Taimoor

𝕺minous clouds hovered overhead like dark smoke, but I ignored the approaching storm, barreling out the back door, and marched across the stone patio. My shoes pounded down the outdoor staircase as I jogged toward the lawn and the hedge maze looming beyond.

Harsh winds whipped through the rose garden sending bits of grass into my face. Quiet relief swept through me once I was running between the manicured walls of evergreen. With the impending storm, it was dark out, and the landscape lighting that dotted the path couldn't seem to penetrate the shadows. I stumbled blindly deeper into the gardens with no destination, my feet sending pebbles skittering over each other.

I didn't see a flash of lightning. It was only the growling moan of thunder that made me aware of its existence.

Cold raindrops pricked at my skin, but I pressed on.

The clouds darkened. Rain pelted down, stinging and unforgiving.

Lightning burst from the sky in a jagged slash, and more thunder followed right on its heels. Only this time it wasn't a low rumble, but a sharp, hateful crack. Like the sound of a slap across a face, magnified a million percent. The wind swirled around me with unease. It propelled me along the path, ushering me toward the exit. Like it knew I shouldn't stay. Or . . . perhaps not. I wiped the rain from my eyes and stared at the decorative statues before me, surrounded by hedges on three sides. A dead end. There were statues at some of the ends, and urns at the others. This one looked like the rest. No idea why my grandparents had been obsessed with the Romans and Roman mythology.

Lightning lit everything in unsettling white light for a sliver of a moment. The booming thunder seemed to anger the wind. It made the hedges come alive and undulate around me. They shook their disapproving branches at me, wagging their fingers at the scarred Mughal boy.

I shuffled along the path as fast as I could. The heavy, frigid rain soaked my clothes and weighed me down. I thought I was headed in the right direction until I turned a corner and lurched into the opening at the center of the maze. It was pouring down so hard now I couldn't tell if the tiered fountain at the center was even running.

I'd achieved my goal of losing myself, but I hadn't expected to feel so tired and alone. Insomnia had kept me awake most nights, along with the recurring nightmares of being burnt to ash. Sometimes, the dreams were so real that I swore I could feel the flames tearing into my flesh and the hot burn of my skin separating. I lifted my gaze to the sky, blinking rapidly against the torrents of rain, and winced as another bolt of lightning ripped from the dark clouds. The storm was like my grandfather's gaze on me. It didn't let up, no matter how uncomfortable it made me. Perhaps he clouded my thoughts, but when I found myself facing the same damn turn in the dead-end, an angry sigh punched from my lungs.

I could tell it was the same one from before.

Part of a hedge root curled over the edge of the base.

Frankly, I had reached a breaking point.The scent of fire surged, filling the air until I almost couldn't breathe. My throat tightened, fear fisting it tight. I stared into it, drawing strength. I had been born for the darkness and was indebted to it for my very life. An icicle of agony shot through my head, and I rolled onto my side and retched, dry heaves that produced nothing.

Breathe. Breathe.

Slow, deep breaths got the worst of the pain under control, and soon, I could look up and take in the sight. My eyes shut, searching for comfort in what my next steps were, but instead, the path of my steps led me back to her... back to that defiant girl. Daania Mansoor Khan. Daughter of the thief. Any gaze that caught a glimpse of my face fled in fear and disgust, swearing to never return.But she'd seen me. She'd stared at the monstrosity of my face and only moved closer. Like a blind fool, inching toward danger.

I distrusted her, not just because of her father, but because she wasn't repulsed by me. I distrusted her because she turned my body traitor against my mind, leaving me fitful and full of everything but true relief.

My breath escaped in a ragged torrent as I forced her from my mind, her smile and the defiance in her eyes taunting me from the shadows.

Pushing back a drenched lock of my hair, I moved away from the water as I stared at the fountain. I turned in place and faced the spot where the hedges parted, choosing to go back the way I'd come. At least the front section of the maze I was more familiar with.

As I stepped in, out of the dim, gray light of early morning, Akbar greeted me, his mouth set in a hard grimace.

"How nice of you to finally drip in."

"They're just floors Akbar, let it be."

"We both know I'm not concerned about the floors."

"You should be careful Akbar, that's bordering on traitorous slang. Grandfather would have your head for those words," the words were broken and jagged, cutting my tongue, the pain in my back making it impossible to move without hunching.

He scoffed, handing me a towel. "Hardly, he's probably in hell, where he belongs. Fat chance of us running into one another," my lips twitched and I stepped back, running the soft cotton through my hair. "His son, however, is a completely different story. Your father asked to see the household expenses."

