HIS PRINCESS

CHAPTER 16

Then he turned and walked out, leaving Ariana alone in the quiet room. A chill ran down her spine as Khalid's words lingered in the quiet space.

---

Khalid entered a private office space just below the suite level. One of his assistants stood waiting, holding a tablet.

He stood like a man who had been disappointed by the world too early. His frame was sharp—tall, lean but built like restraint. The kind of face people called beautiful until they saw the cold behind his eyes. His silence didn’t ask for respect. It demanded it.

Every step he took felt intentional, like someone raised where slipping up meant losing everything. He didn’t raise his voice, didn’t smile easily, and never gave away more than a glance. But when he looked at you—really looked—it felt like your secrets stopped being yours.

"Was anyone scheduled to access that suite?"

The assistant shook his head. "Only the cleaning staff, sir. But no one signed in with their actual credentials. The logs were wiped."

Khalid took the tablet. "Pull the hallway footage. Also check the side entrance."

"We’re recovering deleted entries from the log system now," the assistant added. "But someone with authorised clearance likely helped her."

"Figure out who. If you can’t trace it from the system, trace it from her face. I want to know everything about her within the next few hours."

"Understood."

Khalid stood by the large office window, arms crossed. "Start the review from the moment she entered."

"What if she ---"

Khalid glanced at him, cutting him off in a low voice. "She won’t. Not if she values the rest of her life."

Drake Sterling stood silently for a moment, relief washing through him. On any other day, this dare-devil would already be facing consequences she couldn’t imagine. Khalid’s mood today was… manageable.

Drake tapped the last page of the report, then glanced up. “Also—about the night of the blackout.”

Khalid didn’t respond, but the slight movement in his jaw was enough to keep him talking.

“We tried pulling footage from the west side alley, near the Crosslink district. Her face wasn't clear. She kept her head away from the cameras the whole time.”

“She?” Khalid asked quietly.

Drake nodded. “A woman called emergency response and waited until they arrived, then left before anyone could speak to her. Security said she stayed in the shadows, didn’t say her name. The paramedics assumed she was a passerby.”

“She left no personal information?”

“Not even a name. We checked for voice matches from the call, but the clip was too short, and she spoke softly.”

Khalid looked away, but something unreadable passed across his face.

Drake stepped back. “Do you want me to drop it?”

Khalid was quiet for a beat. Then, “No.”

He turned slowly. “Find her.”

Drake nodded once, the silence stretching.

“People don’t just disappear,” Khalid added, almost to himself. “Not someone that calm.”

---

Drake returned with a folder tucked under his arm and a faint tension around his jaw. He paused at the door, then stepped inside without being asked.

“The lady that broke into your suite --She’s twenty-three. Her name is Ariana Ross,” he began, placing the file on Khalid’s desk. “Born to Irene and Cameron Ross. Raised by a different family, the Bymes, until she was eighteen. They kicked her out when their actual daughter resurfaced. She returned to the Ross family about five years ago.”

Khalid didn’t turn from the window. His hands remained crossed behind his back, head slightly tilted.

Drake continued, “Her father’s in police custody. Charged with fraud, tax evasion and a few other pending offences. The mother passed away few days after giving birth to her younger sister, Kiara. The grandfather’s the only one she’s got now, apparently. He’s in critical condition at a private hospital.”

Khalid finally moved. He picked up the folder, flipped it open, and scanned the first page with a neutral face. His eyes paused briefly on a grainy ID photo of Ariana clipped to the inside.

He closed the folder and set it back down.

“Really pitiful but the nerves--” he trailed off, voice neither cold nor warm.

Drake nodded slowly. “She’s lucky--”

“I know,” Khalid cut in.

Then he turned and walked toward the door.

“Keep monitoring her. Quietly. I don’t want a word about this incident getting out to my grandmother or anyone else.”

“Yes, sir.”

Khalid paused with one hand on the door handle. “And tell the hotel to erase the suite from today’s record.”

Drake gave a single nod. “Got it.”

