𝕿aimoor Ali Haider Mughal's eyes were liquid nitrogen.

They were so cold, they threatened to burn me in an instant, a flash freeze that would turn my skin white and cause blisters to lift on the surface. I stared up at the powerful man looming over me, who had one hand on each of the armrests of my chair, and I held in a painful breath. There wasn't any air left in the office or the space between us. He'd used it all when he'd trapped me beneath his inescapable gaze.

"Did you think you'd win? That you could escape me?" I swallowed the lump that clogged my throat, blocking any words from escaping. When I didn't say anything, victory flashed through his expression. "I will always find you."

My heart fluttered as he stepped close, the energy of his proximity holding it prisoner, his lips only a few inches from mine, and for one terrifying moment it seemed like he was considering kissing me. I stared at him, my eyes stuck on his, my breathing erratic. He smirked, his gaze dipping towards my mouth. He could do it. Just like everything else, he'd do it abruptly and without permission, claiming my mouth as if it belonged to him.

"I own you."

"No!" I woke up with a gasp my hands thrown over my face in an attempt to escape him.

Exhaustion settled into every muscle, hovering over me like a thick blanket. I'd never felt so vulnerable, scared to death about what he was going to do. Would he agree? Or would he be the reason for my family's downfall? Sweat trickled down my temple and I shuddered. I could hear the rumble of thunder as a backdrop of the torrent of rain pummeling against the roof. I'd grown to loathe storms, especially when they happened at night.

I shuddered at the unfinished dream.I was afraid—the kind of fear one had when being chased by a beast. Fear of the monster. Fear he might harm me. A shiver crawled up my spine, slow and uncertain, like a child taking his first steps. It wobbled and dipped as it worked its way up my back, unsteady yet determined as I stumbled downstairs seeking a drink.

Another rumble of thunder only added to the jitters, goosebumps pimpling over every inch of skin. I was lost to the fear, my heart hammering to the point the thudding sounds echoed in my ears.

But the kitchen wasn't empty. Nazia sat alone at the table and in the near-dark, an untouched mug steaming in front of her. "Daania," she put her hand over her heart. "You startled me."

"Sorry, I was thirsty," I bit my lip and inched towards the counter.

"Can't sleep?" I nodded, pouring myself a glass of water. "What's he like?" I nearly asked who she was referring to before her meaning sank in. Pretending not to understand her question, I moved to stand near the full glass windows, watching the rivulets of water race down the icy slopes.

"Has Mama gone to sleep?"

"Yeah. I gave her some of Baba's sleeping pills," she didn't look at me. Her eyes were out the window, staring at the gardens she loved to maintain. Nazia uncrossed her legs and walked over to sit on the love seat, sipping from her mug."Quit trying to avoid the question. You've avoided saying anything about him. What's he like?"

Dark grey eyes invaded my mind so swiftly—so suddenly—I placed the glass on the table without intention very nearly missing the table."This is what you're interested in? Not the fact that our parents lied to us about our financial situation? Or the fact that they lied about Baba's health? That he's becoming more volatile? Forgetting things?"

"What's new there?" I slanted a heated look her way. "Okay, that's all pretty bad, but guess what, I was never the emotional one, it was always you. You were always the one who took care of them and were concerned about them. You were the perfect daughter not me," I lowered myself into a chair across from her, feeling like she wanted to talk, even if it was with her anxiety-ridden older sister. "I'm mad at them, more than you know, but I don't want to think about that. I just want to deal with the reality that we've somehow lost all of our inheritance and that Baba is at the precipice of becoming bankrupt," surprise drew my gaze back to her, but skepticism took over.

"At least we won't starve to death."

"With your salary? Remind me why you wanted to become an environmental consultant?"

"Why did you chose graphic design? Because we love what we do. It was never for the money, although I wish we'd thought of that."

The lights weren't on inside the kitchen, but my eyes had adjusted, and there was plenty of light coming in from outside. She looked tired. Weary and maybe even a little bit broken."Regretting not becoming an engineer?"

