Chapter 112: His Power

"Get her ready before I reach there," he answered to someone on the phone while retrieving

things from cabinets. He had planned the day for him and Sheharzaad today. He had already

done arrangements and talked with the boutiquie owner, who was also his friend and

selected a dress for her. And the boutique owner also arranged a beautician for Sheharzaad.

He wanted her to look immaculate today. It was a special day for him. And definitely one

special day for Sheharzaad as well.

"Yeah. Pick up her engagement dress," he responded to a question. "She is my secretary."

"Get it done and inform me," he said while shuffling through the cabinets to find coffee. Due

to the minimal time he had spent in the haveli, especially the kitchen, he didn't know where

the kitchen items were.

"Okay," he replied and hung up the call while still searching for the coffee. Suddenly, he

turned around, his face registering realization.

His suspicion had been right. Someone was listening to him.

Folding his arms against his chest, he leaned against the kitchen island.

"How long have you been standing here, Haseeb?" he asked. "And how much have you

heard?"

Haseeb, his younger cousin and the younger son of his paternal uncle, looked like a deer

caught in headlights, staring at him with wide eyes. Slowly, he opened his mouth, blinked,

closed his mouth again, and then a goofy smile appeared on his face.

"Hehe," Haseeb took a step back. "Hehe," he repeated, taking another step back. "Hehe," and

then he dashed away, leaving him there as he just shook his head at him.

He was such a dramatic piece.

Just then, a maid walked in, hurriedly asking him what he wanted, and he ordered her to

make black coffee and deliver it to the gym. It was 5 in the morning, and he was headed

there for a workout.

He had always been an early bird, never compromising on his punctuality. Over the years,

he had grown rigid with the set of rules he had set for himself, never giving himself a break

and rarely finding time to relax. His life was luxurious; owning a multinational chain of

hotels, hospitals, and restaurants, and overseeing the import and export of petroleum

products. His company was everywhere, and the government depended heavily on it for

certain essential sectors. He had been exploiting their dependency, making them bend to his

whims.

Not only in business, but he also held influence in politics, though those dealings were

conducted behind closed doors. His family was one of the most influential in the country,

and certain decisions always required the approval of the heir to the Syed bloodline running

through their veins. Currently, Irtaza was the heir, and no decisions could be made without

his presence—and Irtaza wouldn't make any decision without his younger brother's advice,

given how close they were.

Despite all the power he held with a flick of his fingers, all the luxuries he could acquire by

merely letting words leave his lips, and despite having the world at his feet and the success

he had always sought, he couldn't find peace.

There was always a storm in his mind, a weight on his chest, an emptiness in his heart, and

twisted thoughts in his head.

There was no peace for him.

He closed his gray eyes momentarily, and someone’s eyes flashed before his closed lids.

And it was none other than her.

Sheharzaad Qureshi.

Who was soon to be Mrs. Shehryaar.

It was 7 when he had finished at the gym and had already taken a shower before donning a

suit.

Suits had always been his thing.

From various shades of gray to black, he had all the colors, often choosing clothes that

matched the darkness within him. They gave him a brooding, dark look—breath-catching,

dashing, handsome yet cold.

A Greek god with cold eyes.

Heading towards the breakfast table, he sat to the left of his grandfather, who was at the

head of the table. Noticing him in formal attire instead of his casual clothes, everyone raised

their brows, especially his grandmother.

"Are you going, Shehryaar, son?" she asked, catching his attention. He gave a nod while

placing the kiwi from his fork into his mouth.

"Today? Don’t you know it’s Irtaza and Zahra's walima?"

"I'm aware, Dadi. I'll come back by evening."

"Is everything alright?"

"Yes, it is."

"But why are you leaving urgently, son?"

"I’ll be back soon. Some matters need my attention. I’ll return by evening."

"Then why are you going? You can postpone it until next week," his father interjected.

"Some urgent work came up," his response was short and curt, but no one noticed the

subtle exchange of glances between him and his grandfather.

His grandfather was his confidant.

"You always keep us in the dark, and you know that, son," his father reprimanded.

"I'm aware, Dad. But you’ll know when the time comes."

"Let him be, Haider," his grandfather said, silencing his father.

"I miss Zahra," Haseeb said. "It's been two days, and I'm missing her already. Oh my god, I'm

gonna die," he said, pretending to wipe away fake tears.

"Stop being so dramatic, Haseeb," Dua chided.

"You can be dramatic too if you want. Why are you stopping me, huh?" he shot back,

pretending to scowl.

"Oh god, Haseeb, eat your breakfast properly," Dua tried dismissing the topic, but her eyes

suddenly landed near Haseeb's lips, and a frown appeared on her brow.

Instinctively, she took a tissue and wiped the bit of food near his lips, focusing on the task.

When she was done, she looked into Haseeb's eyes.

"Janwaron ki tarah na khaya karo," she joked, laughing and disposing of the tissue.

(Don't eat like animals.)

Haseeb didn’t snap back this time; instead, he simply looked down at his plate and

continued eating in silence.

And the subtle warmth that filled Haseeb's hazel eyes didn't escape Shehryaar’s notice, as

he observed him with narrowed, focused eyes.