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.

THAT FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT.

Zahir had already taken one step forward when an invisible force seemed to hold him back, and a voice in his mind came roaring out of nowhere.

THINK.

And that was when Zahir realized this was what he had asked for.

Fuck.

Because God's answer was painfully better than anything he could've asked for, and agony ripped through Zahir as he took one last look at his Alysse.

I'm sorry, habibti.

It was so damn easy to imagine what she would think upon finding him gone.

And what she would go through when she realized a man like him was impossible to reach.

But neither of them had a choice.

Because this was the only way to ensure her safety.

Wait for me, my love.

He turned and walked away.

And with every step, he found himself shedding the part of him that had learned to love—-

Until he was once again the old Zahir.

One last time.

For king and country.