༻✺༺
1 2 : a r i s k y g a m b l e
༻✺༺
I sat alone in my opulent study, a sanctuary of polished mahogany and soft lamplight. The room exuded an air of grandeur and sophistication, much like the woman who occupied it. My fingers traced the curves of an antique inkwell, a relic from a bygone era, much like my own past. The dim glow of the desk lamp played upon the lustrous strands of my ebony hair, casting intricate shadows across my elegant profile.
Amidst the sea of official documents and tomes that surrounded me, one piece of paper stood out. A letter, elegant in its simplicity, sat atop my cluttered desk. I took it in my hand, feeling the weight of its import before breaking the seal. My eyes scanned the graceful cursive, each word a sonnet, and my heart danced to their rhythm.
My Dearest Lee Lee,
Thoughts of you have become a relentless tempest in my mind, battering me with each passing moment. Everywhere I look, there's a reminder of you - in the way the sunlight hits the trees, in the sound of a bird's song, in the soft caress of the wind on my skin. My thoughts are consumed by the memory of your sparkling eyes, the sound of your laughter, and the way our hands fit together like pieces of a puzzle. I'm left with a thousand unanswered questions, and a heart that beats faster at the mere thought of you.
Which is why I'm writing this letter to you today.
Last night, when I lay in my garden, reading the Greek novel The Island by Victoria Hislop, watching the dark night cradle the moon in its arms, I was reminded of you. You're like the moon; hauntingly beautiful, but achingly distant with a part of you always shrouded in mystery. The more I gazed into the darkness of the night, the more I could not stop thinking about you. At that moment, I realised I missed you. But, I believe the Greeks would probably disagree with my choice of words. Because in Greece they don't really say, I miss you. They say Μου λείπεις which loosely translates to "You are missing from me." ;)
I know, it's a subtle difference, but I hope it conveys a sense of loss that I think "I miss you" fails to capture.
I was eight, probably nine, when my grandfather told me the best way to succeed is to be different. Create. Innovate. Imagine. I have held on to those words ever since. And today they've brought me here, holding a pen and paper, struggling to put my thoughts into words. While there is nothing new or original about sending a handwritten letter, I hope, in an era of emails and text messages, it will perhaps serve to bring a smile to your face. And if that didn't work, the little sadist in you might find some dark pleasure in the knowledge that this isn't the first letter I have attempted to write today. RIP trees!!
Okay. Okay, don't throw the letter away just yet. I promise I didn't mean to overwhelm you. And while I can be a manipulative bastard, I promise whatever my intentions with you are, they do not include any sort of emotional duress. Make the rules and I promise I'll play fair.
Or at least I'll try. ;)
We don't know what the future holds, but let's live the present together. Come with me! Come with me to Italy for the weekend. I know you've been thinking about it ever since I mentioned it. And if you have then I can promise you it's a risk worth taking.
Fly with me Lee Lee! Fly!
Yours truly,
Azaan Ali Haider Mughal
"Azaan," I whispered his name, as if it were a secret prayer. His words were an invitation to escape, to leave behind the world of politics and power struggles, and to embrace the simple beauty of Italy.
A smile stretched across my lips as I gazed dreamily at the ceiling above. With each passing moment, this man seemed to chip away at the walls I'd built so carefully around myself. It was both exhilarating and terrifying, like a butterfly emerging from its chrysalis, unsure of what lay beyond. But after years buried in darkness, I was ready to spread my wings and soar into the wild unknown. And as my gaze swept over the letter, the desire humming through me was insatiable. The hold that man had over me was irresistible.
I hesitate to admit this, but at the expense of sounding vain, male attention was not something new to me. I'd grown accustomed to men vying for my affection over the years, but none of them ever piqued my interest. My mother had encouraged me to settle down and find a suitable partner, but my heart remained untouched. That is, until Azaan Ali Haider Mughal came along. He demanded my attention in a way no man ever had before, pulling me into his grasp with an irresistible force. It was both infuriating and exhilarating, but for the first time in my life, I didn't mind being held captive.
