𝕴 went to bed that night with a tornado of feelings that refused to make sense, battling each other—confusion, lust, inspiration, anger. To my relief, the nightmares didn't return. But the next morning, I did find a bottle of my prescribed anxiety tablets on my bedside table with my breakfast.

Control freak.

Figuring that I might as well do something productive with my time, I decided to reply to Zeenia's messages. My problems with her brother just seemed to be getting worse, so there was no sense in punishing her any longer.

An hour before lunch, Zeenia waltzed into my rooms, a picture-perfect model of seductive professionalism. Her makeup present, but natural, her long dark hair in sculpted waves, pinned discreetly back on either side.

"I didn't expect you to reach out," she slunk into the rooms, stepping into the bright light from the sun peeking through the curtains.

I tensed and put the book to the side, sitting straight up on the chaise."I'm a woman of my word. I know what's expected of me."

"Despite what my brother has done?"

"Your brother is-"

"An ass. I know. Nothing that can be done about it," her worried eyes met mine when I slouched back down. "How are you?"

A fissure of guilt flowed through me. I shrugged and redirected the question towards her. "How are you?"

"Ready to get over with this pregnancy thing," she traced her freshly manicured hands down the leather coat hugging her thin torso and down her bulging stomach. "I know the circumstances aren't ideal and you've suffered great trauma. I don't want to push you, but-"

I swallowed a chuckle. Affandi really couldn't hide anything from his wife.

"The birthday bash. I can read the date on my calendar."

"That bad?"

"I've been stuck in this house waiting for the ax to fall. I can't go anywhere or do anything productive. I haven't been able to see my family, who by the way, are still not convinced about any of this."

"I'm sure he'll give you-"

"I don't want his permission. That's the thing. I'm his wife. Only on paper. Not his prisoner."

Her mouth thinned and she uncrossed her legs. "Look Daania. I don't presume to know what my brother wants and how he thinks, despite being twins. For some reason, he warned me to stay away from you until you reached out, which I didn't appreciate at all but I had to do it. So I think it's best you discuss this with him," my lips twitched, attempting to mask the anger she caused with her words. We were all just pawns in his game. "Although, I get how you feel. I'm ready for my maternity leave to be over so I can go back to the office."

"I don't think he wants to discuss anything with me."

"I didn't take you for a girl who just gave up, you're more than this."

"What do you mean?"

"I was told you barged into his office."

An embarrassed blush warmed up my cheeks. "That was before."

"Before what? Before you wanted something? You still want something," she tilted her head over her shoulder. "Marriage is a compromise. No slash that, it's a complicated dance. The partners need to figure out the tempo, the steps, and the distance. Do you want to salsa, keeping each other at arm's length? Or want to engage in a waltz, seductive and sexy but with a brief connection?" her words stung and made no sense all at once. "Or perhaps, you'd like to sway in the moonlight, holding each other close?"

"I-"

"I'm going, to be honest with you Daania," laughter fluttered from my belly, husky and downright insane. Now she wanted to be honest? This family was crazy. "I like you. I think you're an honest sweet girl who's been dropped into our shitty mess of a family. Hate to break it to you, but the deeper you get into the foundations of this pit the more you'll want to run away."

My throat constricted and dried at the same time. I'd been so wrapped up in the whole mess of marriage and Taimoor's bi-polar behavior, there had hardly been time to come to grips with what I'd truly signed up for. What was truly expected of me.

"What are you talking about?"

"Ask me in five months, I don't want you to freak out," What the hell? "But I will say this, you're made of strong stuff and I hope you'd use that."

"Please be cryptic. What do you mean don't freak out? This whole conversation is freaking me out!"

"You'll be fine, I'm rooting for you," her closed facial expression told me that she wasn't going to say anything else. What was wrong with these people? Even with her good intentions, Zeenia was blue blood to the core. Just like the Olympian charm and power they embodied, she enjoyed toying with me, spouting off riddles, dropping random wisdom, and giving me different challenges. To her, I was just another plaything. A mere mortal. A shiny new thing in her old stilted world.

