ARSHILA'S POV
His words land like a blade pressed to my throat.
"If you did have freedom… then why the fuck did you marry me?"
I freeze. My lungs seize, my pulse ricocheting so violently I can hear it in my ears. He doesn't move, doesn't blink. His voice isn't raised—not even an inch—but that's what makes it worse. It's quiet. Controlled. Deadly. The kind of calm that feels like the moment before glass shatters.
Everyone else feels it too. The silence is suffocating. Eshan's smirk falters, just slightly, like even he knows this is a line drawn in blood. Razmir leans forward with a predator's fascination. Rafaen doesn't so much as breathe.
Zayan's eyes burn through me like I'm the only thing in existence.
I force air into my lungs. My voice comes out cracked, trembling, but I don't look away.
"You know why more than anyone."
His gaze sharpens, a muscle ticking in his jaw.
"But you're the one who stood there and said you have freedom. That you're not bound. That you can choose." His voice drops lower, softer, more lethal. "Then tell me—why the fuck couldn't you choose what you actually wanted?"
My throat closes. Heat floods my face. And then the words rip out of me, bitter and furious.
"Because choosing meant putting a massive debt on my head!" My chest heaves, every syllable like fire on my tongue. "If I rejected this proposal, you know damn well what the terms were. I'd have to pay. Pay you. Pay your empire. Pay for daring to say no."
He says nothing. Nothing at all. He just watches me—expression carved from stone, unreadable, terrifying.
My hands shake. My voice cracks into a snarl.
"Fuck your compensation. I'll pay it. I'll fucking pay you, even if it takes a lifetime."
That gets something. The faintest twitch at the corner of his eye.
He tilts his head, voice soft, cold as ice.
"You sure about that?"
I snap, the words exploding out of me.
"Yes!" My voice is raw, high, breaking. "Damn sure. And when I do—when I'm free of every last fucking coin tied to your name—I'll give you the divorce you so clearly want."
The room collapses into silence.
His face doesn't change. His expression doesn't slip. But his eyes—those dark, consuming eyes—flash with something unreadable. Sharp. Violent. Dangerous. A storm held behind glass.
I can't stop. My rage spills, sharp and wild.
"Then you can marry whoever you want. Cage her here, in this palace, in your empire, lock her away like a bird with clipped wings—I don't care. Do it. After me, you'll finally have your freedom."
I don't wait for his reply. I can't. If I stay another second in the suffocating heat of his silence, I'll shatter.
So I move. Fast.
My feet hit the marble hard as I storm past the others. No one stops me. No one even dares to speak. I feel their stares burning into my back—Razmir's hungry amusement, Eshan's disbelief, Rafaen's clenched restraint—but none of them matter.
I take the stairs two at a time, fury pounding with every step, until I shove open the glass doors to the balcony.
Cold air slams into me, sharp and clean. I grip the railing so tight my knuckles ache, my chest heaving.
And still—behind me, in the silence of that house—I feel him.
Zayan.
Unreadable. Immovable.
And for the first time, I wonder which one of us will break first.
ZAYAN'S POV
Her footsteps echo up the stairs until they vanish, swallowed by silence.
Her words don't.
They're still here. Inside me. Buried so deep I can feel them tearing through bone.
Divorce.
How the fuck am I supposed to forget that? How the fuck am I supposed to breathe when she throws that word like it means nothing?
God. Don't you ever put me in that situation again. Without her, I can't even exist. I can take her fury, her claws, her temper—fuck, I crave it. But this? The thought of her leaving, walking away, free of me—no. Don't even fucking think about it.
The silence in the room stretches thin, until Eshan breaks it with a sharp bark of disbelief.
"What the fuck was that?"
He's grinning, but it's edged, too sharp. Even he's rattled.
Razmir's eyes flick toward me, slow, deliberate, a predator's gaze. His voice is silk cut with steel.
"No, really. What the fuck did she just say?"
Rafaen leans forward, voice low, gravel rough with fury.
"What debt? Hm? Is that how you manipulated her into this marriage?"
Their eyes burn into me. I can feel the weight of judgment pressing down.
I don't flinch. I don't blink. My voice comes out flat, absolute.
"Yes. That's why she married me. Because I put a massive debt on her head if she said no."