Khalid left without another word, the soft sound of the door closing behind him.

---

The black town car vanished into the rain-slicked streets, leaving Kiara shivering slightly under the villa's awning. The elevator ride was silent, thick with the scent of cold metal and her own nervous sweat. When the doors opened, Sebastian sat like he owned time—one arm stretched across the back of the couch, a drink in his hand, and that face carved from cold perfection. He wasn’t handsome in the soft way; he was striking in the way that screams trouble.The glow from the city lights flickered faintly through the tall lounge windows, casting broken shadows across the room.

"Dry off," he stated, his voice flat, gesturing vaguely with the glass towards a folded towel on a side table. Water dripped from her hair onto the marble floor.

Kiara wiped her face and arms, the rough cotton catching on her chilled skin. She approached the living area, feeling absurdly exposed in her simple dress. Sebastian finally turned, his gaze sweeping over her – not leering, but assessing.

He set his glass down. "The bedroom." It wasn't an invitation; it was an instruction.

The room was dim, dominated by a massive bed with charcoal-gray sheets. City lights painted shifting patterns on the ceiling. Kiara stood awkwardly near the door as Sebastian shrugged off his jacket, then began unbuttoning his shirt with utmost detachment. Her heart hammered against her ribs.

"Strip," he said, not looking at her as he draped his shirt over a chair.

Her fingers fumbled with the zipper at her back. It caught. She tugged harder, a flush creeping up her neck. Sebastian watched her struggle for a moment, a flicker of something – impatience? Amusement? – in his eyes before he closed the distance. His hands were cool and steady as he freed the zipper and pushed the dress from her shoulders. It pooled at her feet.

He guided her backwards until her calves hit the bed. "Sit."

She sat, the cool sheets a shock against her skin. He knelt, removing her shoes, then her socks, his movements impersonal. When his hands slid up her calves to her thighs, she flinched, a small, involuntary gasp escaping her.

He paused, his hands resting on her knees. "Is there a problem?" His voice was low, devoid of warmth.

"No," Kiara whispered, forcing herself to meet his eyes. "No problem." She tried to relax her rigid muscles, focusing on the distant glow of a building across the villa.

He moved closer, his body between her knees. His kiss wasn't tender; it was firm, demanding, a claiming. Kiara responded clumsily, her movements hesitant, unsure where to put her hands. She touched his shoulder, then his arm, feeling the hard muscle beneath his skin.

He broke the kiss, his breath warm on her cheek. "Relax your jaw," he murmured, his thumb brushing her chin. It was the first hint of guidance, not command.

His hands explored her body – her waist, her ribs, the curve of her hip. Kiara tried to mirror his touches, but her hands felt clumsy and alien on his skin. When her fingers brushed the buckle of his belt, she fumbled. Sebastian caught her wrist gently but firmly.

"Let me," he said, his voice a low rumble against her ear. He undid it himself, his movements swift. He guided her hand back to his shoulder. "Hold there."

He laid her back onto the cool sheets. His weight settled over her, solid and inescapable. When he entered her, it wasn't brutal, but it wasn't gentle either. It was… deliberate. Kiara bit down hard on her lower lip, stifling a sound. Her body tensed instinctively.

Sebastian stilled. "Breathe," he instructed, his voice surprisingly calm amidst the tension. He waited, his gaze steady on her face until she managed a shaky inhale. "Again." He didn't move until her breathing hitched into something closer to a rhythm, though still tight with nerves.

He began to move slowly. Kiara focused on the rhythm, trying to match it, her hips lifting tentatively. It felt awkward, disjointed. Sebastian adjusted his angle slightly, his hand sliding beneath her to guide the small of her back.

"Like this," he said, not unkindly, applying subtle pressure. Her body arched more naturally. The awkwardness lessened. The clumsy resistance faded into a tense, reluctant cooperation. She stopped fighting the sensations, focusing instead on the physical reality: the weight of him, the slide of skin, the rhythmic sound of their breathing mingling. Her hands, still on his shoulders, stopped gripping like anchors and simply rested.