Page 43

Why won't you look at me?" she whispered,

desperation threading through her voice.

Oman's gaze flicked away, as though she were nothing more than a nuisance—an insect beneath his boot. Then, he scoffed.

The sound cut sharper than a blade.

"You are weak."

Tara's breath stalled.

"You think you can stand beside me? That you're worthy of me?" His voice was low, laced with quiet disdain. His eyes darkened. "Last I checked, you ran off like a bitch in heat to another man"

Let me remind you," he whispered, voice like venom.

"You were nothing before me." His voice was steady, brutal. "You were a beggar roaming the streets, desperate for a man's attention, and unluckily, that man was me. But now you're free—you can run off to any man you like. I don't care."

He wasn't just speaking to her—he was trying to destroy her. Tear apart the pieces of herself that had once believed in him.

Tara's nails dug into her palms.

"I've done enough favors?" His lips curled into something cruel. "You are nothing but a burden, Tara. Yet, I am doing you another favor."

The world around her seemed to vanish, reduced to nothing but the raw weight of his words.

Her hands trembled, her chest tightened. She wanted to scream, to hit him, to make him feel the way she was drowning in his contempt.

Instead, she shook her head in disbelief.

Oman's expression didn't waver.

"Why are you doing this?" she said, her voice shaking.

He let out a sharp breath, stepping closer. "You're definitely a dumb ass."

Tara flinched—not from fear, but from shame. From the sting of being mocked by the very man whose name she once whispered like a prayer.

She staggered back, her chest rising in shallow, ragged breaths.

He made her feel like a fool.

Like a lovesick fool who would follow him blindly into the fire. And maybe she had been.

But not anymore.

Now, she saw the truth, stripped of illusions and hope.

He wasn't just the man who held her once with such fire in his eyes. He was a commander.

A war-hardened beast forged in blood and rage.

A man who broke empires... and broke her just the same.

And Layla—

Layla was his equal. His mirror. His partner in every way Tara never could be.

Laila was sharp. Fearless. Beautiful.

She didn't flinch. Didn't beg. Didn't love blindly.

Layla belonged in his world.

Tara... had never stood a chance. Maybe... he did find his better half.

Maybe that's why he left.

Because Tara?

She was just the girl he pitied.

The beggar he rescued for his sister's sake.

The burden he never wanted to carry.

The street rat with tangled hair.

A pawn in his grand, brutal game.

And she had loved him.

God, how she had loved him.

But no more.

"Tara" he spoke in a slow voice.

She Didn't glance back. She kept her eyes forward, arms folded tight, as if his voice no longer reached her.

"Tara" he spoke again but she continued to ignore him.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to reel in the storm gathering inside him. His jaw clenched, muscles twitching.

"ARE YOU FUCKING DEAF?" he snapped suddenly, voice booming through the tent.

Tara jumped, her shoulders stiffening, but still... she didn't look at him.

His eyes turned into something dark.

He took two strides forward, and before she could step away, his hand gripped her hair, yanking her head back roughly. Her breath caught in her throat as her face was jerked up to meet his.

He was inches from her—close enough for her to taste the rage in his breath.

But she didn't scream.

Didn't cry.

And worst of all—she still wouldn't meet his eyes.

Her gaze stayed lowered, like he didn't exist. That was what drove him mad.

"So you think this is a game?" he hissed, lowering his face until his lips nearly brushed her cheek. His voice was venomous, deadly soft.

"Then let's play."

He leaned in closer, and she could feel the cruelty blooming in his words before they even formed.

"Your dear friend Sujain," he murmured.

"He likes staying close to you. Always hovering... touching. And you—" his eyes flickered with rage, "you don't seem to mind."

Tara's blood turned cold.

"So why don't I make it easier for both of you?" he whispered.

"Why don't I give you his hand as a gift? That way, you can always keep his touch close."

She knew what he meant. Her eyes widened, horror blooming like fire through her chest. She was scares because she knew he could do that.

She pushed his chest away but he didn't bulged and stood like a stone.

"You are crazy" she said.

He tilted his head, almost amused by her fear, almost gentle in mockery.

"You have no idea," he said.

But she never got it.

Her father had left her without a second glance.

And the man she was bound to—the one she thought might finally be her home—had abandoned her just the same.

She was left adrift, like something broken. Useless. Unwanted.

There were days she believed she was cursed.

Cursed by the desert itself.

For how could a place so vast, so empty, carry so much pain?

But destiny had other plans.

Because that same cruel man—the one who had shattered her—would return. He would come back like a storm, uninvited, unstoppable, demanding what he once discarded. Claiming rights he no longer deserved.

Only this time, she would not break.

She would not bow.

Because she was no longer the little girl he could bend to his will.

No longer his to control.

She will challenge him and his so called love.