The Bound Princess (Dark Romance)

Chapter 66

Dawood

Ahmed sat across from me in the aircraft, his jaw clenched tight. Beside me, Dad radiated anger, his voice seething as he berated me for the mess I had created despite his years of painstakingly crafting my political image since law school.

"Clarissa emailed her resignation," Dad barked, his frustration palpable. "This will be her last job as our PR agent."

"Good," I replied, trying to sound indifferent. "She wasn't as efficient as she needed to be anyway."

"With your track record," Dad retorted, his tone sharp, "I doubt any PR firm will stand up to the mantle."

"Dad, it's their job; we're paying them for this, not taking any favors. Ask her to shift the blame onto some rival," I suggested, trying to salvage the situation.

Dad didn't respond, his jaw ticking in frustration as he stared at the screen of his iPad. If not for Ahmed's presence, he might have lashed out physically. Everything was a chaotic mess, but I couldn't bring myself to care.

Amidst the turmoil, my mind couldn't shake off the image of Emma in the hospital because of me. I hadn't anticipated how devastating the news of my shooting would be for her.

Ahmed, visibly enraged, had every right to be furious; his sister was in the hospital because of my actions. I couldn't help but wonder what he would do if he found out about how I had treated her in the past months. The thought of facing his wrath, possibly even his bare hands, was daunting, but I couldn't expect anything less from the hot-headed Arab Prince.

"Did you tell Natasha the details about Hamza?" I asked Dad, trying to redirect the conversation.

"I didn't. It's better if we tell her face to face," he replied, his tone serious.

"How far is Emma in her pregnancy?" Ahmed inquired, his glare piercing.

"Second month," I answered, feeling the weight of his disappointment.

I still couldn't wrap my head around Emma being pregnant with our child. Our baby. It felt surreal, like a dream I was afraid to wake up from. The thought of becoming a father sent a rush of emotions through me—excitement, fear, uncertainty. I couldn't shake the feeling of disbelief, wondering if I was truly ready for such a profound responsibility. Yet, beneath it all, there was a glimmer of hope, a flicker of joy at the prospect of creating a new life with Emma despite the chaos surrounding us. It was a mixture of emotions I struggled to comprehend, but deep down, I knew one thing for certain: I had to be there for Emma, for our child, no matter what.

"I don't believe she didn't tell me," he remarked, his disappointment palpable.

"It isn't long since we found out. She might have told you any day now," I offered, attempting to ease the tension.

"She never kept anything from me," Ahmed muttered, frustration evident as he ran his fingers through his hair.

"She isn't just your sister anymore. She is my wife first," I asserted, the possessiveness creeping into my tone despite my efforts to keep it in check.

Ahmed shot me a glance that seemed to pierce through me, his expression one of disdain. "Emma loves me more than anyone."

"It was before I came into her life," I retorted, standing my ground, unwilling to back down in the face of his assertion.