𝔇𝔞𝔴𝔫 𝔱𝔬 𝔇𝔲𝔰𝔨: 𝔐𝔞𝔫𝔢 𝔄𝔡 𝔙𝔢𝔰𝔭𝔢𝔯𝔲𝔪
A man to save, a dynasty to break and a love to die for.
Come dive into a modern and desi retelling of a beloved classic, Beauty and the Beast, part two of 'The Legacy Duet', Taimoor's story.
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Taimoor
𝕴 slammed my fist into the bag, reveling in the sharp burst of pain that jolted up my arm at the impact. The smell of sweat and violence stained the air. My muscles burned and sweat dripped down my forehead into my eyes, blurring my vision, but I didn't stop.
I'd started boxing seven years ago to regain some of the shape I'd lost after my accident, but it had since become my catharsis, my sanctuary. This was the only place I could unleash my feelings I kept under careful wraps in all other areas of my life. And a necessity when I had to deal with assholes like Daania's shit piece of a cousin. A necessity when I thought of Altamash, my father, and of Azaan. Of Seher's betrayal. Of my father's hatred for me. Of the pain my mother was going through now, mourning her son all over again and battling the fear of losing another one. Of the wounds, Zeenia was nursing, her guilt at failing her brothers nearly crushing her.
She hadn't said anything.
They never did.
And if you looked from the outside, it looked like we had moved on. But we never did.
And Daania.
The outlier. The unexpected caveat in all of this. Somewhere along the way, I'd started to care. The realization that I no longer wished to use her against her father had already slammed into me the night I'd torn the contract, sucking the breath from my lungs and making my tortured heart skip a beat. But her hesitation and the near panic attack had made me pull back. If I gave her freedom, she would run far, far away from me. She would be wise to. I'd been the reason why her family was nearly destroyed. But would I let her? Did I have that in me? Could I let her leave? Better yet, did she want to?
That night had barely been enough to satisfy my craving for her. I still replayed the memory of her writhing beneath me, her lithe supple body spread out in invitation, small perky breasts, those expressive eyes boring into my face, her hands grasping at my hair and legs holding me to her. They were enough to send me over the edge. The signals she'd sent me over the last few days were confusing, and I was out of practice with reading women. I was an observant man and I'd cataloged all the times she'd glanced in my direction when she thought I wasn't looking. And, of course, there was the way she reacted whenever I touched her.
Like I burned her, and she wanted to burn.
There was no way to know. No one to turn to. By the time I finished pummeling the bag, my body was a mess of aches and sweat, my mind still spinning.
"Ready sir?"
Reality threatened to overtake my high, but thankfully, Scorpio quickly stepped onto the mat, slapping his fists together and bouncing on his toes. This mat was the size of a regulation boxing ring in the middle of the space, providing us plenty of room, the equipment organized along the sidewall, while racks of weights and heavy bags took up the rest of the space.