Ignoring my wide eyes, she walked to my wardrobe, her fingers skating over the rows of clothing.

"Nice wardrobe, Hania's done a great job. I like the way you think."

"I'm glad you approve," thank God, I'd managed to sequester the skimpy nightdresses in the drawers and hidden the boxes behind the other ones. I did not want to hear her opinion about that.

"I've organized the information about the board members in this folder. Make sure to brush up on your information before the event on Saturday," I opened the folder. It wasn't unexpected she'd present me with one."Speaking of which, do you have any ideas for your dress for the birthday gala?"

"It's a masquerade ball, I think anything works," her mouth turned into a grimace at my words.

"I don't think that's true."

"I'm sure you have a sketchbook full of them."

"And you'd be right," she answered whipping out a sketchbook from her Christian Dior tote, her eyes gleaming. "Let's start with the fabric."

༻✺༺

His study door was only halfway closed, but I banged my knuckles on it and waited for an invitation anyway.

"Yes?" a very irritated voice came from inside.

"Can I come in?"

"Yes," he sounded annoyed that he had to say it.

I pressed my lips together at his tone and reminded myself I'd signed up for this."Were you busy?"

He loosened his honey-colored tie and undid his collar button, running his other hand through his hair. "Just looking over some work," he flexed his broad shoulders with a zen-like grace, exhaled slowly, and visibly decompressed, the scars on his face unclenching from the action. What had him so stressed out?

"Did you go over the stakeholder's framework?" 

"Yes."

"Well?"

"It's a start."

Okay. Nice to know he hadn't lost himself completely. "But that's not why I'm here."

"I know that face. You're here to negotiate," he held my gaze and almost smiled, just a slight curl of his lips."Why am I not surprised?"

"Unfortunately, you've left me no choice. As much as I love your library, I need to get out of the house."

"It's a nice house."

"It's a lovely house," he unbuttoned the cuffs of his sleeves and rolled them over his forearms, as I talked, before putting the file down on the table, and set his gaze on me."And I love the gardens."

"Have you been?"

I chewed on my lower lip, ignoring the show of skin, distracted by the visible lines of his veins. He smoothed a hand down the line of buttons on his suit vest, as if he could brush my words aside that easily. Frustration built inside me, threatening to erupt— "No."

"Seems like you haven't explored the house."

"It's- "

"You should explore the house."

"I will go insane."

I mustered all the courage I possessed and pretended this would be easy. No big deal. The pause was so lengthy, a small moment of panic washed over me. Had I said too much? Been too honest? Was he thinking about my nightmares? Should I thank him for the pills?

"Fine."

"That's it? Fine? What's the catch?" I gave him my best smile and strived for a light, joking tone, even though I was serious.

God, his eyes. They were slightly more steel than gray, and fucking intense. The outside of him—the suit, the hair—was smooth, but the way he was so guarded in what he said, so private and measured, I couldn't help but feel there were things below the surface I wanted to know. "You're not a very trusting little thing are you?"

"You've given me no reason to trust you."

"I haven't given you a reason to be wary of me either."

The muscle running along his jaw flexed. Was he grinding his teeth? He was definitely upset by my statement. Damn it. He was right. He'd never pushed me. He'd never forced himself on me.

"What's the catch?" I repeated, drawing the words out, playing with my hands. His eyes flashed with heat. He didn't like what I was saying, but he wasn't going to argue with it either.

"An hour of your time."

"To do what exactly?" curiosity sparked in me, a welcome relief to the constant confusion and anger. There was no change in Taimoor's demeanor, but he couldn't control the way his chest lifted with a deep breath.

"An hour of your time. Every day. Just us," I stared at him, trying to focus on something other than his almost perfect face and how I wanted to kiss it and slap it in equal measure.

"In exchange for me going to the office?"

"You'll go to the office with me, in my car. You'll leave when I leave. You'll be assigned a security detail."

"So the daily dinners?"

He leveled his imposing stare and hardened."They're separate from this."

"What will we do in that hour?"

"Nothing, everything," now what the hell did that mean. If the devil existed, he sounded like a satisfied Taimoor, all slow grins and carefully curated words that seemed to have meanings within meanings.

