AUTHOR’S POV
The study settled into a heavy silence once Bilqish left, the faint click of the door fading into the room’s shadows. Arham stood before the desk with a folder in hand, his expression set in its usual hard lines. Ehtisham’s gaze sharpened as Arham pushed the file forward.
“It is the Marcellus contract,” Arham said. “They want the updated shipping routes before signing. The investors are anxious. If we delay again, they will move to the others.”
Ehtisham flipped the pages, scanning every paragraph with practiced precision. The deal was clean. A luxury commodities import. High value, legitimate on paper, profitable beneath it. The kind of work that kept his empire looking stainless from the outside.
“They will sign,” he said finally.
Arham waited. He knew this part. Ehtisham never left a deal half formed.
“Shift the first shipment to Port Seven,” Ehtisham continued. “Clear the customs four hours earlier. Register the crates under Velora Exports. No errors.”
“Already started,” Arham replied.
There was a rhythm to the way they worked. Arham brought the groundwork. Ehtisham sharpened the edges. They did not waste words. They did not need to.
Arham closed the folder and lifted his eyes.
“One more thing,” he said. “There is a ball tomorrow. Hosted by the business council. They want you to make an appearance. Should I send confirmation?”
“No.”
The refusal was immediate.
Arham blinked. “You are declining?” He frowned. “Why? It is good for publicity. People expect the head of the company to be presen—”
He stopped.
His eyes widened slightly as realisation struck. Tomorrow. He knew what it meant. The one day Ehtisham allowed nothing to interfere.
His parents. Their anniversary. The only scar he never let anyone touch.
Arham’s voice softened. “I will handle it.”
Ehtisham gave one small nod, then returned to the desk. Arham took the hint. He turned and left quietly, closing the door behind him.
The villa fell into a hush.
When Ehtisham finally left the study, the weight of the coming day followed him into his room.
It was a wide space. Minimal. Immaculate. The air carried a faint scent of cedar and smoke. Dark wood. Clean lines. No unnecessary furniture. No softness except the low lamp burning in the corner. A room meant for someone who lived by discipline rather than comfort.
He removed his watch, placed it on the table, and loosened the collar of his shirt. He slept light. He always had. His body rested, but his mind never surrendered fully. Even in sleep, he remained half aware of footsteps, shadows, movements in the hall.
Tonight was no different. His breathing evened out, but beneath the stillness lay an old ache he did not name. The kind that sat at the centre of his chest every year on this date.
Morning crept in slowly.
When he walked into the dining room, his mood was already a quiet storm. The table was set neatly. The staff stood alert against the walls. And she was there.
Bilqish.
Sitting at the far end, fingers nervously knotted together. She looked as though she had been rehearsing her words, swallowing them, rehearsing again.
Her eyes flickered up as he entered. She hesitated but forced herself to speak.
“I want to meet Ifra,” she said quietly. “She must be worried. I only need to tell her I am safe.”
“No.”
The word struck the air like glass falling.
Her breath stilled. “I am only asking to see her for a few minutes. She does not know where I am. She must think something terrible happened.”
“That is not my problem.”
Her eyes widened with disbelief. “She is the only person I have. She must be scared.”
“And whose fault is that,” he replied coldly.
Her jaw tightened. “I have done everything you asked. I signed the papers. I have not argued. You cannot keep her away from me forever.”
“I can do whatever I want,” he said calmly.
The staff went still.
Bilqish’s fingers curled into fists. “Please. Let me tell her something. Anything. You said if I behave—”
“You have not proven anything yet.”
Her voice rose a fraction. “I have not done anything wrong.”
He looked at her as if she were speaking nonsense. “Obedience is not a moment. It is consistency. When you prove you are not a problem, then you may see her.”
Something in her snapped. “So you expect me to earn the right to breathe.”
His tone never changed. “Do not test me today.”
She opened her mouth again, but the next second his chair scraped back softly. He walked toward her with a coldness that made her pulse jump.
“Enough,” he said.
“No. You cannot keep me silent. I only want to meet—”
He caught her wrist without force but with finality. She froze. His grip was firm, not painful, but unbreakable.
“You will not raise your voice at this table.”
Before she could pull away, he turned and began walking, pulling her along. Her breath hitched and she tried twisting free.
“Leave me. I said leave me.”
He ignored her completely.
He stopped at her room door and opened it. The staff nearby lowered their eyes.
“Get inside.”
“No. Listen to me at least. Let me explain.”
He did not reply.
Her heart hammered harder as she took an involuntary step backward. “Please. I do not like being lock—”
He pushed her lightly inside and shut the door.
The lock clicked.
A sound that went straight into her bones.
Her breath turned shallow. “No. No please. Open the door. Listen to me.”
She hit the wood with her palm. “Please open it. I will not do anything. Just do not lock it.”
Her voice shook.
The tick of the lock replayed in her head. The attic. The darkness. The twelve hours of banging and crying until her throat broke. Her knees weakened. Her mind spun.
She pounded both fists against the door. “Open it. Please. Please. Do not leave me here. Please.”
Her breathing grew fast and sharp, dissolving into panic. The walls tilted. She clawed at the knob. Her vision blurred.
The room spun.
Her knees buckled and she dropped to the floor, gasping for air that refused to fill her lungs.
Then everything slipped into black.
Evening settled before Ehtisham returned. The storm inside him had thinned into a dull ache. He turned the lock and opened the door, expecting defiance or sulking.