The sound they make—three men growling in unison—rips through the room.
"Fuck." Rafaen's fist slams against the table, his jaw locked.
Eshan laughs once, sharp, cutting, no humor in it.
"You're out of your fucking mind. You're playing with a live grenade and you don't even care."
I meet his eyes, steady, unshaken.
"Yes. I know."
The admission slices the air like a blade.
Rafaen's voice is cold, clipped.
"And if she pays it? If she finds a way? What then? She'll walk, Zayan. She'll leave you the second the chains break."
Something coils tight in my chest. Still, I force my voice to remain calm.
"She won't. She can't. That's how big it is."
Razmir laughs—low, dangerous, wicked. He steps closer, every move a deliberate strike. His grin is sharp enough to cut, and his words drip poison.
"Oh, man… listen to yourself. You sound like a man building a coffin and calling it a home."
He circles slowly, eyes burning.
"Four years, isn't it? Four years of you watching her. Following her. Knowing every move she made before she even thought to make it. And now—you've finally got her. Two months in your house, your bed, your name. And you think a mountain of debt will keep her there forever?"
He leans in, close enough his voice feels like venom on skin.
"But tell me this, Zayan—what happens when she stops fearing the chains? When she decides that freedom, even if it kills her, is worth more than living in your gilded cage? What then?"
I don't answer.
Because I can't.
Because the thought of her choosing to burn—choosing anything that isn't me—makes my vision blur with heat I can't control.
Razmir grins wider, savage.
"You've spent four years drowning in her shadow, and you think you can live if she rips herself away? No, zayan. You won't survive it. You'd rather watch the world collapse than let her slip through your fingers."
The silence after his words is heavy. Smothering.
And all I can hear, all I can feel, is her voice still stabbing into me—her fury, her defiance, her promise of divorce.
God. Don't let her do something reckless. Don't let her walk away. Don't you dare take her away from me.
My jaw locks so tight I taste iron. I force the words out, low and final.
"I won't let her go."
The admission is a blade. A vow.
Eshan snorts, leaning back with a grin that's half disbelief, half warning.
"You're fucking insane."
His laugh dies sharp in the air, because he knows I mean it.
Razmir drags his tongue over his teeth, eyes gleaming with something cruel.
"Then go to her. Fix this before it eats you alive."
I shake my head once.
"She won't let me."
They look at me like I've lost my mind. Maybe I have.
I turn, meeting Eshan's stare dead-on. My voice dips, controlled, cold.
"You. Go."
For a moment, he doesn't move. Doesn't breathe. Then he gives me a single nod, sharp and certain, before pushing off the chair.
"Wait."
The word cuts from me like steel. Eshan halts, glances back.
I reach into the drawer beside me, toss him a small bar of chocolate. It lands in his palm.
"Now go."
Eshan smirks, the corner of his mouth tilting up, and nods again before heading for the stairs. His footsteps echo, then fade.
Razmir waits until the silence stretches, then tips his head, lips curling in that viper smile.
"Why him? Why send Eshan to her instead of going yourself?"
I drag a hand over my jaw, slow, deliberate, my voice low.
"Because if I go, she'll lock her door. She'll shut herself in like she always does, punish herself to punish me. She won't eat. She won't sleep. She'll waste away behind a door I can break but not open."
My teeth grind as I breathe through the heat crawling up my throat.
"But if he goes… she'll open it. She trusts him. She'll listen. He'll bring her back here—where I need her."
Razmir lets out a low laugh, the sound dark and wicked.
"So that's it. You've built yourself into the most feared man in the room, and your own wife would rather starve than face you when she's angry. Interesting cage you've made, brother. Bars made of love and fear."
Rafaen growls, slamming his palm against the table, voice cutting through.
"It's not a cage, Razmir. It's a fucking obsession. Look at him. He's unraveling because she said one word."
Razmir tilts his head, studying me, hungry for the fracture in my control.
"He's unraveling because she said divorce. Because for the first time, he realized chains can snap."
I snap my gaze to him, and the fury in my voice could split stone.
"She won't leave me."
Razmir's grin sharpens, all teeth.
"Not today, maybe. Not tomorrow. But one day, zayan… you'll have to decide if you want her love or her captivity. Because right now, all you've got is a war between the two."
