Chapter 106: Drunk Shehryaar

The man guided her through the dark corridors of the mansion. It was night, and the

hallways of the posh and gigantic mansion were darker than the night itself. It felt as if she

had been walking for ages. Last time she had come to this house, she didn't get a chance to

explore it. This was an area she was visiting for the first time, and she was sure there must

be many other wings similar to this one.

Her eyes couldn't analyze anything, as it was dark. The only source of light was the

moonlight entering through the large glass walls. She could just barely make out a few

paintings on the wall now and then.

She wanted to focus more on her surroundings and ignore the pounding of her heart in her

ears. She could not understand the reason he had called her at this moment of night.

Fear and being afraid—these two were entirely different emotions. The former was an

instinct, and the latter was a feeling. And in that moment, she felt she had developed both an

instinct and a feeling whenever there was a mention of Shehryaar.

And the cherry on top was her clueless mind, unaware of the reason he called her.

Reaching his doorstep, the door was knocked. Permission was received, and the path was

made for her. The door opened, and she walked inside. The room was darker than the

corridor itself. She gasped when the door closed, leaving her alone with a deranged man.

Realizing her presence in the room, he got up from his sitting position, sauntered toward

the window, and tucked away the curtains so the bright moonlight could light the room.

That was when she was able to make out his dark room. But more than that, her eyes

already laid on his dark silhouette that stood near the window. He stood parallel to the

window, so only half of his face could be seen, the other half darkened by shadow. In his

hand, she saw a bottle.

A green bottle.

And it wasn't difficult for her to presume what the liquid inside it was. The forbidden liquid.

He took the last gulp of it before placing the bottle on a nearby table.

"Sheharzaad," he finally acknowledged.

She wanted to stop the tremors rising in her body.

He looked disheveled. Unpredictable.

She couldn't make out what was going on in his mind. And never had Sheharzaad

encountered this shade of him before.

"Are you wearing your ring?" he asked, and to her, it seemed as if a voice in the darkness

asked the question of her.

Her first instinct was to move her right hand up, and then a breath of relief parted her lips

upon seeing the ring lying there. Though, while coming here, she had checked it numerous

times on her way.

"Yes," she managed to respond, unaware of how to react in such a situation.

"I can call you whenever I want," he said softly, and it seemed as if the atmosphere and

surroundings demanded a lower voice. Her tongue felt too heavy, her throat too dry to fully

speak.

"You look beautiful, Sheharzaad," he uttered, and a smile played on his lips.

He seemed to have lost his senses as the alcohol took control of his mind. Though, his

speech didn’t slur too much.

"Why did you call me?" Her voice was lowered to a whisper as if the atmosphere and

surroundings demanded a low voice. Her tongue felt too heavy, her throat too dry to fully

speak.

He suddenly held her cheeks, digging in his fingers, and brought her face closer to him.

"You're so pretty," he said, almost to himself. "So pretty."

"My heart wants to stare at you, for hours, until it's full. But my mind says to hate you. Hate

you so much that this shattered heart," he tapped at the left of his chest, "would never be

put back together."

"These eyes betray," he said with a disdainful expression as he abruptly released her face.

He brought his chair closer to her, his eyes landing on her dainty hands that were tightly

clutching her shirt.

"Are you scared?" he asked, tilting his head, moving his eyes from her hands to her face. She

could see the alcohol taking a complete toll on him.

She shook her head, unable to decipher him, yet at the same time trying to subtly scoot

back.

"No?" He shook his head, and she whimpered, a tear escaping her eye as she ended up

nodding.

"Let me go, please. I want to go home," she managed, struggling to breathe as his presence

suffocated her. He looked terrifying.

"This is your home," he scoffed, emphasizing his words by looking around the room. "This

room, that bed, that closet," he held her face again and turned it toward the bed and then

the closet, "that's all yours. Got it?" He looked at her, and she nodded, signaling she

understood him. She wanted this ordeal to be over before she ended up getting hurt.

"Good," he smiled and released her face, shifting his attention back to her. "Am I allowed to

hold your hands?" he asked, recalling the condition she had set before him.

Then he addressed the confusion in her eyes. "Didn’t you ask me not to touch you until our

marriage? Wow, I’m drunk here, but you’re the one forgetting things."

"Am I allowed to hold your hands?" he asked her seriously, stopping his laughter. She

forwarded both her hands, nodding.

"No, I only need one hand. But alright, I’ll hold both," he said to himself, staring at her hands

before finally taking them.

"Your hands are so beautiful, Sheharzaad," he said in awe, his eyes shining with admiration.

"So beautiful." He began to caress them with his thumb, then suddenly, a steely expression

masked his face, and he abruptly pushed her hands away as if they had scalded him.

She was too shocked to react. Dumbfounded, she stared at him, her eyes wide.

What was he doing?

Taking a soft breath, he leaned closer, his arms on either side of her thighs.

"Shehryaar," her voice wavered as he continued inching closer.

"You wanted me to love you, right?" he asked, their faces inches apart