Chapter 122. The Threat

The flame illuminated his chiseled features as he drew in a deep breath, the smoke curling around his face. He held the cigarette between his fingers, the smoke wafting up towards the ceiling. He exhaled slowly, a thin stream of smoke escaping his lips.

He remained indifferent to Amna's breathlessness and Sheharzaad's begging. The whole room was filled with her wails and cries. His eyes cursorily moved around, and he was satisfied when he found the gazes of his men fixed on the floor.

"Please, Shehryaar. Please!" Sheharzaad begged, and he puffed out smoke before arching a brow at her, giving her the attention she so desperately needed at that moment.

He looked at Sheharzaad—her pleading eyes, her shivering body, her begging lips, and tear-streaked cheeks. She looked helpless. Utterly helpless. And he wanted her to feel that way. He wanted her to die out of the fear he was going to instill in her. Because this time, she had stepped out of the line he had set for her