Chapter 49: Kiss Me

As she struggled to answer, her gaze darted between him and the floor. A hiss escaped from

her lips as his fingers threaded through her luscious locks. "I was with Hannan!" she finally

blurted out, somehow hoping she could defuse his simmering anger with the truth.

"And who is he to you exactly?" he asked, his voice low, every word laced with a threat.

She gulped, searching for the right words, hoping they would somehow make him

understand. "He was m-my colleague… and a friend too. He actually—he helped me a lot…

in… in Amna’s operation," she stammered. "He told me that his brother had d-died today,

four years back, and he was feeling down. So he… he insisted on having a—a small lunch

with him. And he’s just a friend! I swear, he’s just a friend. There’s nothing more," she added

desperately, trying to explain, to paint the picture clearly for him.

His lips curled in a humorless smile. "A friend, is he?" he muttered, voice dripping with

sarcasm. "That’s why you gave him your hand?"

Panic flickered in her eyes as she understood what he meant. She shook her head

vehemently. "No, no," she denied, her head shaking in frantic negation. "It wasn’t—it wasn’t

like that at all."

His eyes narrowed as they bored into hers, and she almost felt her heart skip a beat under

the gaze of his accusatory, suspicious glare. His fingers gripped her hand more firmly, and

she flinched as he brought her trembling hand up to eye level.

"I know exactly how to skin a person alive," he whispered, his tone as cold as steel. "And I’m

not liking the skin on your hand that touched him. Now, shall we?"

Her eyes widened in terror. "I’m sorry!" she cried out in urgency, her voice thick with panic.

"NO, stop, please don't do anything to my hand!” she cried as he dragged her toward the

table, forcing her to place her hand flat on the surface.

“Burn it?” he asked, tilting his head slightly as if he were pondering a trivial decision. "Or

should I remove the skin with a knife?"

She jerked her hand back instinctively. “You never warned me… You never warned me

about this,” she hiccuped, barely able to form the words through her shivering.

“Didn’t I?” he replied, arching an eyebrow with calm menace. "Now did not I forbid you from

stepping out of that room without my permission?"

“But… but you never said anything about Hannan…” she stuttered, barely able to think

clearly, searching for any shred of reason that might save her from his wrath.

“Oh, I did,” he muttered, his lips so close to hers that she felt his words on her skin. “You

must have just… forgotten.”

His eyes flashed with a memory, something dark and possessive that made her recoil. “What

was the last thing I told you that night?”

Her mind flashed back. The words rang loud and clear now:No man should touch you or

come near you until I let you go completely.

She had been exhausted that night. Her tiredness was the reason she couldn’t decipher the

meaning behind his words. She was physically tired then, and she was mentally tired now.

Exhausted because of the fear she had been feeling constantly since Sheryaar stepped into

her life. That frustration led to a sense of defiance building up in her.

“Why should I?” She cast her gaze downward, a mixture of frustration and sadness clouding

her features. "You’re no one to me. I’m not your wife or… anyone. So why should I listen to

you?"

Silence filled the room, thick and heavy. Perching her chin between his fingers, he raised her

face, forcing her to look into his dark, unyielding eyes.

“It’s your choice,” he said, his voice cold, “whether you want to obey or not. But it’s up to me

what happens to those who disobey.” His fingers released her chin, yet his words echoed in

her ears like a storm cloud.

Your choicewas nothing but his way of mocking her. There was no choice when it came to

Sheryaar… at least now there wasn’t any.

“Now,” he said, stretching out his hand toward her, “give me your hand.”

“Please,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Let me go… just this once. I’ll… I’ll make

sure to follow your rules next time.”

He tilted his head, a faint, mocking smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Then erase

that memory that’s carved into my mind,” he replied, his eyes darkening. “Give me

something stronger, something to replace the image of your hand in his.”

Her mind spun in a helpless frenzy. "I… I don’t know how to… do that,” she answered, her

lips pouting. She was so helpless that she was ready to do anything. Her hand was burning,

and it was hurting her. The burn marks remained.

His eyes traced her face, finally settling on her lips. “Kiss me,” he said, his voice low and

firm.

“Kiss me, and I’ll set you free,” he put forth the deal, giving her no room for negotiation.

“You have five seconds. After five seconds, you won’t be able to stop me from skinning your

hand.” He gave her a time limit, watching her dilemma. His gaze was intense, unyielding.

“Five… four… three…” He gazed at her lips, then at her hand, and then into her eyes. His eyes

were also warning her, telling her what to do.

In a sudden, desperate movement, she closed the gap between them, her lips brushing

against his in a fleeting, trembling kiss. She pulled back as soon as they touched, but the

sensation lingered.

He stayed still for a moment, his eyes half-closed, savoring the taste of the kiss she’d given

him, brief as it was. Then he leaned back, a smug, satisfied expression creeping over his face.

“There,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

She swallowed, her cheeks flushed, unsure of what to feel: anger, shame, relief, or a strange

mixture of all three.

“Remember this moment,” he whispered, his gaze locked onto her, searing into her memory.

“Next time, I won’t be so merciful.”