𝕯ressed all in black, his shoulders so broad they cast an ominous shadow over the polished wood floor, he surveyed me with the expression of a king who'd stumbled upon a peasant infected with the plague. His lip was curled. His eyes were narrowed. His nose was stuck so far up in the air, I wondered if he'd come to just to look down on me.

He was frighteningly huge. And his appearance...

Despite all the gossip and rumors, I had not been prepared. The spare Mughal I'd seen in passing years ago had been surrounded by eager admirers, most of them female. A second son and the Mughal Dynasty's resident playboy, he'd been born into privilege and wealth and had been handsome and fit, if somewhat standoffish.

What had reduced him to this... a shadow of himself?

Nothing could have readied me for the bleak vista of his face with its sutured lines and grisly lack of uniformity. A serrated tear ran diagonally from his upper right brow, across the bridge of his nose and cheek, down to his left jawline. It screamed of untold agonies, and the unprofessional stitching over poor cautery had only made the end result doubly macabre. I knew he lived in Islamabad- I read the papers - but had heard so much talk of him being unsociable and hermitlike, I thought it unlikely he'd ever be in his office to listen to me.

Now here he was. All six-foot-scowling-three of him.

Taimoor Ali Haider Mughal stood at the end of his office, glaring at me like I had made a rude comment about his mother.

"Maybe don't stare as much?" Affandi muttered from beside me, closing the door with a muted click. "I am getting a little jealous."

I was trying not to, but it was impossible to drag my gaze away. From all the way across the room, I felt the weight of his gaze, the sudden shocking force of it, as if he'd reached out and seized me around the throat. My breath caught in my throat as if it was controlled by his presence. At my small gasp, his eyes burned with an unholy muted grey flame, holding me in a glower that seemed better suited to hell.

The slight scruff on his jaw made it obvious he didn't shave on anything resembling a regular basis, and his hair, as black as his expression, curled over the collar of his jacket and fell across his forehead in a way that suggested it hadn't seen a pair of scissors in years. The man had the look of something wild and dangerous you might run across if you were out for a midnight stroll in the woods.

Crap.

I couldn't control the dread running through my body. His nostrils flared as if he could sense my unease, and suddenly, I felt like prey, well and truly snared by something far bigger and far more dangerous than me. I spared him a final glance, skating over his marred face. He was waiting for me to do more, I realized. To flee. To scream. To swoon at his beastliness.

And he was, indeed, beastly. Heartbreakingly so.

Except for the lower right side of his jaw and his lips. Those were intact. Full, unscarred, masculine. Odd that his mouth felt like the only safe space in the ragged landscape of his face. Even those strangely cold grey eyes didn't seem so intense at the moment, inscrutable as they were. Or perhaps I was fooling myself to make my goal more palatable. To cover the awkwardness of me just barging in unannounced, I made myself move forward when all my instincts were telling me to turn around and find a safe spot to hide in.

I had to be brave. I had to be nice.

"Daania Mansoor Khan. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Mughal."

His eyes narrowed. "The daughter of the thief."

Holy smokes.

Deep and rich, silky but with an edge like a purr, his low voice was at total odds with his unkempt appearance. It oozed confidence, command, and raw sex appeal. It was the voice of a man secure of his place in the world—a voice that was as used to giving orders.

A flush of heat crept up my neck. I wasn't sure if it was from annoyance, that voice, or his disturbing steely-grey eyes, which were now burning two holes in my head. Fighting the urge to kick him in the shin, I instead gave him my sweetest good-girl smile. I would not be intimidated, or bullied, or lose my cool on account of this arrogant jerk.

"My father is not a thief. There's been a misunderstanding," unaffected, he stared at me, his face a blank canvas, devoid of emotion.

So much for unruffled feathers.

"Your father has stolen something very precious from me and he refuses to give it back, hence he is a thief," through his nose, he slowly drew in a breath. He was too careful, too precise. My eyes narrowed in suspicion. "I don't know why you're here. There's nothing I can do for you."

Understanding struck me like lightning. This was a game to him. He knew exactly where my father was. He was playing with me. The controlled breathing, the practiced look, the tenor of his voice. Either he was an excellent actor or truly a monster. He would never be serious about my father's wellbeing. He was irritated by my presence but barely affected. For all he cared, I was a fly in his office, annoying but harmless. Something that could be squashed at his will.

My smile, and the hope I'd carried all day, died a painful death. "Why would he steal from you? He's been a loyal employee of the company! It makes no sense!"