I couldn't help but feel like a silly schoolgirl with a crush, utterly powerless under the gaze of the most dangerously handsome boy in the class.
And yet the smile on my face was difficult to erase. I kept staring at the letter, the neatly inscribed text warming the blood in my veins. No one had ever written a letter. No one had ever sent me a handmade bouquet of homegrown flowers. My defences were slowly crumbling, my guard lowering. I was falling. But no matter how much I wanted it, the fear lingering in my mind would not let me budge. There was so much at stake—but most importantly my heart.
The door to my office creaked open, and in walked Farah, my head of PR. Her expression bore a mix of professionalism and concern. She wore her confidence like armor, always ready to face the ever-watchful eyes of the public. For the past decade, Farah had been marvellous at keeping our secrets, though I'm not sure she appreciated the constant challenges I threw at her every other week. But in a sea of sharks, Farah was one of the few people I trust.
Farah gave me a formal nod as she took her seat across me, keeping her file on the table. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" I asked, quickly folding away the letter in my hand. Farah's eyes followed the movement, but she made no mention of it.
"It seems you've been keeping busy?" she began, her voice measured.
"I sense disapproval." I looked up from my desk, intrigued by the gravity in her tone, my brow rising.
"Your senses serve you well, Ma'am."
I leaned back in my chair, my fingers lightly tapping against the polished wood "I've been on my best behaviour." A flicker of annoyance burnt in my chest. Suddenly the images of my fight with Azar from a couple of nights ago flashed before my eyes. Had the news made it to Farah? And if it had, it was likely my father had already been informed. Had Azar been barking? Or had Azaan—
No! I pushed the thought away. Azaan would never.
"What have you got Farah?" I asked carefully, waiting for her to explain her sudden visit. I wasn't going to feed into her doubts.
"It's an educated guess." My eyes narrowed, waiting for her to elaborate further. "Are you seeing someone? Is there something I need to be aware of?" She leaned forward, a hint of concern softening her features
"No." A sense of relief washed over me, "No there is no one. Why would you ask?"
"I need to be prepared, so it's best to stay ahead." She took a sip of her coffee, masking her hesitation behind a sip of the hot beverage. "I saw some pictures of you." My brows rose in question. "Umm—with Mr. Mughal."
I fought to suppress my frustration "I'm pictured with hundreds of people every day. I don't see any cause of concern."
"Yes. But they aren't pictured with you three times in a week. Neither are they sending you letters." Her eyes zeroed in on the crème coloured envelope embossed with the Mughal & Co. logo on top of my desk. I scowled in response, quickly shoving the envelope away. Farah's shoulders relaxed slightly and she gave me a tight smile, "You do know I've got your back. But I need to know if there is something."
"There is nothing going on. You need not be worried."
Farah nodded again, her concern unwavering. "I'll take your word for it, but I'll ask you to keep a low profile until Malik Sahab has recovered. We don't want unnecessary press."
"Does my mother know?"
"Not yet, Ma'am. But if there is anything, I'd rather she heard it from you than me."
"Thank you Farah."
As Farah left my office, a torrent of conflicting thoughts swirled within me. I trusted Farah implicitly; she had proven herself time and again. Yet, there were corners of my life I wasn't ready to reveal, even to someone as close as her.
Azaan, with his charming smile and magnetic charisma, had quietly slipped past the barriers I had erected around my heart. Our friendship was a blossoming secret, a story I wasn't prepared to share with the world just yet. It was my haven from the relentless scrutiny of the public eye, a refuge from the complexities of my family dynamics.
But there was a deeper truth, one I couldn't admit, even to myself in the stillness of my thoughts. Azaan represented a chance at something more than power, something that had eluded me for far too long—a second chance at love. The scars of my past had left me raw, hesitant to embrace the vulnerability of the heart. Yet, Azaan had kindled a spark, and I couldn't deny the warmth it brought to my life.
