Total pages in book: 22
Estimated words: 22608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 113(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 113(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
And that's Paradijs.
It's one of those hush-hush playgrounds exclusively built for the world's rich and famous, and I feel out of place as soon as I step inside. Everyone looks so incredibly posh, and even the club employees look like millionaires themselves.
I'm all ready to be judged and found wanting when I find the courage to approach the front desk, but the man behind the counter simply smiles.
"Good afternoon, Ms. Duvall. Welcome to Paradijs. Mrs. Leventis has already informed us of your needs. It will be our utmost pleasure to be of service to you."
"Oh, um—-"
A woman in her late twenties suddenly pops by my side. "Hello, Ms. Duvall. I'm Shirley, and I'll be your personal assistant for today. Shall we?"
"We...shall?"
And so off we go to...a salon?
I turn to her in surprise. "I don't think—-"
"Mrs. Leventis provided very specific instructions, Ms. Duvall."
"But—-"
"Very, very specific," she emphasizes, "and it is Paradijs' strict policy to meet our members' every request." Shirley smiles at me again and gestures to one of the vacant seats in the salon. "Shall we?"
I smile back weakly, knowing when I'm defeated. "We shall."
And that's how I end up having my hair and makeup done and my sweats swapped for a sparkly ballgown with a pair of honest-to-goodness glass slippers.
Oh, professor!
Shirley beams in delight. "You look absolutely gorgeous, Ms. Duvall."
I study my reflection in the mirror. The gown Professor Leventis has selected is a lot more daring than I'd ever choose to wear, but...
"Are you sure I look...okay?" I ask worriedly.
"You look more than okay, Ms. Duvall," Shirley assures me. "But we should get going if you don't want to be late for the party."
Did she just say...party?
Chapter Twelve
"I'M SORRY TO BE THE bearer of bad news—-"
"Then don't say it." And after a moment, Zahir added grudgingly, "Your Highness."
"We've just confirmed the latest intel."
Fuck.
"You need to make a move."
FUCK.
"I need to make some arrangements."
"You have my full trust, Zahir. Just don't forget what's at stake."
Zahir was already on the move even before the Crown Prince had ended the call, and his mind hyper-focused on running and discarding potential scenarios with every step he took.
Overthrowing dictators, outsmarting terrorists, and outgunning drug lords, he was used to.
But this?
Escaping a den of hungry lions would have been much easier, dammit.
But for him to find the right words as he informed the love of his life that he was—-
obliged to dump her because he had to-—
enter into a relationship with the woman who ranked highest on Interpol's Most Wanted list, and—-
warn her against contacting him until his mission was complete—-
while making sure that he was able to say all of this in under five minutes?
It was, unfortunately, something neither his years in military academy nor business school had prepared him for.
Think, dammit.
Duty used to take precedence over everything, and calculating what it would cost him personally had never been an issue.
Until now.
Alysse had changed everything for Zahir. She, too, was his present and future...but for how long?
Did the right words even exist for a situation like this?
Her trust in him was still fragile, and they had only known each other for over a day.
A day, dammit.
How could he expect her to accept the nature of his work and understand what would also be expected of him as his wife?
Surrender, Zahir.
His mentor, Sheikh Altair Al-Atassi, had given him this advice years ago, on the day Kivran armed forces, together with their allies, had successfully stomped out a rebellion spurred by religious extremists.
It had only lasted for three months, but each day had been soaked in violence, and there had been times, so many fucking times, that Zahir himself had started to wonder if the only way to win the war was to settle for a pyrrhic victory that would cause an untold number of deaths on both sides.
Look around you, Zahir.
Celebrations like this won't last.
There will always be the next battle.
The next war.
And you might not believe me now, but there will come a time when everything you're used to relying on will fail you. That mind of yours which has always been able to come up with solutions in lightning speed? It's going to fail you one day. Your power? Your wealth? Your strength? It's not going to matter one bit.
When that day comes, you'll think you only have two choices.
Give up or die trying.
But I'm telling you now, there's another choice.
And that's to swallow your pride and admit you need God's help.
Zahir took a deep breath.
Closed his eyes.
And did exactly that.
I surrender, God.
I'm all out.
Help me.
He entered the hotel library, and it was the first time he had confronted a problem head-on without any solution in mind. He had no idea what to expect, but it was certainly not the sight of Alyssa's stricken face-—
What the hell?
—-just before her asshole of an ex took advantage of her shock by planting his mouth over Alysse's.