A flare, a spark lit up his face. For a brief instant, the cool facade slipped away, "I'm not a man to be toyed with. Ask your father to return what doesn't belong to him and my attorneys will go easy on him."

"I don't think you heard me. Your overgrown mane must have impacted your hearing," a burst of laughter from the back flattened his lips and made the muscle in his jaw flex. "Did you not hear what I just said? How can he return something he does not have?"

"- as I told you, I know all the high-end attorneys in the city-" I tilted my head and crossed my arms.

"How lucky for them."

"-and as your father has stolen from the company-"

"Technically, the company is in your family's name, correct?"

"-because I make it my business to protect anything with my name on it-"

"Excuse me?"

"-and if you are your father's daughter in everything, including your attitude, I won't hesitate to speak with my contacts, along with my attorneys about your infringement on my family's property."

My mouth dropped open as I stared at him in
horror.

"You're threatening to throw me out? You can't possibly be serious!" for an answer, he narrowed his eyes at me just as his finger crept towards the phone on his table.

I closed the distance between us, very nearly walking into the mammoth desk, "I don't care who you are, Mr. Mughal, or how far you could throw me, or how many overpaid attorneys you have. Your manners are atrocious," I stepped back, ignoring Affandi's contemplative glance, and met Taimoor Ali Haider Mughal's burning stare with a level one of my own. "I don't know why you're so hell-bent on making my father the culprit here when it should be you who should be held accountable."

"Excuse me?"

"You're not excused. You're the reason why my father has been depressed for the past five years. You're the reason why he's had a hard time landing a job and now you have the audacity to label him as a thief? As if he was some low-born criminal jumping around your company stealing things? And what would he steal anyway? What would he steal that he didn't have access to in the last twenty-five years that he worked for you?" I wondered if he was restraining himself from smashing his fist against the wall. It certainly looked like he wanted to smash something. Though my heart was hammering, I stood my ground and didn't blink.

A storm raged within those eyes. It was like standing on the edge of a darkened shore, watching lightning dance closer across the sea. A lick of fear trailed down my spine as he defiantly stared back. He had to give in. He had to see this was absurd. "Why are you here? Why did you decide to dodge security and waltz into my office as if you owned it?"

"I can't find my father."

"That's not my problem," the smoky, sardonic snarl of his voice, filled with bitterness, curled around me and I tamped down another flare of irritation at his callous disregard.

"He was supposed to meet with you. Two hours ago. His car's in the parking lot."

"He did not meet me. He met my father."

"What are you talking about?" he dragged a hand through the thick mess of his hair and exhaled, an exasperated sound that clearly telegraphed how much he enjoyed interacting with the peasants. Especially ones who dared to get lippy. "Where's your father? Why would my father meet him?

"Answer her question Taimoor," Affandi muttered, still draped near the doorway, his eyes alight with curiosity.

His sharp gaze swung towards me, his mouth curling into an unpleasant snarl. "Mughal senior invited her father because he turned out to be in possession of a very important item, something that belongs to me," the widening knot in my throat threatened to choke me. He leaned over his desk, not bothering to hide his scars, his face in an unyielding cold mask. "Your father is probably on his way to jail."

His callous words felt like targeted missilery, tearing into me without mercy."You're lying."

The thud of a large fist striking wood made me flinch. A muscle in his jaw strained as he held my gaze."I am many things but I am not a liar."

"Taimoor, where is he? Stop playing with her."

The man laughed, the sound devoid of any humor, and once more, his words cut through me like hot blades. "Hardly. You can only play with those who are on your level."

I held back my flinch. His words were derisive and unfeeling, meant to cause pain. With slow breaths, I reached for the cool pragmatism that had been my shield through the hard times. It had never failed me, and it would not fail me now. I would persist. I had a job to do, and that was to keep my family safe and intact.

"No one wants to descend into the pits of hell Mr. Mughal. That's clearly your domain," fuming, I stared at him, convinced he was the most arrogant, annoying, mean, stuck-up, bad-tempered man I'd ever had the misfortune to cross paths with. "Now, I will ask this one final time. Where is my father?"

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Well... that kind of didn't go as planned, did it? 👀
As always thoughts, comments, feedback?! How'd you like our 'beast'? What do you think of their first interaction? Where is Daania's father? Are you looking forward to the next chapter? I'm trying to be more regular... you might have a surprise update sometime next week ;) Until next time :)

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