Chapter 19: A dying man never lies.

"No, Ms. Sheharzaad, I clearly remember. You came to my office and asked me to sign these documents."

"That's what I'm saying, sir. Rafay had asked me to do so."

"He could have come to me on his own, Ms. Sheharzaad," Ijaz contended.

She knew where it was all heading. The footage was the only proof that could prove her innocence and deny Rafay's accusation that she had invited him. Now the recordings were sabotaged, and on top of that, the documents suggested that she had requested to turn off the cameras in her room. And the documents were dated just a day ago, which implied she had planned everything accordingly. Her request to make the cameras non-functional a day before yesterday’s incident was a significant piece of evidence against her. It would make everyone believe she had invited Rafay and requested the cameras in her room be turned off to ensure no proof of what happened there. And the corridor recordings were blurred.

"Ok, that's fine. You can go, Mr. Ijaz. Make sure to close the door on your way," she could feel a threat in his voice, making her heart beat faster.

"May I also go, sir?" Sheharzaad hurriedly asked, standing up. Now, she didn't want to be alone with him. He didn't sound the way he had moments ago.

His eyes passed her a glare.

"Sit," he hissed. She quietly sat down, and the door clicked, indicating both of them were now alone as Ijaz had left.

"Show me your phone," his dark voice commanded as he stood up from his chair and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, revealing his veiny arms.

He walked toward her while Sheharzaad immediately unlocked her phone with shivering hands and gave it to him. It was better to obey him at the moment than to deny him because he was the judge here, and she was supposed to prove her innocence to him alone. She was distressed to another level.

He stood near her chair. His rich cologne crowded her senses, making her more nervous. She was sitting while he was standing just a foot away. She placed her phone on the table so he could examine it.

Placing his hand on the table, he began to swipe through her contacts. She could see what he was doing as he hadn't taken the phone in his hands, swiping in front of her as the phone lay on the table.

He clicked on Rafay and went to the messages section and found no texts there. He repeated the same check on WhatsApp, and again, there were no texts from her to him. The call logs also showed no recent calls to Rafay.

He turned off the phone and handed it back to her. Well, even if she had texted him, why would she keep the texts?

Until last night, he thought Rafay was guilty, but now she, too, seemed suspicious to him, though there was no proof to prove either guilty. Yet, what his eyes had witnessed last night was enough of an indication. Rafay had his head nuzzled in her neck, and she was crying when she came to him.

This evidence was enough for him to be convinced that Rafay was the culprit, and he wouldn't let him go easily; yet, she was also to be taken care of.

"You can go, Ms. Sheharzaad," he said after contemplation. She stood up from her position and was moving past him when suddenly he gripped her arm, making her shriek. She was about to pull away when he tightened his hold on her arm.

"Shhhhh," he placed his finger on his lips and pulled her closer to him. "If I ever find out you did have a hand in inviting him to your room, then I swear, Sheharzaad, you'll regret coming into this company," he whispered near her ear before pulling away. Her breath caught in her throat.

"I'm letting you go only because of what my eyes witnessed that night. Go and start your work, Ms. Sheharzaad," his tone was clipped but this time came out as professional. She couldn't believe he was the same person who whispered those deadly words in her ear.

She just gave a nod to him and scurried away.

...

"Please, I'm not at fault," Rafay's head was dangling as he didn’t have the energy to support it. He was in the basement of the building to which only a few people had access.

"Tell me something new, Rafay," Shehryaar, who sat in front of him with legs crossed, said, swirling a gun between his fingers. His form was confident, his gaze lethal, power exuding from him.

"I swear to God, I have no fault in this. She is…is a slut."

"I can’t find your phone, Rafay, so I can’t see those texts that she sent you."

"My phone…it was in her office. I remember."

"I checked; there's none."

"Trust me," he pleaded again with busted lips, "she had texted me. She is a slut."

"Whatever, but you attempted to tarnish my company’s reputation. There are several brothels available for you to use, but my building is not one of those places."

"I'm sorry, please. Leave me. She called me."

"What should be your punishment?" he mused. "How much do you want, 5, 10, 15, or 20 lashes?" he asked.

Rafay’s eyes sparkled, and he abruptly said 5, to which Shehryaar haughtily laughed.

"Are you sure?" he cocked a brow at him.

"Yes…yes, I’m."

"Dilawar, give him 5 strokes, yet count 10 strokes as 1. After that, fulfill his desire and kill him," he ordered.

Dilawar fisted his hand and beat it on his chest before giving a nod. "As you command."

Shehryaar stood up from his chair and walked away while Rafay's screams began to echo everywhere.

"She called me! I know I’m dying, I won’t lie, but she…she called me!" he claimed between his screams.

"She called me, Shehryaar. She called me!" he shouted, but Shehryaar paid no heed, though his words didn’t go unnoticed.

He knew a dying man never lies.