Falling for the impossible

Chapter3: The broken trope

Fahd lost his patience, lunging forward to grab her by the collar of her sweater. "Who are you working for?!" he roared.

​She shoved his hand away, adjusting her messy clothes. "Get your hands off me! I’m not working for anyone. You were an actor, your photo was public! I'm not the first author to use a handsome face for a cover. It's just my rotten luck that you're real." She pointed a finger at him. "And don't you dare touch me again."

​He scoffed. "Touch you? With that smell? You’re lucky I can even stand in the same room as you."

​Saba’s stomach gave a loud, treacherous growl. "Fine, just feed me! I’m starving. I promise I’ll change the name and the cover. But honestly, isn't this the part where the heroine faints from hunger, and the hero feels a 'pang' in his heart and moves her to a luxurious suite in his mansion? Why isn't that happening?"

​Fahd pinched the bridge of his nose, exhausted. She leaned in closer, whispering dreamily, "Aren't you feeling that 'pang' yet?"

​"You aren't leaving this place until you tell me who sent you," he snapped. "And what the hell is a 'pang'?"

​She fluttered her eyelashes in a desperate, failed attempt at seduction. "It’s the moment the hero realizes he’s falling for her."

​His face contorted in pure disgust. "Fall for you? In that state? Wake up, girl. This isn't a story. You’re a prisoner."

​Without warning, Saba’s hand flew out, delivering a sharp slap to his cheek. His jaw tightened in a flash of lethal rage.

​"Let me out!" she screamed. "And for your information, I’m way too 'extra' to be a spy. Does this look like the face of a secret agent?"

​Fahd grabbed her hair, forcing her to look at him. "A brat like you... a tiny little thing... actually dared to slap me? Fine. By God, you’re staying here without food, without water, and"—he mimicked her annoying tone—"without the bathroom!"

​"No! Wait! I'm sorry!" she wailed like a trapped rabbit. "Please, not the bathroom!"

​"Apologize!" he thundered.

​"I’m an i***t! I’m sorry, sir!" she blurted out. Then, she paused, her eyes wide. "Wait... aren't you supposed to kiss me forcefully now as a punishment? Or have the tropes changed recently?"

​He pushed her away with a look of pure exasperation and turned his back. Saba realized he was actually going to leave her there. She needed a plan. She turned to the concrete wall and began to bang her forehead against it until she felt the warm trickle of blood sliding down her face.

​"Ow... that actually hurts... it really hurts!" she whimpered. "My head is open! Curse you, Fahd the Leopard!"

​Fahd spun around, shocked to see her collapsing to the floor at the sight of her own blood. He rushed to her, catching her in his powerful arms. As her eyes drifted shut, he caught her final, delirious whisper:

​"Finally... I’m going... to the mansion..."

​A reluctant, half-amused smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "This girl is insane," he muttered. "Absolutely out of her mind."

Saba opened her eyes with great difficulty. Her head throbbed, a painful reminder of her dramatic collision with the wall the night before. Feeling a bit disoriented, she propped herself up against the smooth, dark wood of the headboard. Her fingers brushed against a medical bandage on her forehead; a small wave of relief washed over her—the "Beast" actually had a shred of mercy in him.

​She glanced down at her clothes and let out a huff of pure annoyance. They were the same filthy rags from the cellar.

​"What?! Seriously?!" she muttered to herself. "Where’s the part where the heroine wakes up to find herself in silk pajamas because the hero sent a maid to change her clothes while she was out? Ugh! Now I can't even start a dramatic fight with him about 'how dare he touch me' while I was unconscious."

​She gingerly lifted a corner of her dusty sweater and caught a whiff of herself. Her nose wrinkled in disgust. "Eww... okay, maybe he’s right to be repulsed. But wait—how do those book heroines always smell like musk and jasmine after days of being kidn*pped? That’s another lie I’ve been fed!"

​The heavy door creaked open. Saba jumped, but it was only Fahd, followed by a beautiful woman in her thirties wearing a neat maid’s uniform.

​Fahd tossed a garment bag onto the bed. "Take a shower and change. Your scent is starting to colonize the entire mansion," he said, his tone dry and biting.

​Saba arched an eyebrow, looking at the bag with disdain. "Really? A bag? Where’s the walk-in closet filled with designer clothes and sparkling accessories I’m supposed to indulge in?"

​Fahd didn’t answer. Instead, he stepped closer until he was looming over her. He reached for the holster at his waist and drew his handgun. The metallic click of the safety being disengaged echoed in the quiet room. Saba froze, shrinking back into the pillows as he pointed the weapon toward her.

​"One more word," he whispered with lethal patience, "and I will blow your brains out. You are giving me a chronic migraine."

​Saba’s head bobbed frantically—left, right, up, down.

