The Bound Princess (Dark Romance)

Chapter 69

Dawood

I sat there, motionless, as the door clicked shut behind Emma. The silence of the penthouse was suffocating, closing in on me like a dark cloud. My knees remained on the floor where I had begged her—begged her not to leave. I couldn’t believe she was gone. It felt as if the ground beneath me had disappeared as if everything I had been holding onto was slipping through my fingers.

I buried my face in my hands, my body trembling with the weight of regret. How had I let it come to this? How had I let her slip away? The woman I loved—the woman I was supposed to protect, to cherish—had walked out of my life, and it was all because of me.

I had failed her. Again and again, I had failed her. The memories of our fights, my mistakes, and the countless moments I had broken her trust rushed through my mind like a storm. Anger bubbled inside me—not at her, but at myself. How could I have been so blind?

"Fucking idiot," I muttered, slamming my fist into the coffee table. The sharp pain that shot through my hand was nothing compared to the agony ripping through my chest.

She was gone. She was really gone.

I could barely breathe. My heart felt like a dead weight, dragging me down into a pit of despair. My mind replayed her words, the finality in her voice when she said she couldn’t do it anymore. That she was scared—for herself, for our child.

Our child. How could I live with myself knowing I had ruined our family before it even began? I was supposed to be a father, a husband—someone Emma could rely on. But all I had done was hurt her. Over and over again.

I leaned back against the couch, staring at the ceiling, the sound of my ragged breathing filling the empty room. The silence was unbearable, echoing the emptiness inside me. I wanted to scream, to tear something apart, to do anything to release the frustration and anguish swirling within me. But I didn’t. Instead, I sat there drowning in my misery, too numb to move.

Suddenly, I sensed a presence in the room. My eyes flickered toward the doorway, and there he stood. How long had he been there? I was so engrossed in my thoughts that I didn't notice his arrival.

Dad didn’t say a word at first, just looked at me with an expression I hadn’t seen in a long time—concern mixed with sorrow.

"Dawood," he finally spoke, his voice quiet yet steady as he stepped into the room.

I didn’t respond. What could I say? He could see what I had become—there was no hiding it.

"She’s gone," I croaked, my voice barely a whisper. "Emma left. For good this time."

Dad’s eyes softened as he walked closer, his steps slow and deliberate. He stood over me for a moment before lowering himself into the armchair across from me. His gaze never left mine. "I’m sorry, son," he said softly.

His sympathy only made the ache in my chest worse. "It’s my fault," I whispered, the words choking me. "I pushed her away. I ruined everything."

For a moment, neither of us spoke. Das just watched me, his face a mixture of sadness and understanding. "Dawood," he said after a long pause, his voice calm but firm. "Emma didn’t leave because she stopped loving you. She left because she needed to protect herself and your child from the cycle you’ve been stuck in."

I looked up at him, my vision blurred with unshed tears. "What kind of man am I, Dad?" I asked, my voice shaking. "I don’t even know how to be a good husband, let alone a father. I couldn’t keep my family together."

He sighed heavily, his eyes darkening with emotion. "Dawood, we all have our demons. And I know you’ve been carrying yours for a long time—too long. But that doesn’t mean it’s too late to change. You need to work through this, son. For yourself, Emma, and the child you’re about to bring into this world."

"I don’t know how," I admitted, my voice cracking. "I’ve tried…but I keep messing everything up. I don’t deserve her. I don’t deserve either of them."

Dad’s gaze sharpened, and he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "That’s not for you to decide," he said firmly. "It’s for Emma to decide. But you won’t even get the chance to earn her forgiveness if you don’t change—if you don’t face what’s inside you, keeping you from being the man you want to be."

I swallowed hard, his words cutting through the fog of self-pity clouding my mind. He was right. As much as it hurt, he was right.

"Go to therapy, Dawood," he urged. "You need help to deal with your past, with the pain you’ve been holding on to for so long. Emma didn’t leave because she stopped loving you. She left because she couldn’t watch you self-destruct anymore."

I clenched my fists, frustration and regret gnawing at me. "I’ve already lost her. What’s the point?"

Dad’s expression softened, but his tone remained resolute. "The point is, you’re still here. And as long as you’re still here, you have a chance to become the man she can trust again. The man your child will look up to."

His words hit me like a punch to the gut. Still trembling, I looked down at my hands and let out a shaky breath. "I don’t even know where to start," I admitted.

"You start by admitting you need help," Dad said gently. "You’ve carried this weight for too long, Dawood. It’s time to let it go. Time to stop running from your past and face it head-on."

I looked up at him, the rawness of his words making my chest tighten. Could I really do it? Could I really change for Emma, for our child?

"You need to believe you’re capable of it," Dad continued. "Therapy will help you find the necessary tools, but it’s up to you to do the work. No one else can do it for you."

Sitting there, numb and broken, Dad's words lingered in the air. Therapy. The thought of it made my stomach churn. Admitting I needed help felt like admitting I was weak, that I wasn’t the man I thought I was. But what was left of me now? Emma was gone, and I had nothing to show for the love I had taken for granted—no home, trust, or family.

I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, the familiar swell of anger rising up—anger at myself, at everything I had done to push her away. The weight of my mistakes crushed me from every side. How had I let things spiral so far? I had promised myself I would love and protect Emma, but instead, I had become what she needed to protect herself from. I clenched my fists, fighting the tears threatening to break free.

Therapy.

The word felt foreign, like a distant echo in my mind, but there was no avoiding the truth. Dad’s words hit me harder than I wanted to admit. I had failed Emma. I had failed our child before they even came into the world. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t try. It didn’t mean I couldn’t change. I avoided therapy in the past even though Dad insisted many times, but it was time I got my shit together for me and my family.

“I’ll go,” I whispered, the words barely audible. Then, louder, with more conviction, I repeated, “I’ll go to therapy.”

Saying it out loud was like tearing open a wound I’d been hiding from for years. My throat tightened, and a shiver ran down my spine, but it wasn’t fear that time. It was something else—determination. If I didn’t change, I would lose Emma forever. I couldn’t let that happen. I wouldn’t. I’d fix myself; I’d face whatever demons had been haunting me. I would become the man she deserved—the father my child would need.

"I’ll do it," I said, more to myself than to him, my voice steadying. "I’ll go to therapy. I’ll fix this, Dad. I’ll fix myself. For Emma, for our child…I’ll do whatever it takes."

Dad nodded, his eyes filled with a mixture of pride and sorrow. "Good," he said softly. "That’s the first step. And I believe in you, Dawood. I know you can do this."

I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe I could change and fix the mess I had made of my life. But as I sat there, the weight of my mistakes pressing down on me, I couldn’t help but wonder—was it already too late?

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