Every love story has a hero, a heroine and a villain but this is the story of a Villain.
Zaid Adeeb Tahir life's has plunged into darkness when he couldn't save his fiancée. He turned brutal and ruthless, not bothering about the number of beings he...
First published in 2017 and now ending in 2020, I wonder if anyone even remembers the first title I had used...
Loose ends about major and minor characters will be tied in the EPILOGUE (few months later, after the ending). If you have any questions, I will answer them in the epilogue, not here because I do not want to confuse readers.
Thank you for reading my book.
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Isabella's somber eyes were glued on the 5/7 inches photo frame that was lying on Adeel Malik work table. It must have knocked off accidentally while hurrying as the whole place was a mess. There was pile of black files each with a serial number on it, a silvery closed MacBook, pen holder, a telephone, lamp, more papers in languages she does not speak and two locked guns.
Akira was smiling as her father had his arm around her shoulder, standing straight like an army officer. She must have been thirteen or fourteen at the time the photo was taken.
A single drop of tear fell down Isabella's cheek. She was jealous of them being a beautiful and respectable family.
Five days have gone since she has called Eijaz. Less than two miles away she has been airlift by a chopper that dropped her at an unknown runway. She boarded a high tech plane owned by The Legends and has been transported in their base at Egypt.
Isabella had stayed in the room given, speaking little as possible.
Ten minutes earlier, a young lady had knocked and escorted her in their boss private office. She sat waiting for the man for whom she has worked as undercover when she had been only twenty one years old.
"I'm sorry to keep you waiting. The American delegates were being a pain in the, you get it."
She heard an unknown deep British accent that had to belong to Adeel Malik, the opening and closing of a door, hurried footsteps of classy shoes on the hard tiles. Taking his place on his black armchair on the opposite, Isabella lifted her eyes.
He has to be in his late forties, six feet one tall, slim face, thin eyebrows, brown eyes, black beard and black straight hair tied to prevent the loosened ones fall on his forehead. During her reign as the underworld Queen, she has met enough people to conclude that this man isn't someone you pick a brawl with.
He will kill merciless.
"Isabella..." he said and stopped wondering what else follows her name.
"It's just Isabella, my only identity."
"As you say"
She was too exhausted and pained to endure more traumas. Too much has already happened. She dropped her gaze down, another tear slid. She heard the drawer being pulled and a box of tissue papers soon came in her view.