The silence that follows is suffocating, every word pressing down like weight on my chest.
And still, all I can hear is her voice, sharp and wild, promising a divorce I'll never fucking let her give me.
Arshila's pov
I slam the smaller door shut—the one that marks my space inside his. A room inside a room. A cage inside a cage. My chest heaves like I've run a marathon, even though all I've done is walk away before I broke apart in front of him.
The walls feel too close. My blood feels too loud. I hate him for making me feel like this. I hate myself more for spitting out words I don't mean but might one day have to. Because one day I'll have to go. I'll have to give him the freedom he doesn't even realize he wants, and the thought alone feels like carving my ribs open.
So I do the only thing left—I bury myself in silence. I won't open the door. I won't let him see me like this.
The knock comes sharp.
I freeze.
My heart lurches, convinced it's him.
But then the voice seeps through, smooth and irritatingly smug.
"Are you sulking?"
I squeeze my eyes shut. Shit. Eshan.
"Go away."
A pause. Then another knock, louder, like he's testing my patience.
"Nope. Not leaving until you open this door."
"Then rot there."
A chuckle. Low. Annoyingly warm. "Open it, babe."
My head jerks up, rage snapping sharp. "Don't call me that. Go call your fucking friend 'babe.'"
"You mean Zayan?"
"Yes."
"Mm." I can hear the grin dripping. "He's my babe. But you—you're important to me."
I grit my teeth. "I'm not a kid, Eshan. I don't fall for your tricky words."
"Tricky?" His mock offense carries easily through the door. "These are masterpieces, thank you very much. Women would kill to have me at their doors, whispering sweet nothings and demanding entry."
"Then go whisper at them."
"Can't. Trapped. Your sulking has shackled me here. Very cruel, by the way. Possibly illegal."
"I'm not sulking."
"You are. I'd know. I'm the world champion of sulking. Ask anyone. I could brood for days when I was younger. Weeks." His voice dips, softer now, tugging like a hook. "And every damn time, Zayan would show up. Quiet. With chocolate. He'd slide it under my door like a peace treaty.like this"
My breath catches.
The scrape of something against the floor makes my pulse lurch. A moment later, a small square slips beneath the crack of the door. Dark wrapper. Chocolate.
My throat burns.
"I'm not defending him," Eshan says, voice rougher now. "I know he's worse than all of us combined. But that doesn't mean you get to sulk yourself into nothing. You want to fight him? Fine. Fight harder. Fight until you kill him with your own hands."
Despite myself, a startled laugh bursts out. "What the fuck are you talking about?"
"See? That's better." His smile is audible. "I'll take that over silence any day. Now… open the door."
I shake my head, hugging my knees tighter. "No."
"Please."
The word slips out of him in a slow, breathy pull, and it guts me. Not his usual tease. Not a performance. Just raw, heavy truth.
I press my forehead to my knees, tears stinging, because I realize—I'm not just shutting him out. I'm hurting all of them.
And still… I don't open the door. My fingers twitch against the lock, my chest aching with the weight of it, but I stay frozen.
"Eat the chocolate."
I lift my head, blinking at the door like he's lost his damn mind.
"What?"
"Eat it. Right now. Get the sugar in your blood. You're all twisted up in here"—he knocks, sharp, deliberate—"and if you don't bite into that thing, you'll keep spiraling until you chew yourself alive."
I let out a bitter laugh, wiping my face with the back of my hand. "What the fuck are you, my therapist?"
"Nope." His voice drops into that taunting, lazy drawl. "I'm worse. I'm the guy who won't shut up until you do what I say."
"Fuck off."
"Not until you eat."
I glare at the tiny square lying on the floor like some pathetic offering.
"I'm not eating your stupid peace chocolate."
He hums. "Then what? You'll just sit there? Starve yourself? Make your eyes red until Zayan sees you and thinks he's the devil? Which, to be fair, he is. But don't give him that power, babe. Snap at him with teeth sharp enough to make him bleed."
I bite the inside of my cheek, refusing to laugh, refusing to let him win. "You're insane."
"Yeah," he says simply. "And so are you. That's why we get along. So here's the deal. You either eat the chocolate, get some fucking energy, and go tear strips off him… or I break this door and spoon-feed you while singing a love ballad at the top of my lungs."
