Chapter 166: I'm not a nice man

His eyes stayed on her for a few seconds and she was quick to look down and fix her eyes on

his chest. He moved his eyes, observing her before he lowered them to her legs, which were

shivering

"I was told you skip your meals and don’t come to the dining table for dinner. Why?" he

questioned with an arched brow. He had been meaning to address this with her. Even last

night, he had asked the same question, but driven by his desires, he hadn't pursued the

answer. Her report was provided to him by a personal servant he had hired to look after

her, and he was often told that she skipped meals. Despite food being brought to her room,

she would eat very little.

The shivering of her legs intensified now, her voice suddenly losing its strength.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. She had no answer to his question. She did not do it on purpose.

"Why do you skip your meals, Sheharzaad?" he asked, tucking a stray strand of hair behind

her ear.

She looked down. It was nerve-wracking to be subjected to his interrogation. She wanted

the ordeal to be over as soon as possible. She skipped meals because she didn't have much

appetite. She also avoided people; it was becoming difficult for her to interact with others.

She preferred to stay locked in her room. The time she had spent in the cell had developed

social anxiety in her, and whenever she would sit around his family for meals, that anxiety

would kick in, making it impossible for her to eat. She also feared that he might appear at

any moment and sit next to her. This thought alone was enough to make her digestive

system stop working and make her nauseous. That was why she avoided going to the table.

Though the servants would still bring her food to her room, due to being fed a meager

amount for so long, she often sent the food away, untouched.

This was what she had become—a shell of a human being. No feeling, no emotion. Just fear

and trauma. It was evident on her face and apparent in her actions: her hands shaking all

the time, cautious glances around the home, and the desire to keep herself hidden. Hushed

breaths, an increased heartbeat. And sometimes, when the anxiety rose to abnormal levels,

she would begin to rub her hands vigorously and pace around her room. She had episodes

of anxiety and dealt with them alone, locking herself in her room, fearing Shehryaar’s

reaction to her depression. She thought that exhibiting such behavior was unbecoming of a

woman belonging to Shehryaar, so she kept herself hidden whenever things became severe.

"I..." The words were stuck in her throat. She wanted to get on her knees and ask for

forgiveness from him—forgiveness for committing the grave error of skipping meals, which

had displeased him. The last thing she wanted was to make Shehryaar unhappy.

Shehryaar saw her struggle to breathe and to speak words in answer to his question. It was

a simple statement he had made, yet she was already hyperventilating, thinking she had set

him off.

Not wanting to add to her misery, he said, "It's okay, Sheharzaad." As soon as these words

left his lips, color returned to her face, which had been turning white. He saw her release a

relieved breath, as if thanking God she’d gotten out of the situation.

"This shouldn’t happen next time," he warned, watching the sides of her eyes widen slightly

at the faint warning in his voice.

"It won’t," she whispered in her dry voice, looking down at his chest.

"Hmm," he hummed, then suddenly stopped, turning his head toward her before fully facing

her. His eyes bored into hers. A small frown formed between her brows as she began to

wonder if she had made a mistake.

"A week from now is our nikkah," he said, proceeding to hold her face with both hands. "I

will kill you if I ever see you as much as an inch near any other man."

"And I need you to understand this. Commit these words to memory."

"Yes?" She looked worried, her voice barely a whisper.

"Don’t make any attempt to escape, or I will restrict your legs to a wheelchair, Sheharzaad.

Trust me on this. If you have ever had any man in your life who still might be in your heart,

forget him. Because if I ever find you involved with another man, or even as much as an inch

near one, what I will do won’t be in my control. You’ll be responsible for every life I take.

That person may die, but you, my sweetheart…" He grasped her chin, tilting her head up.

"What I’ll do to you will make the time you spent in the cell seem like nothing."

She was too stunned to speak as scenes from her time in the cell began flashing before her

eyes. Tears formed around her eyes. The darkness of the cell invaded her mind.

The chains.

The ropes.

The voices.

And a hanging dead body.

His threats mixed with the voices—the only voices she had heard in those three months.

"You will be punished if you disobey him."

"You belong to who?"

"Shehryaar."

"Scream his name."

"Scream. Keep shouting that you belong to him until we tell you to stop."

All the memories from the cell came back, flooding her already terrified mind. His threat

doing its job as her ears were filled with the repitition of his words.

Her face turned white, and her body suddenly went stiff. She found it difficult to breathe.

The fear made her feel lightheaded already. All her mind could focus on was the words he

just uttered to her. Her sympathetic system activated to protect her, and she lost

consciousness. Before she could fall, he caught her, and once again, she fell into his arms.

Placing a hand on her face, he whispered darkly, "I’m not a nice man, little lady."