What he found instead froze him completely.
Bilqish lay on the floor, motionless, her hair spilled across the marble, her face pale and damp with dried tear tracks.
For a second, he could not move.
Then he dropped to his knees beside her, fingers brushing her cheek.
“Bilqish.”
No response.
He shook her lightly. “Bilqish. Open your eyes.”
Her body remained limp.
His pulse kicked hard. He slid an arm beneath her knees, the other around her back, lifting her against him. Her head fell against his chest without weight.
He rose with her in his arms and walked out with a speed that startled the guards.
“Start the car,” he ordered.
His voice was calm.
His eyes were not.
He stepped outside, holding her tighter as though the warmth of his grip alone might keep her tethered.
The moment the car door opened, he placed her inside and climbed in after her.
“Hospital. Now.”
The engine roared to life. The gates opened.
Ehtisham’s jaw locked as he looked down at her unconscious face.
For the first time in years, something unsteady crawled into his chest.
And this time, he could not silence it.
The car sliced through the evening roads, the headlights cutting pale streaks across the asphalt. Inside, silence settled thick and suffocating. Ehtisham kept one hand braced against the seat, the other resting near her shoulder, close enough to feel the faint rise and fall of her breathing.
She was still unconscious.
Her lashes lay still against her cheeks. Her lips had lost colour. Every minute that passed tightened something inside him, something he refused to name.
Arham had tried calling once. Ehtisham declined it without hesitation.
When they reached the hospital entrance, security guards rushed forward. They recognised him instantly. The doors opened before he even stepped out.
Ehtisham lifted her into his arms. She felt unbearably light, as though something essential had been drained from her. He carried her inside, the staff clearing a path at the sight of his expression.
The doctor approached quickly. “What happened to her?”
“She fainted,” Ehtisham answered, his tone clipped. “She has not woken up.”
The doctor noted the pale skin and trembling hands. “Bring her to the emergency room.”
Ehtisham followed without a word. He placed her on the hospital bed, but when the nurse tried to move him aside, he did not step back.
“Sir, please. We need space.”
He stared at them, unmoving. The nurse swallowed nervously. The doctor stepped in. “She will not die if you step aside for two minutes. Let us work.”
Something flickered in Ehtisham’s eyes, a rare crack in the armour. He forced himself to move back a single step. His hand left the bed reluctantly.
The staff began their work. Blood pressure. Pulse check. Oxygen monitor. A saline line. The rhythmic beeping of the machines filled the room.
Minutes passed.
Too slow.
The doctor finally turned to him. “She has experienced acute panic. Her breathing must have collapsed under the pressure. Was she under any emotional distress?”
The question hung in the air.
Ehtisham’s jaw tightened. “No.”
The doctor held his gaze for a moment. He sensed the lie but chose not to challenge it. “She will wake up soon. Her body shut down to protect itself. Let her rest.”
He left the room with the nurses.
The door closed softly.
Ehtisham remained standing beside the bed. For a long time he did not move. The only sound in the room was the soft hum of machines and the slow, steady beeping of her pulse.
She looked small like this. Fragile. Her wrists were thin against the white sheets. A strand of hair rested against her cheek, slightly damp from earlier tears.
He lifted it gently. His fingers brushed her skin.
Her breathing steadied under the warmth.
A knock sounded at the door. Arham stepped in without waiting for a response. His expression dropped instantly when he saw her on the bed. He turned to Ehtisham.
“What happened.”
Ehtisham did not answer.
Arham’s eyes narrowed. “This is not normal fainting. Her hands are still trembling. This looks like severe panic.”
Silence.
Then Arham understood.
His gaze softened for a moment. “It is today. I know your patience is thin. But she is not built for pressure.”
Ehtisham did not look at him. He pulled a chair closer and sat beside the bed, his elbows resting on his knees. His eyes stayed on her face.
Arham watched him for a few seconds. “I will handle the calls. Take your time.”
Ehtisham gave no reply, but Arham understood it as permission. He left the room quietly.
Night settled slowly. The overhead lights dimmed. The world outside quieted.
Ehtisham stayed exactly where he was.
Hours passed. He did not check his phone. He did not speak. He barely moved except to adjust her blanket when she shivered or to touch her wrist when he wanted to reassure himself that her pulse was still steady.
Then a faint sound slipped through the quiet.
A breath. A whisper. A soft tremor.
Her fingers curled slightly.
Ehtisham sat up straight.
“Bilqish.”
Her eyelids fluttered. Her breath hitched as though waking pulled her out of deep water.
She blinked slowly. Confusion blurred her gaze. Her eyes darted around the unfamiliar room, then landed on him.
Fear flickered instantly. Small. Quick. Raw.
Ehtisham saw it.
The moment she remembered the locked door, her body tensed.
She tried to push herself up but could barely lift her head. “Why am I here.”
“You fainted,” he answered. His voice was low, controlled.
She looked down at the IV in her hand. Her lips trembled. “You locked me inside.”
Her words were soft but sharp, cutting through the space between them.
His jaw flexed. “You were not listening.”
Her breathing quickened. She tried to sit but winced. Her body was still weak, trembling under the aftershock of panic.
“Do not get up,” he said quietly.
She flinched at his tone.
He noticed.
He exhaled through his nose, slow and deliberate. His fingers tapped once against his knee.
“Bilqish. Sit still.”
The command was calm, but the weight in it pressed the air around them. She sank back into the pillow, not because she wanted to, but because her strength had run out.
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