"Why?"

"Why? Because you started the game little dragon," little dragon? The strange nickname wrapped itself around me, curling around my heart, every inch of me thrumming with tense excitement. "Are you backing out now?"

Fucking hell. He was punishing me for yesterday's dinner. Making me pay for making him uncomfortable. My heartbeat kicked into high gear, a stampede in my chest. Fear skittered through the air and embodied itself in my body.

Understandable and justifiable, considering my circumstances. He could ask anything of me. Anything at all.

Zeenia's words echoed in my head.

You're more than this.

Taimoor reached across the table, and as I stared at his offered hand, my stomach flipped over, filling with equal parts of excitement and apprehension. Both times we'd touched hands, there'd been this strange magnetic pull to him. When he just waited, I relented. I was too tired for this ridiculous argument. Too confused and exhilarated and depressed, all at once.

Two could play this game.

I took the offered palm of his large hand catching an earthy, masculine scent. My fingers clasped around his and we both tensed at the shivers that went down my spine all the way to my toes. I knew he meant the handshake to be professional and cool, but the way my body responded to them was anything but that.

God, what was wrong with me? This wasn't normal or right. He was arrogant to the point he was rude, not to mention . . . maybe a criminal? What he'd done to Ghazanfar was not an accident, it had been clinical and precise. Something a seasoned fighter would have done. My body didn't give a crap. Sparks crackled through our connection, lighting me up, and I prayed I could keep it contained.

My mouth went dry and when he squeezed, every muscle in my body tightening in response. We were playing with fire and sooner or later, it was going to burn us.

"Starting today, one hour of each day, in exchange for the office, the guards, and visits to your family," I tried to ease my hand back but he held on for a second longer to assert his dominance. "I'll see you at seven."

༻✺༺

Striding into the room, I took a few deep breaths and slammed the door shut. Unbuttoning my clothes, I marched over to the bathroom to draw the bath. Minutes later, I was lounging in a bubble bath in a tub, with soothing music playing from hidden speakers, towels warming on a heated towel rack, and my choice of pricey shampoos and hand-made soaps within reach, staring at the gorgeous white silk robe hanging on a hook by the tub awaiting my pampered body.

I sat contemplating his moves, my hands drifting over the bubbles, playing with the foam.

Indecisive. Wracked with doubt. Caught between the devil and the deep blue sea in terms of ethical conduct. Silly to feel a sting over that realization. Sillier still to be so desperate for companionship that I had agreed to his terms. Damn – so what would it be – self-respect, boundaries or no boundaries, the pursuit of extraordinary possibilities.

I sighed.

Taimoor clearly thought he had me cornered. That man thought he could win this game. Little did he know he'd given me the power in this relationship. That I was going to exploit it to the fullest. He couldn't touch me. There was no way he was going to be the first one to break.

Which meant, I could have fun teasing him. Testing his mettle. Playing with both his mind and his body.

We might be the perfect couple on the outside. A fairytale everyone wanted to buy into, but over here, inside these walls, we'd fight for control. Every day would be a new battle. A continuation of the war we'd started in our heads. A push and pull that lit our bodies ignited our souls.

He was going to play the game. Even if we went up in flames.

Cinching my robe around me, I settled on an absolutely over-the-top black cocktail dress that whispered to my baser instincts. I touched the rich, silky black fabric, admiring the elegant lines of the dress, running my finger down the V-neck that was modest, yet tastefully sexy. There was no way I could wear this outside this house. It was out of my league and I did not have the confidence to carry it in public. But I did I have the confidence to use it to tease Taimoor.

Did I want to poke that lion?

I stepped up to a window, my heart and mind at war.

Below me, the lights cast the estate in shades of amber and orange. The city beyond lay in darkness. My hands slid along the windowsill. Did I even want to go there? With that whole Ghazanfar incident, could I even go there?

Taimoor wasn't Ghazanfar. I knew that. He had questionable morals, he was coercive, but he wasn't going to force me. For some reason, I was sure of that.

Another moment of indecision, another sigh.

Then I noticed the shoes at the bottom of the wardrobe.

