Chapter 150: His Addiction

He pulled her closer by the waist and pressed her body against his firmly. She felt his hard,

firm body against hers, and he could feel all the shivers and tremors running through her

body.

"Shaadi... tyaar... mein... yeh nahi... shaadi, I-I-I can't be that," she muttered gibberish while

fisting her hands tightly together.

(I'm not ready... marriage...)

Suddenly, he turned back and started walking towards the door and closed it forcefully with

a loud bang. The loud bang of the door echoed through the room, reverberating in

Sheharzaad's chest like a thunderclap. Shehryaar turned back toward her, his shirt now

fully unbuttoned and halfway hanging down his arms, revealing his muscled torso.

He walked back to where she was still cornered against the wall.

"Now we have privacy."

As he came nearer, she took multiple steps away from him when her feet stumbled and she

fell on the bed.

A sob left her mouth as he neared her.

She tried crawling back from him. His smirk returned once again.

"Don't bother even trying," he said as he grabbed her legs and pulled her back towards him,

forcing her to sit on his lap. He wrapped his arms around her petite frame and held her in a

firm grip, so she couldn’t escape again. "Now where were we...?"

"Shaadi..." She was going lunatic in her mind, yet her attempts, as compared to the chaos

going on in her mind, were subtle. She wanted to kick her legs, crawl away, and then run out

of this room, but here she felt as if her limbs never existed. She had to gather a lot of

courage, fight a lot of instructions running within her mind just to step back from him while

he approached her.

(Marriage)

He placed his right hand on the bed as she pulled back, lying on the bed, creating a

difference between their faces. But he neared towards her. His eyes, deep and intense,

stared at her with utter concentration. And for a moment, all that could be heard in that

room were her shaky breaths. Despite the air conditioner being on, her whole being was

getting drenched in sweat with every second that was elapsing. Her heart was sinking, her

eyes were widening, and at this point, her teeth had begun to clatter. She was terrified. And

she did not hold back from expressing her fear.

"I was ...n-not... n-not... not... inv-inv-involved... w-with... with... Hann-" her sentence was cut

short as he placed his finger on her lips.

"Shhh, did I allow you to speak?" he asked with a deep baritone, his expression hardening

on the name 'Hannan' that was about to escape from her lips. Her lips were only meant to

say his name in any state, any condition. He wouldn't bear another man's name leaving her

lips.

Her face paled further as she shook her head and began to cry softly. She was internally

praying for a miracle to happen—that he would leave her, set her free, let her live again.

And the hope was dying with every passing second.

He could see her face getting paler and paler with every second, the subtle light of hope

shining within her eyes, diminishing. And before it could diminish completely, he placed his

thumb on her brow and began to caress her brows.

His eyes staring at her, he felt like indulging in those beautiful, innocent diamond orbs. To

kiss those eyes over and over.

Her eyes.

She was so pretty.

So beautiful.

With that lascivious body.

That at times, he had to control himself from taking her against the wall.

Her voice, nothing but a sweet murmur to him, that he wanted to hear all night, crying out

his name.

Her thought had become a dg to him. A dg he needed to sleep. A dg he needed to work.

A dg he needed to live.

She was like that crush to him with whom people imagine their beautiful moments, private

moments as they drift into wonderland.

An addiction.

She was nothing but an addiction. Yet an intense addiction that had made its way into his

blood, coursing through his veins, and now there was no turning back. He had reached the

dead end of that addiction that, despite wanting, he couldn't give up on. Reaching a point

that he had accepted he was obsessed with her.

That he had fallen into the depth of that obsession.

Fallen completely.

Insanely.

Passionately.

Desperately.

And lastly, hopelessly.

He needed a whiff of her, a glimpse of her.

He needed her.

As he tried nearing her, her shivering intensified as her eyes began to roll back. And before

he knew it, she had fainted.

This was what he had expected.

As she lay unconscious in his arms, he held her against his chest, her head falling back and

resting on his shoulder. He looked down at her peaceful face, which was such a big contrast

from what it was just a moment ago. He shifted her body, making her lean against him, but

her body remained motionless.

Sighing, he got up, opened the side drawer, and grabbed a cigarette from it. While placing it

between his lips, he picked his shirt up, which was lying on the floor, and walked out of the

room, strolling to the terrace of the royal haveli. Lighting up the cigarette, he wore his shirt

back as his grey eyes narrowed at the vast green meadows, observing everything. His hand

rested on the railing while the other held the cigarette, and he would momentarily puff out

the smoke. Once done, he crushed the butt into pieces underneath his shoe.

Retrieving the lighter from his pocket, he took out the folded paper, slit the area where her

signature was, and kept it. The next second, he clicked open the lighter and set the corner of

that page on fire before throwing it on the floor. The fire began to slowly spread, and soon

the page turned into ashes. Before he walked away from there.