A snort escapes me before I can stop it. "You wouldn't dare."
"Oh, I would. You want the whole palace to hear me serenading you? Because trust me, I've got range."
I cover my face with my hands, heat crawling up my neck. "You're impossible."
"And you're sulking. Which makes you weaker. And weak people don't win. So eat."
The command cuts through me, sharp as a blade. Not gentle. Not coaxing. Just firm, unapologetic, like he knows I'll break before he does.
I stare at the chocolate. My chest tightens. My hand moves before my brain can stop it, snatching it off the floor. I rip the wrapper like it's a throat and shove the square into my mouth. Bitter. Sweet. Heavy on my tongue.
"There," I mutter thickly. "Happy?"
"Ecstatic," he says, smug satisfaction dripping. "Now unlock the door."
"Fuck you."
"You already ate the chocolate. This is the next step. Don't half-ass it."
I swallow hard, glaring at the wood. "You think this is some kind of game, don't you?"
"Everything's a game. You just suck at playing when you hide."
Silence stretches. My pulse hammers.
Then his voice softens again, low and steady. "Open the door. Please."
That word again. That raw edge, stripped of all the teasing. It cuts me open worse than any of his threats.
My hand shakes as I reach for the lock. My whole body screams not to. Because if I open it, I'll have to face more than him. I'll have to face the mess I've made.
But his voice lingers, soft and sharp all at once, dragging me closer.
And before I can talk myself out of it, the lock clicks.
The door creaks open.
Eshan stands there, leaning against the frame, grin tugging at his mouth like he hasn't just shoved me back into my own skin. His eyes flick to the half-eaten chocolate still clutched in my hand.
"Told you. Works every time."
I want to slam the door in his face. I want to laugh. I want to cry.
Instead, I stand there, trembling, glaring at him like he's the devil himself.
And he just grins wider.
ZAYAN'S POV
The hall is too quiet.
Razmir sits like a vulture on one end of the couch, elbow hooked over the armrest, smile sharp as broken glass. Rafaen is all clenched fists and stormclouds across from him, the kind of restless anger that keeps the air humming.
And me—I'm stone. Or I'm trying to be. Spine locked against leather, jaw tight enough to break teeth. Inside, I'm pacing, tearing holes in my own chest, replaying her voice like it's carved into bone: divorce.
Eshan's footsteps are gone upstairs now. The silence stretches long, heavy, a noose around my throat. But I don't need to hear what's happening—I already know. I know him. I know her.
He'll shove that chocolate into her hand. He'll nag, tease, push until her pride splinters. She'll throw fire back, spit venom at him, resist until the last possible second. Then she'll give in, just enough. That's the script. That's how it always plays when it's him.
Because she listens to him.
Not me.
I'm the one she locks out. I'm the devil she'd starve herself to spite. I'm the one she'd rather bleed in silence than face. And yet—it was my hand that chose that chocolate, my decision to send him. My way of getting her back without breaking down her door like a fucking tyrant.
So I sit there, teeth grinding, chest tight, waiting.
Then—
A sound.
Not gentle. Not soft. A thud, a scuffle, the scrape of something dragged against the wood. A muffled protest that slices clean through the quiet.
The three of us snap our heads toward the stairs.
And there they are.
Eshan first, his grin smug and bright, one hand wrapped around her wrist like he just dragged a wild thing out of a cage. She fights him all the way down, jaw set, shoulders tight, eyes blazing enough to set the banister on fire.
She looks furious. She looks wrecked. She looks alive.
My lungs seize, and a breath I didn't know I'd been strangling inside myself rips free. The sound is sharp, ugly, betraying too much in front of men who don't miss anything.
Razmir's grin widens—he's feeding on this. Rafaen shifts forward, muscles twitching like he wants to intervene.
But none of it matters, because then—she looks at me.
And I'm fucked.
Her gaze locks on mine, brutal and unflinching, eyes burning with every ounce of rage she won't waste on anyone else. She doesn't need words. She never does.
Fuck you.
That's what she's screaming at me in silence.
It hits harder than a blade.
Still—I don't flinch. I hold her eyes like they're the only thing keeping me tethered, because maybe they are. I let her see me, stripped and bare, the apology I'll never say sitting heavy in my stare.
Sorry.