But reality had a way of intruding upon even the most enchanting dreams. With a sigh, I smoothed the folds of Azaan's letter, tucking it away in a drawer, the weight of my responsibilities settling upon my shoulders once more. Italy's siren call would have to wait, for there were matters closer to home that demanded my attention.
Tonight, there was a meeting to attend, a clandestine rendezvous with Azar Baloch. The world of power and greed awaited me, and I would meet it with the same calculated ruthlessness and strength that had brought me this far. But for a fleeting moment, the dream of Italy lingered in my heart, a whisper of what could be—a love that had the power to transcend even the weight of empires.
༻✺༺
I stood before the mirror in my dressing room, the soft glow of the vanity lights casting an ethereal aura around me. My reflection revealed a woman who was both a force of nature and a vision of elegance. The sapphire silk of my dress clung to my figure like a second skin, its deep hue a reminder of the depths I was willing to plunge into to achieve my goals.
My fingers brushed lightly over the pearls adorning my neck, a testament to the family's legacy, and the ruthless ambition that ran in our blood. My lips, painted the shade of a stormy midnight, held the promise of secrets yet to be revealed, while my eyes, framed by meticulously applied eyeliner, gleamed with a predatory intelligence.
The heels of my stilettos tapped rhythmically on the marble floor as I paced the room. Every step, every gesture, exuded a potent allure—a femme fatale, weaving a web of intrigue and deception. My scent, a heady blend of jasmine and subtle musk, lingered in my wake like a bewitching enchantment.
As I descended the grand staircase of Lal Mahal, the world outside beckoned—a world of power plays, secrets, and vendettas. With each step I took towards the waiting car, I couldn't help but smile, a smile that concealed my true intentions, a smile that masked the darkness within—a powerful vixen, ready to conquer, seduce, and destroy.
Today marked the inception of a meticulously crafted master plan— web of power and ambition. My impending business plans were not mere business deals; it was the first stroke in a grand symphony of calculated moves, revenge, and my relentless ambition, to cement myself as the next CEO of The JM GROUP.
As I sat in the sleek, black Maybach en route to my meeting with Azar, the flames of determination raged within me. This was the moment where my ascent truly began, where I would seize control. If everything went as per my plan no one would ever dare to cross me. The stakes were high, but so were the rewards.
My fingers, adorned with rings that whispered of authority, clenched the edge of the leather seat. I was not just a player in this high-stakes game; I was the puppeteer orchestrating every move. Today, the world would witness a transformation—a transformation into a force to be reckoned with, an embodiment of power, and a figure whose ambition knew no bounds. The merger, financed through Azar's company, was a weapon of vengeance concealed beneath a veneer of international diplomacy—a masterstroke in my grand design.
The meeting was set in a dimly lit, upscale lounge owned by Azar. The ambiance cocooned us in an air of sophistication, a guise for the impending power play. I reclined in the plush velvet armchair, my attire an armor of sapphire silk—a symbol of my control and poise in this complex dance. The soft jazz that serenaded the room, coupled with the warm chandelier's glow, cast shadows that whispered secrets.
Before me sat Azar, a man whose charming façade belied his sinister desires. In his meticulously tailored suit, he exuded an aura of false innocence. Only a few nights ago, I had once been at his mercy, a target of his intoxicated aggression, but it was a transgression I had chosen to forgive, vowing instead to get my revenge when the time was right. I shuddered at the thought of what could have happened had Azaan not stepped in that night.
"Layla. To what do I owe the pleasure?" Azar leaned forward, his eyes locked onto mine with unwavering intensity. "Wasn't the NDA enough?"
I leaned in, my voice taking on a sultry undertone as I spoke, "Azar, what do you say we put this behind us? After all, we're both adults, aren't we? Let the past stay in the past."
Azar's eyes flickered with interest, and he leaned in, clearly captivated, "You make a compelling point, Layla."
"As always."
"You were the last person I expected a call from."
"Why? Do I not strike you as friendly."