"Divert him to me," I scowled in annoyance, the scars on my skin pulling tight. "His meddling is getting tiresome," the hint of menace in my tone made Akbar pale and I ignored his reproachful look. "Ignore his requests and carry on as usual."

I often wondered how long I would be able to keep him on staff. Though he had been given many opportunities to leave, should he like, the man seemed determined to remain at the manor until his dying breath. I was too proud to admit that I was grateful for that because the house wouldn't be the same without him.

Akbar ghosted a finger over a vase in his hand with forced cheer. How many vases did this damn house have? This one was painted with tiny blue and white flowers. It was so delicate that if I squeezed hard enough, it would shatter in my palm. No doubt worth an obscene amount of money. I felt a sense of disgust as I studied the object.

My father had revered the blasted things.

I walked ahead a half-dozen steps feeling the pull of scar tissue all along my back and ribs.  No one looked me in the eye anymore. No one, that is, except for this faithful butler and my longtime valet, who was supposed to be in the study by now.

"Where is Aziz?"

The servant—though more family than a servant, ergo his everlasting gall—slanted me an arch glance. "He's preparing for your meeting with Ms. Mansoor today."

I paused, my eyes narrowing. "Has her father been released?"

"A Mrs. Mansoor and a Ms. Mansoor have been sighted outside the Magistrate's office. He awaits your command."

I thought that exercise this morning had helped exhaust the extra energy I'd been struggling with ever since I'd seen her. I was wrong. "The eldest one?"

"The youngest sir."

Well well, what were you planning Little Dragon?

"Ask him to grant them bail."

"As you wish."

The study was dominated by a large desk, several comfortable armchairs, and it was dark with heavy velvet drapes covering the mullioned windows. Plush carpeting muted my footfalls as I walked over and sat in the chair behind the desk and poured myself a glass of orange juice. Rolling the sleeve of my left arm, I surveyed the small, unsightly scar tissue above my elbow. Parts of my body had suffered the same fate. I'd kept my hair long, but the length did little to hide the stitched filigree of my skin. The beard helped, shielding the scars as best as it could.

I pulled the stack of ledgers toward me and glanced over the numbers for the company. I hadn't visited many of the branches in years, though reports had indicated that the holdings were turning a profit despite the recent structural changes. The departure of certain prominent members was probably due to my black reputation, most of it deserved. I'd been a harsh man before the scars and now I was a hundred times worse. Ruthless to a fault. Hard. Intractable. Unforgiving. The list went on.

"Your breakfast sir?"

Olive skin and a defiant mouth haunted my vision.

"Leave it. I'll have it in the office."

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"I need to speak to him."

"Ma'am this is highly irregular... Mr.Mughal does not meet with unwanted visitors."

"He's expecting me," the voice was decidedly feminine, sultry, and familiar.

My lower abdomen clenched at the sound.

I let the buzzer light up, connecting my office intercom with Jibran's. "Let her in."

Moments later, she walked into my office her head tipped high and her gaze shooting at me like dark arrows. The room was fully illuminated by the blazing morning light behind me, so I could see her clearly, front-lit as she was.

She looked up, her face pale and drawn.

Wariness glinted in her eyes, that of a prey scenting a predator.

Wise.

She shifted left, putting the large desk, a massive block of ebony wood, between us.

"This is sooner than I anticipated," I growled, inspecting her for any sign of increased fear. How brave was she? How strong? I found the fear in the tight line of her jaw and the glint in her eye, yet she didn't look away. She arched a brow, keeping her distance. "It doesn't matter. I assume you have the proof?"

"I do. I want you to drop all the charges against my father," she said, impatience and steel, lacing her tone.

"Aren't we in a rush?" she glared, and I couldn't help but enjoy watching the way her features changed. I'd never cared to look at another before, finding others to be as interesting as the rocks that made up the walls of my house. Or perhaps it was her rigid posture taken with the dour set of that rosebud mouth and the sheets of ice in those eyes. Or the dark hair that was scraped off her forehead into a ruthless, non-sense ponytail.

"Yes we are," she ground out, her eyes fairly sparking with indignation that she struggled to control, though control it she did.

"So what does Mansoor Khan's precious little flower have for me?"

"I have the proof that you needed, it's in this USB drive..."

"I believe I asked you for the program."

"I do beg your pardon, perhaps you forget, you asked me for my father's proof of innocence."

"Beg away. I'm quite at my leisure."

Dark eyes flashed. "You are..."

"Abominable? Appalling? Atrocious?" I supplied.

"I was going to say insufferable, but clearly your intelligence is limited to only the first letter of the alphabet."

