but lethal in silence, stopping the heart with the appearance of a natural heart att:ack.

But there was a risk: his meals and wine were constantly inspected. Any attempt at tampering would mean instant passing – not just for her, but for her parents as well.

She needed another way.

A dangerous thought took root: she would deliver the poison during inti:ma:cy.

The servant also told her of an antidote brewed from the root of a plant called “Adam’s tears.” Secretly, she started taking it in tiny doses, training her body to resist the venom’s effects.

The night came. The sheikh was in high spirits, boasting over wine, laughing too loudly, savoring his sense of dominance.

When they were alone, she sh0cked him. She leaned in, kissed him deeply and with that kiss, a tiny grain of poison, hidden in her mouth, slid into his.

He felt nothing at first. But moments later, his expression altered. He staggered, his legs giving way. He clutched at the air as if it could save him then fell to the ground, struggling for breath.

Servants stormed in, but nothing could be done. To them, it was a sudden heart att3ck, a cruel whim of fate.

No one ever suspected her.

And she knew: the monster would never destr0y another soul again.