Azar took a sip of his whisky, his eyes trying to assess my intentions. "You're anything but. Let's cut to the chase, why are we here today?"
"I'm feeling charitable tonight." My fingers traced an elegant path along the rim of my glass, my gaze locked onto his, unyielding and magnetic. "I have a proposal for you, Azar. A partnership that could prove mutually... rewarding."
"Please." Azar snarled. "You're not a charitable person and I'm not a charity case."
"Are you scared of me?" I said slowly, my diamond encrusted fingers tapping on the corner of the table.
"This is my den Layla. If anyone should be scared, it's you!"
I gave him an enigmatic smile, "I never walk inside unless I'm fully aware of who holds the power in a room."
"All so interesting."
"It's one of my strongest suits. But you know what else is interesting? My preposition for you."
"I'm all ears."
My lips curved into a suggestive smile as I leaned in closer, the scent of my perfume wrapping around him like a seductive spell. "I want you to stop your development project in Punjab."
"You want me to do what?" Azar almost screamed at the absurdity of my request, his expression tightening with anger and disbelief.
My gaze remained unwavering, "It is your best option. You're looking to expand, what better way than to invest in JM."
"So it is true." Azar's smile was a calculated blend of charm and cunning. "You are heading towards a merger."
"I'm not here to confirm or deny any rumours."
"I see. What do you bring to the table Layla?"
"I want you to divert the funds from your company to your off-shore accounts. These will then be funnelled back into Pakistan via JM Investments, which will be invested into various projects. The land for your developmental projects will be used by us to construct the industrial plants and adjoining society's."
Azar watched me with a shrewd eye. "You want me to gift you thousands of acres of my ancestral land for free? And why exactly would I do that?"
I smiled, "I wasn't bluffing when I said I don't walk into a room without doing my homework."
"What have you got?"
"The land is disputed. It's fucking worthless—"
"What bullshit?"
"Cut me off once more, and I'll cut off your—" I paused, trying to recompose myself. "I know of your secret half brother Azar. And I'm also aware that he is about to file a case against you. He wants what's rightly his. And once this case goes to court, either you lose more than half of your inheritance or the land becomes disputed. It will be worthless."
"Why me? You could have taken this offer to any one."
I smiled slightly, disarmed by how shocked Azar looked, "Let's just say, we have unfinished history."
༻✺༺
As I stepped into the confines of my home, a strange amalgam of emotions swirled within me. The deal was almost done, I had Azar where I wanted him and the taste of victory was sweet. But beneath the surface of my triumph lay a nagging unease.
I had taken a huge risk, a gamble that had the potential to change the trajectory of not only my life but the lives of those around me. The colliding winds of power and ambition had left me exhilarated yet weighed down by the gravity of my actions.
Azar, I thought, as his face flashed before my eyes, had fallen right into the carefully laid trap, ensnared by my calculated seduction. It was a dangerous game, one where I held the upper hand for now. But the thrill of victory was tinged with a sobering realization of the depths to which I was willing to go.
As I wandered through the corridors of my home, my mind buzzed with conflicting thoughts. Success and risk, power and vulnerability, desire and consequences—it was a complex tapestry that left me both elated and apprehensive. The first step in my grand plan had been taken, but the path ahead was shrouded in shadows, and I couldn't help but wonder if the price of my ambition would prove to be too steep.
As I hurried through the grand hallways of Malik Towers, lost in my thoughts, I collided with an unexpected figure. There stood Zaroon, staring down at me with a smile as if he'd never left, as if the years apart had never happened.
My annoyance was clear in the crease of my brow and the edge in my voice. "Zaroon," I greeted him, my tone frosty.
He attempted a warm smile. "Layla, it's been too long. We live in the same house and yet I barely see you."
My gaze couldn't help but wander, noting the changes in his appearance. The lines of age, the weight of experience, they were etched into his face. How different he looked from the man I had once known.
But I couldn't help but scoff at the audacity of his words. "Missed me, Zaroon?"
