Fire & Fury

The estate's hallways were dimly lit, shadows flickering across the polished floors as Beren walked ahead, her pace quick. She wasn't supposed to be here. Not after what she had seen. Not after stepping into Emir's world of blood and silence.

But something about him—something infuriating—made her clench her fists instead of running away.

And just when she thought she was safe from his presence—

"Hurry up, innocent little rabbit."

Beren stopped dead in her tracks, her head snapping back. Emir stood there, leaning casually against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest, dangerously amused. His dark green eyes glinted under the dim light, his lips curved into something between a smirk and a challenge.

She turned fully, narrowing her eyes. "What did you just say?"

Emir pushed off the wall, taking slow, measured steps towards her. "I said, hurry up. Do you even realize how slow you walk? Even a damn snail would outrun you."

Beren's lips parted in outrage. "Excuse me?!"

His smirk deepened. "Do I look like someone who repeats himself?"

She huffed, turning away. "I don't have time for this nonsense."

But before she could take another step, she felt it—the heat of his presence behind her, dangerously close.

His breath tickled against her ear as his voice dropped low. "Good. The less you talk, the better it sounds."

Beren's heart skipped a beat. She spun around, stepping back as she glared at him. "Don't you have anything better to do? Or have you signed a contract to annoy me 24/7?"

Emir chuckled, tilting his head. "Oh, I don't need to try. You fit into that category all on your own."

Her jaw clenched. "You—!"

But before she could complete her sentence, Emir casually reached out, his fingers brushing against her wrist. She stiffened.

His voice was velvet and steel. "Beren, if you want to survive in my world, you'll need more than just a sharp tongue. You need a sharp mind."

She yanked her hand back. "I have no interest in being a part of your world!"

His smirk never faded. If anything, it deepened—cruelly intrigued.

"Oh, innocent little thing, you already are."

Beren's breathing turned shallow. The cold wall behind her did nothing to cool the fire spreading through her veins. Emir was too close—too overwhelming. His towering presence, the scent of leather and danger, the way his dark green eyes gleamed in the dim light—it was suffocating.

Her mind screamed at her to push him away, but her body—her traitorous, trembling body—refused to move.

"What is your problem?" she snapped, desperate to break the tension.

Emir smirked, tilting his head as if considering her question. "Your existence."

Beren blinked. "Excuse me?"

His smirk deepened, his gaze flickering over her face, as if memorizing every tiny reaction she had to him. "I don't enjoy repeating myself."

Beren let out a short, frustrated breath. "Why are you so annoying?"

Emir's lips curled into something dark and teasing. "I couldn't find any other way to get your attention."

Her breath caught in her throat. He was playing with her.

She turned away in a huff. "I'm leaving."

But before she could take a step, his hand shot out, grabbing her wrist.

A spark.

Beren froze.

His fingers were warm—rough, firm, inescapable.

She turned back, her brown eyes locking onto his dark green ones. "Let me go."

Emir leaned in, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Not until you tell me how you ended up in my lair."

Her pulse hammered.

Beren lifted her chin, defiant. "I already told you, I don't know."

Emir studied her for a long moment, then—**to her utter horror—**his smirk turned devilish.

"I can tell when someone is lying, sweetheart."

Beren yanked her hand back with all her strength, stepping away.

"Your eyes are strange," she muttered under her breath.

Emir's brows raised. "Oh? And now my eyes are your problem?"

Beren scoffed, crossing her arms. "Not just your eyes, your entire personality is a problem."

Emir's chuckle was dark, amused. He stepped forward again, making her step back—until her spine hit the cold wall.

Trapped.

He braced an arm beside her head, leaning in, his scent—**leather, spice, danger—**crawling into her senses.

His voice was a slow burn. "What exactly is your problem with my personality, Beren?"

She swallowed. "Everything."

Emir chuckled, his free hand lifting **slowly, deliberately—**until his fingers brushed against her jaw.

Beren flinched, her breath catching.

His touch was barely there, yet it ignited something deep inside her.

"I like everything you have a problem with," Emir murmured, his thumb grazing her cheekbone oh-so-lightly. "So tell me, Beren, what will you do now?"

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

This man was dangerous.

And worst of all—he knew exactly what he was doing to her.