"You walked into the lion's den, sweetheart," he whispered, stepping closer. "And lions don't let go so easily."
He looked down at her leg, at her trembling hands, and the fear in her eyes.
"A beautiful young girl like you," he chuckled, "shouldn't...
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She whimpered when Sultan set her down on the couch, her ankle already beginning to swell.
He crouched before her, pulling her foot gently into my lap. "Tch. All this drama just to get my hands on you again?"
She glared, but he could see the edges of her bravado cracking.
Hw pulled the pallu off her ankle and pressed a cold pack against the swelling. She sucked in a breath.
"You pointed your finger at me that day," he said quietly, not looking up. "Called me a criminal. A monster. Said I had no character."
Her lips trembled.
He slowly looked up at her, eyes locking. "And after today, Mishti? What will you say now?"
She froze.
"Still think I'm the same man? After you let me touch you? After you lay under me and cried out my name while your legs shook?"
Her mouth parted in a silent gasp, her breath catching.
"After you let a criminal feed you, protect you... pay for your father's life?"
Her gaze dropped, shame-or maybe confusion-clouding her face.
No.
He wasn't going to let her do that.
He reached forward and tilted her chin up with his fingers. "Don't drop those eyes. Not those."
She blinked at him. Big, wet, and brown like burnt sugar.
"Something that beautiful shouldn't ever be hidden."
She bit her lip. Her shoulders trembled, not from pain now-but something deeper.
He leaned in, his voice lowering. "What's a nine to you, is a six to me. You see devils where I see broken men."
She swallowed.
"Everyone's a sinner in someone else's story, Mishti. And maybe I'm the villain in yours. But tonight..." he exhaled. "...you wrote a chapter with me."
Tears spilled down her cheeks. He watched her for a moment, a strange heat in his chest.
Then he leaned in, brushing his knuckles against her cheek. "So this is goodbye, isn't it?"
She didn't answer.
He smirked, leaning close-our foreheads touching. "Let's make it bittersweet, then."
And he kissed her.
And then his eyes opened.
The penthouse was gone. Mishti's trembling lips, her soft whimpers, that goodbye kiss-all vanished like a fever dream swallowed by morning.
Sultan Emad Khan was back in his glass-walled office, staring at nothing, hands clenched on the armrest of his leather chair.
Zubair stood at the door with a scowl painted across his face.