"Always do."
"Oh fuck off."
He took a step closer, looking earnest. "Layla, people change, circumstances change. Can't we consider giving us another chance?"
The years apart flashed before my eyes, memories of our past. How much had changed since then. How much I had changed. The struggle ahead was becoming clearer, and I knew Zaroon was the only hurdle in my path to gaining ultimate control of our family assets.
My patience wore thin, "Chances Zaroon? Speaking of which, I noticed your interest in the upcoming general meeting. Preparing for a comeback?"
Zaroon's eyes met mine, determination in his gaze. "Yes, Layla. It's time for me to take my seat on the board again. Despite our differences and how much you hate my presence here, it's about time I reclaim what's rightfully mine. I won't let my family's legacy, my father's legacy wither away."
"What is rightfully yours? You got your share the day your father died. You and your father did more damage to our business, our party and our legacy than anyone ever could have." I burst out, my hand fisting together.
But as I turned to leave, my frustration still smouldering, Zaroon's grip on my arm tightened, pulling me back into his arms. For a brief, heart-stopping moment, I found myself lost in his eyes, a whirlwind of past memories and forgotten love threatening to engulf me.
The world around us seemed to fade into insignificance as his touch sent shivers down my spine. The memories of stolen moments, whispered confessions, and the intensity of our love flooded my senses. For an instant, it was as though time had reversed, and the scars of the past had vanished.
Zaroon cupped my face gently, his thumb tracing the contours of my lips, and he tried to draw me closer, his eyes filled with a longing that once mirrored my own. In that fragile moment, it was all too easy to forget the pain that had driven us apart.
But reality crashed over me like a relentless wave, and I pushed him away with a fierce determination. The past was a weight I could no longer carry. With a steadying breath, I stepped back, putting distance between us, my resolve hardening once more. "Don't you dare touch me, Zaroon." I hissed. Anger surged within me, a visceral reaction to his touch. "Don't you fucking dare!"
His expression wavered, a mixture of regret and longing in his eyes. But the memories of our tumultuous history came rushing back, a torrent of emotions I had buried deep within.
༻✺༺
My room was cloaked in the hush of the night, with only the soft glow of a solitary lamp casting a warm, amber hue on the walls. The darkness outside the window matched the turmoil that churned relentlessly within my heart. I had just returned from an unexpected encounter with Zaroon, and my emotions were a tumultuous sea, each wave crashing against the walls of my composure.
Anger simmered beneath the surface, an unrelenting fire that threatened to consume me. Frustration gnawed at my insides like a relentless beast, and a gnawing sense of vulnerability left me feeling raw and exposed. It was a battle for dominance that raged within, and the aftermath of my melt down with Zaroon had left me drained and shaken.
In an attempt to distract myself from the haunting memories, I hesitated for a long moment, my fingers poised in indecision over my phone. It had been far too long a day, I needed a distraction, and in this moment of vulnerability, my eyes scrolled over the name of the one person who should probably have been the last person I should contact.
But with a deep breath, and without a thought I pressed the call button next to his name. My heart pounded relentlessly in my chest, each beat echoing my anticipation and trepidation. The phone rang once, twice, and then his voice, warm and reassuring, filled my ear. "Lee Lee?"
My voice wavered slightly, revealing more than I had intended. "Azaan."
"How are you?" Azaan's voice on the other end of the line was a soothing balm to my restless soul. I could hear a hint of surprise and genuine gladness in his response, as if he hadn't expected my call.
"Good." My reply was chipped, almost like I was unsure how to take the conversation forward.
I could feel him smiling behind the phone, enjoying my silence. "Hmmm," he drawled, sending a shiver down my spine.
It was more than just a sound; it was a potent mixture of intrigue and attraction. In that subtle, almost imperceptible pause, I felt a magnetic pull toward him, as if our connection had deepened in that single, unspoken moment. Like he understood my silences.