Oh my God.

Black, fuck-me shoes with sparkly stuff on the toes. This was it. Could any woman turn down shoes like that? Scratch that, if a woman wanted to feel sexy and wanted to dress up, did it have to be for a man? Could I not assert my own power because I wanted to feel powerful? Why should I be ashamed of it?

To be fair, who else was I supposed to use it on? Legally and religiously, the only one I could use it on was my husband. And boy was I going to.

Finally dressed up, I made it five minutes before the set time. Victorious, I turned my attention to my surroundings. The second dining room was beautiful and lacked for nothing, save its owner. With Taimoor not present, I had the opportunity to poke around. My fingers flitted over the chess pieces placed on the low mahogany table. The set was beautifully carved from cold hard marble, its pieces ready to play.

"I had it commissioned a couple of years ago."

I swiveled around, startled to find the man himself leaning against the open doorway, hands tucked in his pockets. He still wore his office attire, only now his suit jacket was gone, and the cuffs of his sleeves were still rolled up past his elbows.

"It's gorgeous," I respond, touching my sternum in a poorly masked attempt to hide my surprise. It only served to draw his attention to my chest.

There they lingered. Seconds ticked by, and neither of us moved. I didn't know what was passing through his mind, but terror and excitement consumed mine. I was incapable of moving, even if I tried.

Taimoor's gaze flicked back up to mine, his dark eyes intense in the low lighting. Pushing away from the wall, he prowled forward. The trance was broken. Something had changed, something had shifted. With each step he took, I saw a little more of that fire burning in his eyes.

Shit. I'd unleashed the beast. I could see him just under the surface, prowling, snapping under Taimoor's carefully blank facade.

"Do you play?"

"When I want to."

He picked up the board and carried it to the desk, and I stood rooted to my spot and looking longingly at the door. As long as I was here, I had to follow his orders. There wasn't a way out, but perhaps I could get something for my misery. He wanted something, but I did too.

"Sit," when I hesitated to comply, he bared his teeth, and his words were a slap in the face. "You agreed to this, do you want to go back on your word?"

Bested, I collapsed on the chair. Taimoor's eyes drift to my bare arms and moved down. The sight was possessive, hungry, and it made my stomach flip. Behind his eyes, he seemed to be considering something, and a feeling of unease grew in my chest. What would he come up with?

"Are we having a friendly match?"

His eyebrow arched so high it was a miracle it didn't knock down the chandelier. "Have you met the two of us?"

Point, score, match. "Fine. What are we playing for?"

He arranged the board and paused, his fingertips on a figure of a horse's head. "The winner gets to ask a question, the loser has to answer it honestly."

A startled laugh burst out of my mouth. "What?"

"Isn't that what you want? Information?" my heart raced even faster, a frisson of unfamiliar excitement racing up my spine. How did he know that? How did he know me so well? "You've tried to squirrel it from my staff. I'm giving you a fair way to earn it."

Freaking Olympian complex again.

"I did not squirrel-" the words died as he gazed at me with a hint of mischief in his eyes. "Just start the game."

He nodded and made his move. The game passed quickly from there. He was good—very good. And I hated that I liked it. What a weak thing to feel, and yet I did. I liked being challenged by him, having to be on guard, having to use my wits. His woodsy smell was a perfect match for the flames that flickered on the hearth. The golden glow that it cast upon his fallen-angel face made him look divine like he was the king of the angels. The light inside him, though... I'd felt it. He wasn't all bad—not by a long shot.

"You're not bad," he said the words so cavalierly, but his face betrayed him. He was taken aback by my skill, and I really wish I couldn't tell. It was harder to despise him when he acted human.

"I was taught by my father."

"Strange," I touched the black king with my fingertip trying to focus. His gaze riveted to the sight as if he couldn't look away. "So was I."

He leaned over the board to make his move, his nearness doing strange things to my body. "What? Baba taught you? My father?"

"Yes," I could see something like uncertainty there. I wanted to laugh that I could make someone like Taimoor feel anxious, but I was too consumed by my own personal pain. Baba had taught him? When? Why? I always thought this was something he and I had. A private father-daughter thing.

