Chapter 107: This Is Your Home

Tongue-tied, she was only able to give a nod. A knot formed in her throat, stretching it tight.

Her body began to shiver as she sensed something sinister in his mind.

"Then, love me first, Zaad. A dutiful wife should love her husband, right?"

She could only nod.

"Good," he smiled, "then express your love for me, Sheharzaad."

She just blinked her eyes. Moments passed, their breaths mingling, eyes staring at each

other, no words exchanged.

"Come on," he whispered, and she shook her head, refusing to submit to his demand,

causing him to growl.

"I don't... I don't love you!" she cried out, crawling back from him.

Her heart raced, nearly to the point of tachycardia. She had never encountered him in such a

state.

"Wrong answer, Zaad," he tsked, and before she knew it, her neck was in his grasp, and she

was struggling for breath.

Seconds passed. Minutes passed. Her struggles faded, but he didn’t release her throat.

The first thing she had noticed when she sat on this sofa was the pillow lying on the bed,

illuminated by the moonlight. It was covered with a black silk pillowcase. She loved the case

and had made a mental note to buy one for herself. But now she could see the pillow drifting

away from her, the bed moving farther, the room expanding, and the moonlight swirling

before her eyes until she could only see white.

Her mind no longer registered him, his words, or his eyes.

To her, the air had turned solid, with chunks too large to pass through her nostrils. She

opened her mouth, but even the large chunks of air wouldn’t enter. Just as the moonlight

could completely take over, the pressure on her throat eased, and she gasped, followed by

wild coughing.

The air was now fluid enough to pass through her nose, but she struggled to draw it into her

lungs as they burned, her throat aching.

She was busy recovering from her breathlessness when her chin was grasped, and her head

was pulled back toward him. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

"Won't you love me, Zaad?" he asked, indifferent to her disheveled state.

"I-I will," she whispered, her lips trembling.

"Then show it," he demanded.

"How?"

"That’s your job," he said, his angry red eyes staring at her, as her gaze drifted to his white

shirt stained with blood. His jaw clenched as his grip on her chin tightened.

"Show me your love, Zaad," he said, his tone suddenly deadpan, expression impassive and

void of emotion.

"Didn’t you hear me?!" he snarled, making her jump as she nodded her head.

Slowly, her shivering hands moved to his face, her fingers trembling. Tears spilled from her

eyes, one after another.

"Mind you, Zaad. I should be assured," he warned, and she nodded. Her chin quivered as she

moved her lips toward his, placing a kiss near his lips. His eyes closed instinctively upon

contact. She was about to pull away when he murmured, "Kiss me again."

Once again, she steadied her shaky lips and kissed the same spot. Slowly, she moved her lips

to his and brushed them against his. His hands slid down, resting against her waist as he

began to stroke her gently there.

Brushing her cracked lips against his, she placed a kiss on his lips, a tear falling from her eye

onto his, which he wiped away with his tongue.

He felt his chest constricting. He wanted more of her, didn’t want her to stop.

Her soft lips then connected with his cheeks as she closed her eyes.

Her lips trembled.

She kissed both his cheeks and the tip of his nose, then opened her eyes.

He was already staring at her.

Her heart skipped a beat. She moved her lips and placed them against his for a brief

moment, giving him a soft, chaste kiss.

"I-I l-love you," she whispered, "Shehryaar."

A tear trailed down her left cheek as she sniffed before pulling her head slightly away to

look directly at him.

He remained inscrutable. Blank. Empty. Void.

She could only hope she had passed the test he put her through.

"Keep these words just for me. Just for me," he muttered, his tone softening.

"Okay."

"Dare to utter these words to someone else, Zaad, and see what I would do to you."

She hiccuped. "I won’t," she tried to assure him.

"You know I don’t bluff. I would cut these pretty little lips first," he said, his thumb moving

over her lips, "and then..." Suddenly, he caught her tongue between his thumb and finger,

pulling it out and making her cry aloud, "I’d cut this, and that’s not where I’d stop. That’s

where I’d begin." He released her tongue, and she quickly nodded, hiccuping. He let her cry

for a few moments before holding her face and wiping her tears.

"Now, don’t cry." From his earlier dreadful, threatening tone, his voice had softened.

He kissed her tears, then wiped her wet face with his knuckles. Rising from his chair, he sat

beside her, pulling her close to his chest, his warmth surrounding her. "Don’t cry. I won’t

hurt you," he murmured, caressing her hair. "Shhh," he soothed her as her body continued

to hiccup, "Shhh, little lady. Shhh." He kept caressing her hair until her tears dried and she

was calm again.

"Do you know why I called you?" he asked, pulling away from her. She sniffled and shook

her head.

He lay down on the sofa, placing his head in her lap. "Massage my head," he commanded,

placing her hand on his hair.

"I want to sleep peacefully," he whispered, closing his eyes, "and you give me peace,

Sheharzaad." As he instructed, she ran her fingers through his silky locks, and soon he was

asleep, leaving her to ponder his words and try to piece together their meaning.

Why would he want to hate her?

What has happened with him that he hated the womanking? And with such intensity?

His words made her curious about her past. But she didn't have enough courage to question

him.