Beau Monde ✅

Chapter 15

Nailah Zayed.

Maroudi, Nigeria.

I don't know how long I sat there in that messy pile. But, I know that at a point, I heard the sound of the front door being opened; and I had no strength to even look up to see who it was.

The sound of light pad of footsteps against the marble floor reached my ears, approaching me. Even if a part of me wanted to look up, I was too exhausted to do so.

My head remained on top of my knees that I'd pulled to my chest, the sting from my feet still very much there. How long had it been since my outrage? Probably an hour or two. Times flies pretty fast, or more like, it stilled.

If I was being honest though, then believe me when I say I wished time would actually stop—and I would remain in that position forever. It was better to handle the pain, and allow myself to wallow in fear than to get up, and face what's about to come.

So what if I made up my mind to fight? That only lasted a few minutes, and it's not like confidence truly comes that easily. No matter how hard I think, I can't think of a way to beat this man in whatever sick game he's playing at.

I thought the ball was in my court, and that I could dribble it however I want. But he strolled in all his glory, took the ball, and left me with nothing at all.

Feigning confidence and the zeal to get it back is easier said than done.

The footsteps stopped right beside me, and I wasn't scared not one bit. The person could be after my life then, and I still wouldn't care. If anything, I may even thank the person for it.

I guess death might be better than living in constant fear.

A big, and warm hand was placed on my arm, and soon after, fingers followed as my head was raised slowly. I didn't fight it, already taking in the familiar cologne I didn't get a whiff of earlier. The first thing my no doubt, slightly blurry and bloodshot gaze fell on was his face...emotionless as always.

His eyes were fixed on mine for a couple of seconds, before they gaze my face a onceover, almost as if he wants to see right through me.

I hated it.

I had always hated how cold his gaze always has been. I hated how I could be in the worst situations, and he wouldn't make any inquiries whatsoever.

It's always been like that, and I've long accepted that Imran's heart was as cold as his gaze.

However, at the brink of desperately wanting to accept that reality, he always manages to pierce through those thoughts and shatter them.

His lips parted slightly, and I don't know if my eyes eyes were playing tricks on me but I could swear his expression softened for a second. It was quick to disappear as quick as it appeared though. And then, he was up on his feet.

I would be lying if I said my heart didn't sink then, as I looked away—my gaze suddenly blurry again. Just like always, this is the part where he strolls away and pretend as if he didn't see anything.

Like I said earlier, he always manages to prove my thoughts wrong though. Because without a warning whatsoever, his arms were suddenly around me and before I could comprehend anything, he had managed to swoop me in his arms.

Caught unexpectedly by the sudden action, my heart leaped and a slight squeal escaped my parted lips. In a desperate attempt to look for some reassurance, I wrapped my arms around his neck hastily, in fear of falling face flat on the floor.

A part of me though, a small part, deep down knew he wouldn't let that happen. As much as I tried to turn a blind eye to it, something about Imran has always made me feel safe in a way. It was hard to explain the conflicting feelings I have for him.