•••
"He was not a husband. He was a prison dressed in silk words and iron touches."
•••
The air inside the private meeting room was suffocating, heavy with the stench of betrayal and smoke from Osman’s cigar slowly burning to ash in the tray beside him.
Ashkan sat back in his chair, flipping a small steel ball between his fingers a tic he only indulged in when things were dire. Bahram leaned forward, tense, jaw clenched tight, while Salem shuffled through security reports, his face pale beneath the harsh overhead light.
“The warehouse incident wasn’t random,” Salem said grimly. “The explosives were planted on the west side targeted for structural collapse. Not damage. Collapse.”
“And the inventory records?” Osman asked, his voice low, cold.
“Someone’s been siphoning weapons. Three crates gone. Clean, no trace. It’s someone from the inside.”
A beat of silence. Then another.
Ashkan’s voice broke the stillness, cool and deliberate. “And the brakes of your SUV… sabotaged.”
Bahram’s face darkened. “What?”
Osman’s brows knit together. “When?”
“Last week,” Salem replied. “We confirmed it wasn’t mechanical failure. If you hadn’t swapped cars last minute... you’d be dead.”
The room fell into a sharp, slicing silence.
No one moved.
No one breathed.
Osman leaned back in his leather chair, eyes closed, fingertips pressed to his temple. His silence was thunderous so heavy it made the air itself shudder.
Ashkan’s voice was a whisper now, almost too calm. He rolled the ball across the table and caught it in his palm. “By eliminating Osman and the baby… who benefits most?”
The question hung in the air like a suspended noose.
Bahram flinched. “Don’t...”
Ashkan didn’t even look at him. “Power doesn’t pause to grieve. Once Osman and his heir is gone, the leadership automatically falls to the next male in line.”
Bahram’s voice broke through like a blade. “My father would never do this, bhai. Never.”
Osman’s eyes opened slowly. He looked at Bahram long, unreadable. “Hmm.”
That single syllable was heavier than any accusation.
And then
The door handle clicked.
Everyone turned.
A guard tried to intervene, standing halfway across the hallway, hesitant. “Ma’am, please. You can’t go in...”
Aamirah’s gaze snapped to him. Cold. Unflinching.
“Oh, but I will,” she replied, her tone like velvet over steel. She stepped forward, ignoring his wide-eyed hesitation.
She pushed the door open.
The moment she entered, the atmosphere shifted. It was as if another current of fire had been released into an already smoldering room.
Eight heads turned toward her.
Conversations halted.
Osman’s eyes narrowed instantly, assessing.
YOU ARE READING
𝐂𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐁𝐲 𝐕𝐨𝐰𝐬
Romance••• "Just because I haven't touched you as a husband should, that doesn't mean I won't," he said, his voice low and menacing. Her knees felt weak, and she didn't dare move from where she stood, his presence overwhelming her completely. She could b...