Laughter nearly, very nearly burst from my lips. My, she had quite a temper and a witty tongue. It made me want to rile her all the more, to make those brewing passions ignite in her eyes, anything to disrupt her ironclad control.

Her eyelashes descended, her cheeks hollowing with obvious frustration. "My father made a mistake Mr. Mughal, I'm here to amend that."

"You haven't brought me the program so I don't see how it can be amended. As far as I remember, you have until sundown to track it down. I would suggest that you use the remainder of the day to do so."

The little dragon swallowed what looked like it could have been a blistering response and sealed her lips. She leaned forward to pick up a green-flowered paperweight from the desk with deceptive calm. "There's a catch in that plan."

I was momentarily fascinated. She examined the dish in her delicate, long-fingered hands. Those delicate hands were at odds with the rest of her. My vision blurred, my gaze narrowing on the woman still inspecting the damn paperweight across the desk's mahogany surface.

"And what is that?"

I imagined what those long, elegant fingers would feel like circling, moving, caressing... my entire body throbbed with a surge of instant need. Lust roared through me.

Damn it. She was not the sort of woman who heated my blood...and yet my blood was on fire.

Reverently, she placed the dish gently back in its place, her hands falling to her lap, thankfully out of sight, and raised her eyes to meet mine, a new challenge swirling in those depths. "I could give the program to whomever I want."

"And yet you're here. What is it you want?" distracted by the fire in my veins, my voice was gruffer than I'd intended. "Don't keep us in suspense. Spit it out."

Her delicate brows crashed together, but she cleared her throat, once more fighting for calm. So she was affected after all. "I have a proposition for you."

"Proposition?"

"A business proposition," she clarified, gesticulating in midair. Those graceful fingers fluttered, and my entire body hummed in response. My skin prickled in every direction, reaching out for any chance to be closer to her while my heartbeat heavily against my chest. "I can give you my father's creation," she said patiently. "In exchange for his freedom and some of his stocks."

I gave a huff of mirth."We agreed on him getting his freedom, which as I am aware, he was rewarded for a short period of time today. Would you want me to take that away?"

There was no response to my sudden hostility. Rather, her eyes narrowed as she peered into the dark shadow I was seated in. It pricked me, the intensity I saw there as if she were trying to figure out a puzzle. Trying to evaluate me as one did with a feral animal, waiting to see if it would bite. I wanted to snarl back at her, to get her to retreat.

Run. Leave.

"Are you happy as the company's acting CEO? You don't have full control yet, do you? You need the program to get the board to agree to your nomination. Something spectacular that could help you ascend to that position. You need me to get the board to agree," I did not know what she thought she was doing, acting so familiar to me. Trying to make me forget who I was. Who she was. As if she had a right to touch my things or know my plans. "We can help each other Mr. Mughal. I can help you."

"Enough," she blinked up at me, confusion clear in her eyes, trying not to shrink back as I moved.

Even now, in my clutches, she was staring up at me with so much false hope, it grated on my last nerve. As if she could ever make me forget why she was here. As if just by fluttering her lashes and speaking sweetly, she could make me forget the traitorous blood running through her veins. Our eyes clashed, a violent collision of wills that dumped more fuel into our fight, fuel that desire would set aflame.

I could see the steam that released from her blazing gaze.

"You need the program to gain full control of the company. I have the means to give that to you. It's a pretty simple equation."

Each claim stripped away another layer, baring more of my wounded, wandering soul. The raw sensation was like walking out into the sun after spending years in complete darkness. Bright. Burning. "Don't presume to know what you're talking about."

"I know more than enough. I help you get the program, you become the CEO."

I'd woven my life into a web of lies for myself, knowing each string and strand-like the back of my hand—where it would go, who it would pull, and how to instantly sever a connection when necessary. And she'd flown right into the center of it, lodged herself inextricably into the spindle of my secrets whether she truly knew them or not.

To remove her, I'd have to break the web. To remove her, I'd have to destroy her father.

My entire body flexed like a string snapped taut. I leaned towards her, each of my hands settling on the armrests of the chair she reclined on. "You're forgetting one thing," her lips, darkened with lipstick, parted, and, once more, she looked at me, her gaze sparking with heat. "I could just take it from you."

The tanned brown of her cheeks warmed with her blush, a strangled gasp escaping her lips. "You can try."

"What does that mean?" my gaze tethered to hers. I was used to the most important things in my life being ripped viciously from my grasp, but for this to fall apart at this stage... If my heart was racing before from anger and then adrenaline, it was nothing compared to now.

"Well... it's complicated."

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Here we go! The game is afoot my dear Watson 🌶

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