Taimoor's eyes move over my face. I slit my eyes at him and he made his move. "Focus."

"When?"

"What?" his voice had turned cold, but the electric tension between us ramped up a notch.

"When did he teach you?" I blurted, unable to help myself. This was going to drive me crazy.

"Ask me when you win," he was looking at me as he said this. It was his underhanded form of payback. I worked my jaw, then let my gaze flick back to him, making my move.

But it was looking more and more like I might lose. Partially because it was hard to focus with him sitting so close. Mostly because of the information he had just dropped. Could he be lying? He could be. But I'd lost this. My emotions had gotten the better of me. Fingers fidgeting with the pawn, I moved it to be sacrificed.

Anything to put off the inevitable for a little longer.

When my eyelids lifted, Taimoor was watching me with fascination, like he craved these reactions. That sense of wrongness came back. I shouldn't be doing this with him while the world toiled on. While he played with me, dropping information bombs. I flashed him a guarded look, never taking my eyes off of him. Bad idea. Whether it was my empty stomach or the potential loss, but something was not sitting well.

He moved his king to take mine, and my heart dropped. "Checkmate."

"You were distracting me."

"None of it was a lie."

I frowned, heart thundering. Damn it, damn it, damn it. I searched his face. Satisfaction gleamed in his gaze. He had me.

"I'm sure you're dying to ask your question," and I was dreading answering it. Could I fake it?

Yeah because I had been such a talented actress so far.

He ran a hand over his jaw, letting his long fingers trail down over his high cheekbones, and I abruptly had to avert my gaze. The way he looked while he'd done it was violently sexy. "Why do you suffer from anxiety? Why the pills?"

I should have known he wouldn't go easy on me. Why would he? I wouldn't have gone easy on him. I shifted in my chair, wondering how I could not answer that.

"Careful with how you answer this little dragon, we agreed on honesty," he relaxed in his chair, his eyes sharp and invasive. Taimoor's posture, even when relaxed and calm, exuded confidence.

"Anxiety stems from the need to have control."

"I'm aware of that."

"I take the pills to make sure I don't live with that feeling twenty-four seven."

"That's the standard pitch. Why do you need them? What caused it?"

"I-" my heart raced as I debated opening it up and displaying it for him. "Being a girl comes with its pressures. Being the eldest daughter with no male sibling comes with a shit load of responsibilities," I couldn't stop talking. I needed someone to understand. To listen to me. "It wasn't bad at the start. Just some flashes of white here and there. A little panic attack. Nothing I couldn't hide," too much. I was revealing too much. Taimoor's gaze was fixed on me like he was witnessing a disaster unfold and he couldn't tear himself away, even when he wanted to.

"What aggravated it?"

I let out a sad laugh. "Why do you care?"

"You know why," because I'd lost the game. Because I was bound to him by my own will, to save the very man who'd got me to this position.

"I tried everything... to be what they wanted me to be. To make him see me. Grades. Awards. Clubs. Everything," I whispered brokenly. "And it never mattered, it wasn't enough" I laughed, hating myself, hating the words that were about to come from my mouth. "I remember when I decided to go my own way and God, the words he'd said," my breath jerked into my mouth in uneven spurts.

"Your father?" I didn't miss the moment when it seemed like gravity shut off for a split second and everything seemed to float, including my eyes up to his. There was a flicker of fierce protectiveness there—the same look as when he pulled Ghazanfar from me. And just when I thought I'd grabbed ahold of it, it slipped through my fingers.

And with that gone, I questioned whether he'd even looked at me, to begin with, or if I'd only imagined it. I heaved in deep breaths and clutched the table, fighting the panic. Would he understand? I couldn't think clearly, not with his newest revelation, stuck in the past.

"I was unwanted, useless for my father, or the people who pretended to be my friends. I was no longer the smartest girl in the room," and sometimes, on a particularly rough day, I had wondered if the ugliness I felt on the inside had crept out and was starting to take over. "That was it. The fall from grace."

"He blamed you for wanting to pursue a different career than his?"