Not soft, not gentle. Cold. Ruthless. A sorry carved from iron, delivered like a vow I refuse to break.
I'm sorry.
The fury in her eyes sharpens, daring me, promising war. And yet she doesn't look away. Neither do I.
Eshan tugs at her wrist again, dragging her the last steps down. She wrenches free, shoving at him hard enough to stumble him sideways. He only laughs, delighted. Razmir leans forward, smirking like he's watching his favorite play. Rafaen growls under his breath, low and dangerous.
But I barely register them.
Because in that moment, with her fire burning holes through me and my silence cutting back like a blade, the whole hall feels like it's about to explode.
And maybe that's exactly what I want.
"Happy now?"
Her voice cuts through the hall like broken glass, sharp, jagged, slicing all of us at once. She whirls her glare across the room, eyes flashing, shoulders tight. "All of you? Fuckers."
Razmir's chuckle rumbles low, snake-like, his teeth flashing. He leans forward on the couch, lazy, dangerous, owning her fury like he's sipping it from a glass.
"I'm starving. That's why I sent him to you—so we don't feel guilty eating without you."
Her head jerks toward him, disbelief etched deep. "Oh. That's why?"
Eshan grins, smug as ever, like a kid who just stole something shiny. She cuts him a death stare so sharp it should've gutted him where he stood.
And the bastard has the audacity to shrug, eyes soft, voice playful. "As I said—you're important to me."
"Fuck off."
The words whip out of her like fire, and my lips twitch before I can stop them. A smirk, slow and lethal, curls at the corner of my mouth. I hide it under the weight of my hand against my jaw, but it's there. The taste of victory. The burn of obsession. Because no matter how much venom she throws, she's here. She's in this hall, not behind a locked door. She's mine.
And I won't lose her.
Not to her rage.
Not to her threats.
Not to anyone.
Razmir moves first, rising from the couch, swagger sharp as a blade. He steps past me, the audacity of a man who knows exactly what he's doing. He reaches for her elbow, casual, coaxing, dragging her toward the dining table.
I almost rise. Almost let instinct snap my control in half. Because seeing his hand on her is a sin in itself, one I'd tear him apart for. Lunch him straight through the polished wood, bury his smirk under blood and splinters, end his claim as Idrakhan heir before it ever mattered.
But I don't move. My knuckles only flex, jaw hard, eyes locked on her.
She lets him guide her, but just before she turns away, she glances back at me.
That look. That brutal, blazing look, full of all the fuck-yous she hasn't spat yet. It slams into me like a fist. And instead of holding it, instead of chaining her with my stare like I always do—
I look away.
Because if I don't, I'll burn the whole hall to ash.
The staff have already set the table—silver gleaming, plates lined like soldiers, food steaming rich and heavy in the air. Too perfect. Too civilized for the chaos rattling inside me.
We take our seats. Rafaen drops into his like thunder. Razmir sits with his lazy predator smirk. Eshan sprawls into his chair like he owns the room.
And me—I take the place across from her.
She sits, back stiff, chin high, fury carved into every angle of her face. Rage never looked so goddamn beautiful. My chest aches from the sight of it, the fire in her eyes, the heat in her skin. She could spit on me right now and I'd still fucking thank her.
Her gaze snaps up, colliding with mine across the table. And then—she speaks.
"Did you sulk when you were a kid?"
The words hit me sideways. My mouth almost breaks into a laugh. Almost. I choke it down, but the edge of it ghosts across my lips. "What?"
"You heard me." Her chin tilts, sharp, challenging. "Did you sulk when you were kids?"
She flicks her finger toward Eshan like she's tossing a knife.
For a moment, silence wraps the table. My lips twitch again. My voice drops low, steady, cold enough to disguise the crack of amusement threatening to break me.
"No. He was the one who always sulked."
Her eyes swing to Eshan, sharp as blades.
He just smirks, spreading his hands wide, cocky. "Told you."
Her scowl deepens, hot enough to sear flesh. She mutters something under her breath, curses low and delicious, and the table nearly vibrates with it.
And me? I sit back in my chair, watching the firestorm across from me, chest tight, pulse spiking.
She's furious. She's wild. She's fucking radiant.
And all I can think is—
I can't lose her.
I won't lose her.
Even if it kills me.