My Ice Cold Prince Charming

CHAPTER NINE

Anaya's POV

The study door swung open.

And there he stood.

Zayaan.

The phone was still pressed against his ear, his broad frame filling the doorway as his dark eyes landed directly on me.

For one suspended second, everything stopped.

The low hum of the chandelier overhead.

The frantic pounding of my heart.

Even the distant sounds of the mansion seemed to vanish.

His gaze sharpened instantly.

Cold.

Piercing.

Dangerously unreadable.

I couldn’t breathe.

On the other end of the call, a faint voice crackled through the receiver, but Zayaan didn’t respond.

He was staring at me.

And in that stare, I knew.

He knew exactly what I had been doing.

Slowly, deliberately, he lowered the phone.

His eyes never left mine.

“Call me back later.”

His voice was calm.

Too calm.

The line disconnected with a soft beep.

And somehow, that tiny sound made my blood run colder.

My throat tightened painfully.

Every instinct screamed at me to run.

But my feet refused to move.

He took one slow step forward.

Then another.

The polished floor beneath his shoes barely made a sound, yet each step echoed through my chest like a warning.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low enough to send a chill down my spine.

“How much did you hear?”

The question sliced through the silence.

“I—”

My voice failed me.

I swallowed hard.

His expression darkened.

“That wasn’t difficult to answer.”

“I didn’t mean to listen.”

The words rushed out, shaky and uneven.

His jaw tightened.

“Yet somehow, you found yourself outside my study in the middle of the night.”

I opened my mouth, desperate to explain.

“I was only walking and then I heard voices and—”

“And your curiosity overcame your common sense?”

The cold interruption made me flinch.

His eyes narrowed.

The same terrifying sharpness I had seen during our earliest days in this house returned fully now.

Gone was the quiet man from the prayer room.

Gone was the calm stranger who had defended me against Samira earlier.

Standing before me now was the Zayaan I had first met.

The man who could freeze an entire room with a single look.

He stepped fully into the hallway and closed the study door behind him with a soft click.

The sound felt final.

Like a trap snapping shut.

Then he moved closer.

Too close.

Instinctively, I stepped back.

He noticed.

And kept advancing.

Until my back met the cold wall.

My pulse thundered violently.

He stopped only inches away.

Close enough for me to feel the intimidating heat radiating from him.

Close enough for the faint scent of sandalwood and oud to cloud my senses.

I kept my eyes lowered.

Partly from fear.

Partly because looking directly at him felt impossible.

“Look at me.”

The command was quiet.

Absolute.

Slowly, I lifted my gaze.

And instantly wished I hadn’t.

There was no softness in his face.

No trace of warmth.

Only cold, controlled authority.

“Just because I have tolerated your presence in this house,” he said slowly, each word deliberate enough to cut, “does not mean you have the right to do as you please.”

Shame burned through me.

“I wasn’t trying to disrespect you.”

“Weren’t you?”

His voice sharpened.

“You were listening outside my private study.”

I clenched my trembling fingers.

“I said I didn’t mean to.”

He laughed.

The sound was humorless.

A cold exhale through his nose.

“You seem to have developed a dangerous habit, Anaya.”

My breath caught.

His eyes darkened.

“First, questioning things that do not concern you. Then wandering where you shouldn’t. And now listening to conversations that were never meant for your ears.”

The accusation stung.

Something inside me twisted painfully.

Maybe it was exhaustion.

Maybe it was humiliation.

Or maybe it was the hurt still lingering from hearing him call me a problem.

Whatever it was, it gave me enough courage to speak.

“I only stopped because I heard you talking about me.”

The words escaped before I could stop them.

For the briefest moment, something flickered in his expression.

Gone too quickly to read.

Then his face hardened again.

“And that gave you permission to eavesdrop?”

“No.”

My voice shook.

“But what was I supposed to think?”

He said nothing.

I forced myself to continue.

“You said I was becoming a problem.”

The words came out quieter this time.

More vulnerable.

His jaw tightened.

Silence stretched heavily between us.

I searched his face desperately.

For anger.

For guilt.

For anything.

But his expression remained unreadable.

Finally, he spoke.

“What you heard was not your concern.”

The coldness of his answer hit harder than if he had shouted.

I stared at him.

A strange ache settled deep in my chest.

The memory of the prayer room flashed through my mind again.

The sincerity in his recitation.

The peace on his face.

The quiet devotion that had shaken everything I thought I knew about him.

And suddenly, I couldn’t stop myself.

“Which one is real?”

The question slipped out before I could think.

His brows drew together.

“What?”

My voice trembled.

But I pressed on.

“The man who stands before Allah with humility…”

I swallowed.

“Or this one?”

The air shifted instantly.

His entire body went still.

The dangerous stillness of a predator deciding whether to strike.

His eyes darkened into something almost lethal.

His expression became glacial.

For several agonizing seconds, he simply stared at me.

Then his hand shot out.

His fingers wrapped around my wrist.

A gasp tore from my throat as pain flared through my burned skin.

The ointment I had applied earlier had barely soothed the sting.

Now his grip reignited it instantly.

His eyes dropped to the reddened skin.