A harsh, angry laugh ripped from my chest. Blamed me. If only. And that's what I'd hated. The helplessness of the situation. No one had stood up for me. Not my mother and not my sister. If I hadn't taken the drastic step of marrying Taimoor, history would have been repeated."He threw me out of the house for making my own decisions and choosing to save my mental health. My mother stood there and watched. That's all she did. That's all she could do."

The very thing that had initiated those anxiety attacks.

The fear of being left alone. Of being a failure. Of being discarded. Of hearing those rumors and whispers. Of not being enough. Baba had apologized in his roundabout way. He'd paid for my education and on the surface, we'd all moved on. Just like all families did, the whole thing was never to be mentioned again. But the damage was done. He'd never seen me as an equal, just another one of his failed inventions. The time and resources he'd poured into me were now of no use to him. And I'd retaliated. I'd retaliated by earning my place and making my own path. By being better and aiming higher, raking in the applause, taking on the responsibilities to get his attention, to get his praise.

I couldn't risk it again. I couldn't risk someone cutting me out the moment I didn't serve their interests so I made myself valuable. The key player. The one with all of the information. How could I not? I'd become useless to my own father. The man who'd made me. Who loved me. Who, despite that love and care, was a slave to this society and its standards. If I was useless to him, I could be useless to anyone.

And look at where life had dropped us. I was the only one standing between him and his complete and utter ruin. Karma really was onto something.

"Where did you go?"

"What do you mean?"

"You just-" irritation slathered on his face as he gestured to my face."-disappeared."

I blinked not understanding how he'd figured that out."I'm right here."

"No, you went into your head," I heard his growl, but I couldn't look at him. I couldn't look at him without wanting to rip him apart like he was doing to me."You chose to save your father from me. You chose to step up for your family. Why?"

"You've said it yourself. I'm the annoyingly dependable daughter."

"You love him. You love them and you wouldn't live with yourself if you let them go. No, that's not it. That's not all. You're desperate for approval. For those pats on the head. You'd kill yourself to see them happy," in an instant, all the anger I felt at this conversation evaporated and I collapsed on the chair, exhausted. I felt like I was seen. Not just my anger and hurt, but the very deepest part of me, the part I was afraid to tap into at the risk of being hurt again.

He saw it all.

And it scared me.

"Tell me why? What have they done to inspire such loyalty?"

"That's more than one question."

"Tell me."

I slammed my hand down on the table next to me, shaken by his perceptive nature, hating the weak ground I was on."Goddamnit, Taimoor, you can't control this, you can't control my words. Or me. You've asked your question and I've answered it. Now stop pushing—that's not how the world works."

"It's how my world works," he shot back scathingly, like a hostile surrender to my self-deprecation.

I flashed him a vicious smile, wanting to hurt him just as he'd hurt me. Wanting him just as vulnerable as I was. Slashing my way to his heart, wanting him to bleed. "And that's why you're going to end up alone."

He reeled back as if punched from my words. Instant regret permeated my skin and I opened up my mouth to take my words back, to apologize. My eyes shot to him as he walked around me for the door, not waiting for my answer. I was still struggling to splutter my apology as he walked out and shut the door behind him.

I'd messed up. I'd messed up royally. But for the first time, I felt as if the weight had been lifted off my shoulders.

Tonight, after all those years of denial, playing nice, being docile, and keeping my head down, after these last few minutes, I felt like I'd taken the first shaking and stumbling step forward after years of being stuck.

And it hurt like hell.

And for the millionth time I wondered, was Taimoor my ruin or my savior?

༻✺༺
Okay. First of all. Sorry for the delay. I have been swamped with stuff. But on the bright side, you get a loooooong chapter.

Secondly. This was very hard for me to write. It's a very personal thing. I debated cutting the chapter down but I felt like this topic needed to be addressed. I feel like I should address this so others can understand the pain someone goes through when they're thought of less than who they are just because of the major they've chosen. Our society thrives on these standards (doctors, engineers are better, etc) and alienates people who want to do more or be different.

Thoughts? Feedback? Comments?
Next update comes on Sunday (the next one)

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