"When the world turns to noise, silence becomes sacred. And in silence, God speaks."
— Anonymous
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St. Andrews stood still the morning I returned — the same cold stone walls, the same air scented with pine and incense. But everything had changed. I was finally free.
The world behind me had grown too loud. Too greedy. Too faithless.
And I? I was done.
The war of wealth, of egos, of manipulation — it had drained me to my core. Somewhere along the way, I realized something that few ever do: the poor sleep just as the rich do. Their eyes close the same way. Their hearts beat to the same rhythm. The ones who spend their lives chasing fortune forget this — until their last breath reminds them how little gold can buy peace.
And so I chose a different path.
I made my final arrangements. The Abduls, from the very beginning, had never been a match for me. They believed themselves strong. But now, in their weakness — spiritual, moral, and financial — it was easy to step over their broken pride.
I entrusted Halal to the care of Madam Butwell, the one woman I knew had no interest in grooming Halal into a tool. She was old, strict, but gentle where it mattered.
As for the company? I refused to let the Abduls sink their teeth any deeper. So I made a controversial move — placed Sibrin's ex-boyfriend at the helm. A man most wouldn't dare trust. But I had watched him. His loyalty wasn't perfect, but it was real. And real is enough when the rest are snakes.
Then, I turned my back on all of it.
I walked through the great wooden doors of St. Andrews in silence. I removed my veil, my jewelry, and the name they'd once known me by. And I took my vows once more. With humility. With peace. With purpose.
They called me the Rebel Princess.
Let them.
My ex-husband and even my uncle, both too proud to admit defeat, smeared my name across every headline they could reach. They called me unstable. Ungrateful. A disgrace to tradition.
But I had already shed their traditions like old skin.
I was no longer their woman. No longer their pawn. I was God's now — His entirely.
The nuns whispered about me in the halls. The villagers outside, too, spoke of me like a storm they never saw coming. But I didn't need their praise or pity. I had something greater: stillness.
In my quiet prayers and candlelit nights, I finally understood what it meant to belong — not to a man, a family, or a fortune — but to myself. And to God.
The world is loud, yes. But the soul? The soul whispers.
And I had returned home to listen.