Page 5 of Her Irresistible Sheik (Al-Sintra Family #9)

The alarms were as shrill as they were sudden—piercing the council chamber with a metallic wail that sent a shockwave through the room.

Everyone seated at the long table jolted upright, heads snapping toward the ceiling speakers.

Papers rustled, chairs scraped against the marble floor, and a collective sense of dread crackled in the air like static.

The heavy double doors burst open.

Khal’s personal bodyguards stormed in, weapons drawn, eyes scanning every corner with the intensity of men expecting gunfire. Their presence ignited a fresh wave of panic among the meeting participants, but the guards focused only on Khal.

Khal rose immediately, the legs of his chair screeching across the floor. His expression, already hard from a morning of tense negotiations, turned glacial. “What’s going on?” he demanded, his voice low but edged with fury.

“There’s been a breach in the palace, Your Highness,” one of the guards replied, his stance rigid, finger gently touching his earpiece as if he were listening to more information coming through the communication lines.

Khal’s gaze sharpened. “Where?”

The guard hesitated, one hand pressed to the device tucked into his ear. His brow furrowed as he listened, then he gave a short nod. “The palace is secured, Your Highness.”

Khal’s jaw flexed. “My family?” he asked, his voice tighter now. “My grandson?”

The guard straightened as if bracing himself. “Everyone is accounted for. Prince Griffin is with Prince Zayn in the nursery under full guard.”

A shallow breath escaped Khal’s lungs, but his shoulders remained tense, muscles coiled under the tailored suit jacket. “Who was the intended target?” he asked, already certain it wasn’t him—not this time. Something colder, heavier twisted in his gut. A father’s instinct.

Before the guard could respond, the doors creaked again, and Tasha Al-Sintra stepped inside. Her face was pale, eyes wide with restrained fear.

Khal crossed the room in two long strides and pulled her into his arms. She sank against him without hesitation, her fingers bunching the fabric at his back. He pressed a kiss to her temple, but his eyes were still on the guard.

“What do you know?” Khal snapped.

The guard’s expression darkened. He touched his earpiece again. “Preliminary assessment suggests the breach may have been directed at Princess Nahla, Your Highness. That’s not confirmed—”

“ Where is Nahla? ” a new voice cut in, sharp with alarm.

Crown Prince Zayn barreled into the room, his son tucked tightly against his chest. Griffin, just a year old, clung to his father’s shirt with sleepy confusion, his head resting against his father’s broad shoulder.

“I heard someone got as far as the family quarters,” Zayn said, scanning the room as if expecting his sister to materialize in front of him. “Where’s Nahla?”

“She’s safe, Your Highness,” the guard answered quickly. “She’s in her apartment with a full detail. No injuries. She’s unharmed.”

Relief swept through the chamber like a collective exhale. Shoulders lowered, hands dropped from resting tensely on tables or hips.

But not Khal’s.

He turned on the guard, his eyes blazing. “Then why the hell is someone targeting my daughter?” he snarled.

A new figure stepped into the room—Mark Stint, the security director. His expression was grim, his hands tight around a laptop as if it were a loaded weapon.

“I think it’s because of this, Your Highness,” he announced, setting the laptop on the table with a muted clunk . One keystroke later, a photo filled the screen.

The golden puppy was the first thing everyone noticed—its fur practically glowing in the late afternoon light. It sat in the middle of a dingy Parisian alley, tongue out, all softness and innocence.

But then the eyes shifted to the background.

Two men. One of them blurred. The other crystal clear.

“This man,” Mark said, pointing, “is the assassin known as “Clyde”. He’s wanted in over a dozen countries. No one’s ever captured a clear image of him. Until now.”

He paused, letting the weight of that sentence settle.

“This photo went viral several days ago—Princess Nahla’s work. She uploaded it to promote the adoption of the puppy. Unfortunately,” Mark tapped the image again, “Clyde is carrying a box marked with Cambodian symbols. We translated them. It says explosives. ”

Tasha inhaled sharply, burying her face into Khal’s chest as the realization hit.

“Twenty-four hours after this image was taken,” Mark continued, “two Vietnamese generals were killed in a targeted car bombing. No trace of the bomber. Same MO. We’re confident this is Clyde.”

Khal wrapped both arms around his wife now, holding her tighter. “That’s the puppy I told you about,” he said quietly, as if the connection gave the moment more weight. “Nahla spotted him near the restaurant. Ran into traffic to get the shot.”

The proud ache in his voice gave way to a new surge of dread.

Tasha let out a sound that was half sob, half breath. Her fingers curled into Khal’s lapel.

“Where is this guy now?” Zayn asked, his voice low and steady despite the tension in his clenched jaw. His eyes didn’t leave the laptop screen, even as Griffin sighed sleepily, secure in his father’s strong arms.

Mark exhaled. “We have footage of him escaping through a service corridor. Last visual was four minutes ago.”

Zayn's head jerked up. “Four minutes? Can’t you send a team after him?”

“I did, Your Highness. But with his training?” Mark said, grim. “He could be halfway to the airport. Or already gone. This guy doesn’t linger.”

Silence fell across the room like a curtain.

Khal looked at his wife, then at Zayn, then back at the screen. The image of the puppy—so innocent, so perfectly timed—sat frozen beside a walking ghost, a man of death caught by accident in the lens of a woman who had no idea what she’d captured.

And now she was a target.