Chapter 73: His room?

With a sprained ankle, she sat on the bed, hissing softly every now and then as the pain

surged through her foot. The accident had been sudden. While descending the stairs from

the plane, her foot twisted awkwardly, causing her to lose her balance.

As soon as she was about to fall, his strong arms grabbed her waist and held her. It was then

she realized she had twisted her ankle, and she let out a sharp cry of pain.

As soon as Shehryaar realized that she had injured herself, he didn’t waste a moment.

He scooped her into his arms and carried her without hesitation, bridal style, all the way

from the plane to the car and from the car to their hotel room.

Her protest to this was frequent, with wriggling in his arms and mumbled objections, but

one sharp glare from his steel-grey eyes silenced her. She shut her lips tightly and chose to

endure his overbearing concern quietly.

The team of doctors that had rushed to her aid had been summoned on Shehryaar’s

demand. He had more power and influence than she had initially anticipated.

Now, as she sat on the plush bed of one of the most luxurious hotels in the world, her ankle

neatly wrapped in bandages, she couldn’t help but feel small.

His meeting was bound to be within two hours, but he was just rashly making calls after the

sudden call he had received on the plane. He had been pacing the room since their arrival,

barking orders into his phone.

His voice, usually calm and calculated, carried an edge of urgency that made her uneasy.

She didn't dare ask him what had happened because, by looking at how tense he was, she

knew something serious had happened. Her tension had increased by leaps and bounds

when she heard the words 'money laundering,''model,'and last but not least,'FBI.'

"I realized that. Find that spy in my company and kill her before I get to set my eyes on her,"

he growled into the receiver, his tone sharp and lethal. "Make sure to cease the money

laundering for now. I will deal with it myself when I come back to Pakistan."

Her breath was still stuck in her throat. The words sent shivers down her spine. Kill her. Her

hands tightened into fists in her lap, her breath hitching. She wanted to sink into the floor

and disappear.

It seemed like her recording had started playing its role. She hoped, with all her might, that

she would reach the country before Shehryaar came to know about her.

He was oblivious to her turmoil. His voice was like a blade, cutting through her composure,

and she sat motionless on the bed, staring at the intricately patterned carpet beneath her

feet.

She couldn't bring herself to look at him. She never wanted to look at him, especially not

now, when the air around them was charged with tension.

She hoped he would take a break, pause even for a moment. She wanted him to stop making

calls one after another and take a breath so that she could muster up the courage to request

him to let her shift to another room.

She could not sleep in the same room. She just could not.

The thought of sharing the same room with him for the night made her insides churn.

Finally, he tossed his phone onto the bed and leaned back with a heavy sigh. Crossing his

legs, he reclined with his shoes still on, exuding an air of casual dominance.

Shehryaar was like a storm, simmering beneath the surface, and yet, he managed to look

entirely unbothered by the weight of his world.

Sheherzaad’s body stiffened.

The silence that followed his phone call felt heavier than the conversations before it.

Adjusting her scarf nervously, she gingerly scooted away from the bed. Her ankle was still

sore, but the medicine was already playing its role, and her ankle did not hurt as much

anymore.

To her relief, he didn’t stop her.

"S-sir?" she called out hesitantly but as gently as possible.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, and her stomach twisted. He didn’t even bother

looking at her initially, his arm draped lazily over his face. The small sound of

acknowledgment he made was low and rumbling, a hum of curiosity rather than a question.

Her toes curled into the carpet nervously. "B-baat karni hai, zaruri," she said in a hushed

tone.

(I want to talk about something important.)

The fact that he was on the same bed as hers was turning her whole body clammy and

squirming.

"Bolain," he muttered, still not removing his arm from his forehead.

(Speak.)

She hesitated, her fingers twisting the edge of her scarf as she tried to summon the courage

to voice her request. Even a single word uttered by him, that didn't even have any threat or

accusation in it, made her throat tighten.

"Can I go to m-my room?" she finally stammered, each word feeling heavier than the last.

His words were barely audible, yet they managed to choke her. A deep, low sound that sent

shivers down her spine.

He looked amused as he adjusted his posture, his grey eyes locked onto hers with a

mischievous glint.

Those ethereal, otherworldly eyes could stare into your soul. Eyes that connected him to

someone he pretended he wanted to oust from his memory and heart, yet deep down, it was

something he could never let go of.

Those eyes were an inheritance he wished to deny but stared at them in the mirror almost

as if a part of him imagined someone else gazing back instead of his own reflection.

That eye contact would make anyone's heart stop for a minute, and Sheherzaad was no

exception. Perhaps, even Shehryaar was not aware of the power and impact his eyes truly

held.

"Which room?" he asked, the corners of his mouth twitching with mirth.