"I'd never go that far."

"You're right, seeing the look on Bibi's face was worth that decision alone," her voice became small. "What will we do Dany?" she muttered, her mouth wobbling slightly.

"Baba wanted us to run and leave the city."

"Without him?" at my nod, she bristled. "Like that would happen."

"He wanted us to go back... to Bibi."

"It must be extremely bad if Baba is putting you anywhere near Ghazanfar bhai."

"Honestly that man! What was he thinking?"

"To get in your good graces? To secure one of the Mansoor girls? So that he's the sole heir to the inheritance we no longer have?"

"Wait till Bibi finds out we've got nothing to our names, she'll kick us out faster than we can say thank God."

"Can you imagine the look on her face, when she realizes that it's all gone? That we have no worth in her eyes? You won't have to marry Ghazanfar to keep it 'in the family,' yuck."

My sister and I had found different ways to adapt whenever Bibi had decided to interfere in our lives and we were thrust into the shining world that existed only for the elites. It was so sparkling and extravagant that it used to be enough to distract from the poison at its core.

It was adapt or drown.

"That makes this whole thing worth the pain," my stomach hurt. A dull ache because I knew what it was like to have no good options.

"She'll come after us, you know? She'll never just let us leave the family," Bibi was likely the smartest person we knew, savvy too, but she was notorious for keeping a tight grip on the family. And with the cut of our parent's betrayal, sharp and excruciating and deep to the bone, a nasty voice inside my head hissed that there was more to come. Betrayal was a staple in the family I was born into and they did it with unmatched expertise. There was no easy way out of this.

"If she finds out. We won't let her find out."

"Will it be that simple? Will he agree?"

"We have all the proof he needs, he has no reason not to," I said flatly.

"And what happens if he says no tomorrow?"

"He won't say no."

"How are you so sure?"

"I just am."

She doesn't tell me how impossible this situation is going to be to get out of. She also doesn't list all the reasons fighting it will never go my way. I'm just a single woman against all the power Mughals can bring to the fore. Stepping out of line wasn't an option. They'll force me to my knees before they let me go. Getting out of this situation was already going to take every resource I had.

"What's he like? Is he really as grotesque as they say?'

"Nazia!"

"I'm sorry, I just thought..." she was right to be curious. Taimoor Mughal was unlike the other Mughals, everything surrounding him was pure myth. All the other ones, from the grandfather to the youngest grandchild, the aunts, the uncles, were like the Olympians. Golden, shining, and ever so present. Above all of us mere mortals, living on an entirely different plane of existence. By contrast, no one I knew even believed Taimoor existed. They all agreed that at one point, a second son had existed but no one was aware of the sordid details. That meant we had next to no information to pull from. As if he lived somewhere in the dark, down in the underworld, beyond our reach.

Existing only in the shadows, whirling, frothing, waiting for his time to pounce. Like Hades.

"To judge a man by his appearance?"

"Well, it's not like his actions are any better," she was right—I knew she was right—but I could not help the fantasy. I reached up but stopped before my fingers made contact with my face, the dream still fresh at the edges of my consciousness. I had no answer to that. "Did you meet him? Or did you he stay in the shadows? Is he horribly disfigured?"

Once again, the disfigured face appeared in the shadows of my memory, and his gaze resounded stronger than his words that I'd invaded his space—that I'd walked myself into his clutches...I shook my head at the foolish thought and returned my focus to Nazia and the weighted concern in her eyes. "Oh my God, you need to let it be. He's a man who had an accident. Can we focus on the real thing here?"

"Like how you're going to be the self-sacrificing heroine who is going to save her family?"

"No, how I'm going to be the hero of my story and take control of my future."

She sighed and, with a resigned smile put her head on my shoulder, "That's not very novel-like..."

"No, that's mythology-like."

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Sorry for the short update, but I figured some context was necessary, so there you have it! As always, thoughts, feedback etc.