From Billionaire to Pregnant Muslim Wife

The light streamed through the slightly scratched panes of the small hospital room, where Zulfia lay on an old iron bed. Faded curtains with a simple floral pattern hung over the window, doing little to hide the worn-out walls. The heart monitor beeped steadily, occasionally breaking the silence. The sheet with pale blue patterns was carelessly tucked in, and the air in the room carried a faint scent of antiseptic and dampness.

A man in a blue shirt sat dozing in a chair by the bed, his arms folded on his knees. His shirt was wrinkled, and a cheap knockoff of an expensive watch adorned his wrist.

Zulfia slowly opened her eyes. "Ugh... where am I..." The thought drifted through her mind like a murmur. Her consciousness felt like it was clawing its way out of thick, sticky darkness. Her mind was blank. Her body felt heavy, especially in her lower abdomen—an odd sense of fullness and... weakness. This was nothing like waking up from a normal sleep. Her chest... heavy, as if something pressed down on her and was bound tight by something unfamiliar, something constricting. Her pulse quickened.

"What... what happened to me? Where... where am I? I was in the cave, and then... what then? I passed out?"

She tried to lift herself, but her body refused to comply. The pulling sensation in her lower abdomen and a dull ache in her lower back forced her to sink back onto the pillow. Her breathing grew shallow; her chest felt foreign, restrictive, as if it wasn’t her own.

"What... the hell?"

With great effort, she turned her head, trying to focus her gaze. The room was shabby and untidy. The once-yellow walls were stained and faded, the sheet on her body coarse and unpleasant to the touch. The monitor by the bed emitted rhythmic signals, grating on her nerves for reasons she couldn’t place.

Nearby, on a creaky chair, the man stirred, his head lolling to the side. His dark eyes had sunken hollows beneath them, his unshaven face lending him an air of exhaustion. On his wrist, the knockoff watch gleamed faintly in the dim light.

"What a disaster. Doesn’t even feel ashamed to wear something so pathetic?"

Her thoughts were scattered, but one thing was clear: something was terribly wrong.

She tried once more to raise her hand. Slim, delicate fingers. Small nails with no manicure.

"This... this isn’t my hand. This... this is a woman’s hand."

A chill ran through her chest. Panic started to rise, but her mind clung desperately to reason.

"I was... in the temple. Yes. Those ruins, the dust... I found the artifact! A stone disk with symbols. I held it, and then... pain. A flash... And now I’m... I’m here? And what’s wrong with my body?!"

She pressed her hand to her abdomen. The sensation was bizarre—her stomach... heavy, tense, unnaturally large. Not just bloated—something... someone... was inside.

"What the hell is wrong with my stomach?! Is this some kind of joke? Damn it, this body... This is definitely not mine! This is the body... of a pregnant woman?!"

At that moment, the man in the chair stirred, yawned, and raised his head. He looked worn out, unshaven. His tired eyes met hers.

— Zulfia... — he exhaled in relief, leaning closer and taking her hand. — You’re awake at last... Praise be to Allah...

She froze, sharply pulling her small hand out of his large, calloused one. She felt the weight of her chest shift within an ill-fitting bra that dug uncomfortably into her shoulders and armpits, fueling her growing frustration.

— Hey, don’t touch me! — her voice cracked, unfamiliar even to herself, but deliberately sharp. — What the hell is going on here?! Where am I?! What’s wrong with my voice?!

The man by the bed blinked, leaned closer, his brows furrowing.

— Zulfia... What’s wrong with you? Everything’s fine; you mustn’t get upset... The doctors said—

— What doctors?! — she snapped, trying to sit up. But a sharp, pulling pain in her abdomen forced her to cry out. Her stomach—huge, heavy—moved. She felt it.

— What... is... this?! — her eyes widened in shock, her trembling fingers clutching at herself through the blanket, feeling like a stranger in her own skin. Her body... no, this simply wasn’t hers. Her chest... large, heavy, bound by something.

"Damn it, a bra? Why can I feel the straps? Why does it hurt to breathe?! What’s this cloth? A scarf? I’m... wearing a scarf?!"

The man’s face darkened, his expression stern.

— Have you gone mad, woman? Calm down! You can’t behave like this! The doctors said you had a hemorrhage!

— Shut up! — she growled. There was such raw desperation in her voice that even he froze. — I’m not a woman! Is this... is this some kind of prank? Where are the cameras? Who are you? Damn it, who the hell are you even?!

— I’m your husband, Zulfia! Don’t you recognize me? — His tone wasn’t concerned but commanding. That tone... it struck her as oddly familiar. Control. Pressure.

She clutched the blanket tightly as a sudden movement inside her belly made her hold her breath.

"No. No, this can’t be happening. This is just a dream. A strange, idiotic, hyper-realistic dream! I have to wake up! I was in the temple. I found the artifact. That disk... I... I held it... Then pain... a flash... And now..."

— I’m pregnant? — her voice came out thin, trembling. She touched her chest, her fingers registering its warmth, fullness, and a faint soreness. — This... this isn’t right.

— Of course, you’re pregnant! — he barked, leaning back in his chair. — Forgot that too? Or are you trying to mess with me? Enough with the games, woman! The doctors said the baby’s fine, and now you’re spouting some—

She buried her fingers in her hair, feeling the scarf tied tightly around her head.

"Damn... This isn’t just a prank. This... This is real? I’m... really in this body? In the body of this... Zulfia?!"

His hand landed on her shoulder, a rough, unpleasant gesture.

— Stop this! Enough of this act! I’ll take you home, and we’ll talk there, understand?

"Home? No. No, no, no... I’m not me. I’m a billionaire, an archaeologist, I... My God, I’m in the body of some local pregnant village woman?!"

She felt tears well up in her throat but gritted her teeth.

— Get your hands off me, — she hissed, her voice low and venomous. — I’m not Zulfia. Got it, asshole?

He froze.

— What did you just say?...

— I’m... not... Zulfia. I’m not your wife. And if you touch me again, I... I...

She felt something shift inside her again. Too real.

"That’s... a baby? A real baby?! Inside? No... Damn it, I’m losing my mind!"