​"What?" he snapped. "What are you trying to say now?"

​She swallowed hard, her voice coming out as a tiny squeak. "Just... move the gun away, Mr. Expensive. I could be threatened with a water pistol and I’d comply. Don't waste your expensive bullets on me."

​With a grunt of indifference, he holstered his weapon and strode out, slamming the door. Saba finally let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

​The maid, Faiza, spoke up kindly. "Don't worry, the dressing room will be filled soon. We’re just waiting for the online orders to arrive. Now, come along, I’ll help you get ready."

​Saba curled her lip. "Some hero he is. A 'Leopard' and an 'Officer' who can’t even get a wardrobe delivered overnight like the men in my books?"

​Faiza chuckled at the girl’s wit. Saba turned to her, eyes wide with sudden curiosity. "Tell me... where is the Dada?"

​Faiza frowned. "The Dada?"

​"Yes! The old, kind nanny who raised Fahd!" Saba explained excitedly. "The one who’s supposed to love me, take my side, and tell me all about his tragic, tortured past so I can find a reason to fall for him."

​Faiza pressed a hand to her forehead, realizing that Fahd was right—this girl was truly delusional. "There is no nanny here, dear. Fahd’s mother is alive and well; she raised him herself. He had a perfectly normal, stable upbringing. No tragic past here."

​Saba bounced on the bed, her knees sinking into the mattress. "What do you mean no tragic past?! How am I supposed to pity him and forgive his crimes now? Look, find him a tragic past! Even if you have to tell me he had the measles three times as a kid!"

​Faiza couldn't help but laugh as she led the eccentric girl to the luxurious bathroom.

​The scent of expensive French soap worked wonders, washing away the grime of the cellar and the exhaustion of the past few days. After drying off, Saba stared at her new clothes but a mischievous, "novel-inspired" idea took hold. She ignored the outfit and wrapped herself in a plush white bathrobe instead.

​She stood by the door, waiting. And waiting.

​"Seriously? Not even this?" she grumbled, sitting on the edge of the bed in a huff. "I’m supposed to walk out in a towel or a robe and find Fahd sitting in that chair, brooding and smoking, waiting to catch a glimpse of a stray water droplet on my skin... This is unfair! Who wrote this script? I’m filing a lawsuit for fraud!"

​She waited for an hour, changing her "brooding pose" every ten minutes out of pure boredom.

​In his study, Fahd checked his watch. She was late for lunch. He summoned Faiza. "Did you tell her the time for lunch?"

​"Yes, Fahd Pasha," Faiza replied with a nod.

​Fahd stood up, his jaw set. "I hope she drowned in the tub so I can finally have some peace. It would be an act of God."

​He stormed toward her room, his patience frayed to a single thread. He had consumed more caffeine in the last forty-eight hours than in his entire life just to deal with her nonsensical chatter.

​He kicked the door open without knocking. Saba gasped, clutching the collar of her robe. "Fahd?! How dare you invade my Eclass—I mean, my room—without permission?"

​Fahd rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, exhaling a sharp breath. "Move. Lunch is ready. Don’t you dare complain later that I’m starving you."

​As he turned to leave, she let out a forced, dramatic gasp. "Don't enter without knocking! I... I just got out of the shower. My hair is wet, I might catch a cold!"

​Fahd turned back, a cynical smirk on his face. "Wet? Your hair is bone dry. You probably didn't even wash, you little gremlin. You're going to infect the whole house."

​Saba stood up, marching toward him and wagging a finger in his face. "I am not a gremlin! I took a shower, you stone-faced wall! But a normal hero was supposed to burst in while I was in my towel! I’m clean, but anyone locked in a basement for days is going to smell a bit... organic!"

​Fahd’s eyes darkened. Her eyes were blazing like two pools of angry honey. Suddenly, he reached out and gripped her waist, pulling her flush against him. Saba’s heart did a panicked somersault.

​"Oh? So you wanted me to see you in your robe? Hmm? And what else? What am I supposed to do now that I’ve caught you?"

​Saba’s eyes went wide. For the first time, she felt a real, non-novelistic danger in his proximity. She tried to squirm away, but he swept her off her feet, carrying her toward the bed.

​"Would you like me to help you get dressed?" he whispered with a dangerous, dark glint in his eyes.

​Tears pricked her eyes as she shook her head frantically. She finally realized the fire she was playing with. His expression instantly shifted back to cold, hard gravity as he dropped her roughly onto the mattress.

​"You have five minutes to be at the table," he thundered. "Or I swear to God, I will blow this house up just to be rid of your stupidity!"

​He slammed the door behind him. Saba rubbed her lower back, wincing in pain. "Curse you! My spine is literally snapped in half, you cold-hearted jerk!"