His voice had a way of making me feel special, as if I were the only one in his world at that very moment. It was a shared secret, a silent understanding that hung in the air, making my heart race and my cheeks flush with a delightful warmth. "Are you not going to ask me how I am?" he asked, breaking the silence.
"You sound okay. I don't feel the need to ask."
"Ouch! You wound me, Princess."
I arched an eyebrow, my lips curling into a sly smile."Princess?"
"It suits you. Don't you think?" His voice was a blend of cheek and charm. I could almost picture the crooked smile that accompanied his words.
"Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr. Mughal."
Azaan's laughter, rich and warm, resonated through the phone. "Oh, I intend to make it everywhere, Lee Lee."
"Now do you?"
"Yes, Lee Lee. Everywhere." I sensed a promise of something more, something uncharted and tantalisingly irresistible.
"And where are you right now?"
"Right now? Right now, I am in my kitchen, preparing dinner."
"You cook?"
"Occasionally. Impressed?"
"Maybe."
Azaan chuckled, "I have a question for you."
"Ahan?"
"If you were a dessert, what would you be?" Azaan's voice was like a smooth melody, caressing my ears with a hint of mischief. His words were a playful dance, leading me into a world of delightful banter. I could almost picture the confident smirk on his lips, the one that never failed to ignite a spark of curiosity within me.
His question hung in the air, a tantalizing invitation to a game we both enjoyed. I grinned playfully, my lips curling into a mischievous smile that he couldn't see but would undoubtedly sense.
"A dessert, huh?" I mused, my voice carrying a hint of seductive playfulness. "That's an interesting one. How about a molten lava cake."
I could practically feel his raised eyebrow, a subtle yet captivating expression that never failed to draw me in. His curiosity was palpable, and it only fueled my desire to keep this conversation going. "Molten Lava Cake? That's an interesting choice, let me guess why?" His smooth voice, now tinged with a hint of seduction, egged me on.
"Why?" My voice dropped to a lowly whisper.
"Because when you cut through that exterior," he continued, his voice dripping with teasing flirtatiousness, "you discover something warm, intense, and utterly irresistible inside."
His words hung in the air, thick with desire and anticipation. Our conversation had transformed into a passionate tango of words, each step drawing us closer to an unspoken connection that neither of us could deny. I could almost feel the electricity crackling through the phone, binding us together in a way that transcended mere words.
With every sentence, our flirtation deepened, and I found myself smiling, unable to contain the genuine excitement and longing I felt. I was sure Azaan's smirk had broadened as well, a reflection of the unspoken desire that pulsed between us.
His voice, still laced with that familiar suggestiveness, washed over me like a gentle wave of pleasure. "Don't you agree, Lee Lee?"
A charged silence hung in the air, heavy with unspoken desires. It felt like we were both teetering on the edge of something powerful, something that could alter the course of our connection forever.
Azaan's voice, warm and enticing, finally broke the silence. "Lee Lee," he said, his voice a slow caress, "some indulgences are worth savouring slowly, don't you think?"
My breath hitched at his words, the intimacy of our conversation palpable even through the phone. "Yes!" I replied, my voice a whispered promise. "And some desserts are best enjoyed in the most decadent way possible."
The tension between us grew, a delicious anticipation that left my heart racing. It was as though we had created a secret world where only our desires mattered, a world where we could explore the depths of our connection without restraint.
"Dessert, right." Azaan chuckled softly, the sound sending a delicious shiver down my spine. "Couldn't agree more," he said, his voice a velvet promise. "So, when can I indulge in my favourite dessert?"
I smiled, my mind filled with the tantalising possibilities that lay ahead. "Soon," I replied, my voice a sultry invitation.
"Very soon." Azaan's voice, rich and velvety, rang with an ominous promise, and I found myself smiling, genuinely and unguardedly. In his company, the chaos of the world seemed to recede, and for that night, I was just Layla, not the political heiress seeking power or the ambitious business woman on a quest for dominance. I was just Layla.
༻✺༺
Thoughts?
Until next time.🥀
Instagram:
@sssournothings