And for the briefest second—

his hold loosened.

But only for a second.

Then his face hardened again.

“You have crossed enough boundaries for one day.”

His voice was low.

Deadly calm.

Tears burned behind my eyes.

“You’re hurting me.”

The words came out barely above a whisper.

His jaw clenched.

Slowly, he released me.

I immediately cradled my wrist against my chest.

The skin throbbed painfully.

He took one step back.

The distance should have eased the tension.

Instead, it made his next words hit even harder.

“Whatever assumptions you have built in that reckless mind of yours…”

His gaze locked onto mine.

“Destroy them.”

My breath hitched.

“This marriage is an arrangement.”

Each word landed like a blow.

“Nothing more.”

The ache in my chest deepened.

For reasons I hated myself for.

I should not have cared.

Should not have felt disappointment.

And yet—

I did.

“Then why defend me today?”

The question escaped before I could stop it.

Something shifted in his eyes.

A brief flicker.

Gone too quickly to understand.

When he answered, his tone was cold enough to freeze the blood in my veins.

“I corrected disorder in my house.”

The words fell coldly between us.

For a moment, silence stretched.

Then slowly, Zayaan turned back toward me.

Something had changed in his expression.

The dangerous stillness in his eyes sent fear curling through my stomach.

He took one deliberate step closer.

Then another.

“I think the reason you’ve grown wings,” he said quietly, his voice calm enough to terrify, “is because you have become far too comfortable here.”

My throat tightened.

His gaze sharpened.

“You have mistaken my restraint for weakness.”

Before I could respond, his hand shot out and closed around my wrist.

Pain tore through my burned skin.

A gasp escaped my lips.

His grip loosened for the briefest second as his eyes flickered to the angry redness there.

But then his expression hardened.

And he tightened his hold.

“Zayaan please—”

“Enough.”

The single word silenced me instantly.

He leaned closer, his voice dropping lower.

“It is time you remembered your place.”

Cold dread flooded me.

No.

Before I could pull away, he turned and began dragging me down the corridor.

Panic surged instantly.

My trembling feet struggled to keep up.

And then I saw where he was leading me.

The Way to The Room.

My blood ran cold.

“No.”

The whisper escaped before I could stop it.

He said nothing.

The polished floors blurred beneath my feet as he pulled me forward.

Every step tightened the knot of terror in my chest.

I knew this path.

I remembered it.

The suffocating darkness.

The biting cold.

The endless silence.

The crushing isolation.

The Room.

“No— please.”

I dug my heels into the floor.

Forcing him to stop.

His shoulders stiffened.

Slowly, he turned to face me.

Tears blurred my vision.

“Please,” I whispered again, my voice trembling. “Not there.”

For a fraction of a second, something flickered across his face.

Hesitation.

So brief I almost thought I imagined it.

Then it vanished.

His jaw hardened.

“You should have considered the consequences before deciding to eavesdrop.”

My heart pounded violently.

“I’m sorry.”

The words came broken.

Desperate.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“Intent does not erase action.”

His voice was merciless.

And then he resumed walking.

Dragging me forward despite my resistance.

When we reached the familiar black door, my breathing became ragged.

The sight of it alone was enough to send terror clawing through my chest.

I remembered every second spent behind it.

Every suffocating minute trapped in darkness.

Every prayer whispered through trembling lips.

Zayaan reached into his pocket.

The metallic sound of the key turning made my knees weaken.

The lock clicked.

The door creaked open.

Darkness waited beyond it.

Silent.

Cold.

Merciless.

I shook my head frantically.

“Please, Zayaan.”

My voice cracked.

“I said I’m sorry.”

He turned to me fully then.

His face unreadable.

His dark eyes empty of warmth.

“I warned you what happens when boundaries are crossed.”

Tears spilled down my cheeks.

“I won’t do it again.”

His expression didn’t change.

“Tonight, you will learn why my warnings are not to be ignored.”

And before I could react—

he pushed me forward.

I stumbled into the freezing darkness.

Pain shot through my burned hands as I hit the floor.

I turned sharply.

“Please!”

For one suspended second, he stood in the doorway.

The dim hallway light casting sharp shadows across his face.

I searched desperately for some trace of mercy.

Some sign of the man I had seen in prayer.

But all I found was coldness.

Then he spoke.

His voice low.

Final.

“Perhaps this will remind you exactly who you are in this house.”

The words sliced through me.

And then—

the heavy door slammed shut.

The sound echoed violently through the room.

A second later came the metallic click of the lock.

My breath hitched.

“No!”

I scrambled to the door, pounding against it.

“Zayaan! Please!”

My voice shook.

“Open it!”

Silence.

Then his voice came through the wood.

Cold.

Controlled.

Absolute.

“Spend the night reflecting on your mistakes, Anaya.”

Footsteps.

Retreating.

Steady.

Unhurried.

Leaving me alone.

Again.

The darkness pressed in from every side.

And as I sank trembling to the cold floor, one horrifying thought consumed me.

The man who stood before Allah with his forehead pressed to the ground…

was the same man who could lock me away without a shred of mercy.

And somehow—

that contradiction terrified me more than The Room itself.