Page 1 of The Sheik's Embrace

Chapter 1

The buzz, sharp and intrusive, seemed to hang in the air like a dissonant melody, disrupting the hallowed silence of the High Council chamber. The polished mahogany table, usually a symbol of order and authority, now served as a stage for the unfolding drama. Papers shuffled and pencils scratched, remnants of hastily halted note-taking, lay in front of each member, emphasizing the abrupt halt that had befallen the meeting.

As the participants' heads swiveled in unison, the strategic lighting in the chamber cast elongated shadows, heightening the sense of suspense. The ornate tapestries that adorned the walls, depicting scenes of historical significance, appeared to observe the proceedings with silent disapproval, as if the very fabric of the room had turned against them.

At the sound, Tara abruptly looked up from her laptop, her sharp eyes narrowing as she glanced at each member of the High Council, their elderly features creased by age and wisdom…and shock at the intrusive sound. No one moved as the censure built. A split second later, everyone glanced at their phones but Tara, always mindful of the tall, powerful man sitting next to her, looked to him. He was watching each of his council members with barely contained fury.

“Your Highness,” she started, watching the members stuff their cell phones back into their pockets after confirming that it hadn’t been their phone that buzzed.

Sheik Zayed el Mastrion, Ruler of Pitra, stared at her. Zayed sat at the head of the table, a commanding presence exuding strength and authority. His tall, muscular frame bespoke a life of discipline and power. His broad shoulders andchiseled physique hinted at the physical prowess honed through the rigors of his duties. Dark, penetrating eyes, sharp and intelligent, revealed a mind adept at navigating the complexities of both tradition and modernity.

His dark gaze held an intensity that conveyed a wealth of experience and wisdom. The hard, unwavering set of his jaw suggested a man unyielding in the face of challenges. Dressed in a tailor made suit that accentuated his stature, he carried an air of dignity and grace.

And…she loved him. Tara knew, with all of her heart, that she loved this hard, powerful man. She loved the way he cared for the people of his country. She loved the way his lips pressed into a thin line when he disagreed, or the way the corners of his eyes crinkled when he was amused. She respected his ambitions for his people and the way he easily laughed. She even loved the way he teased her or when a sandwich appeared in her office because he knew she’d stayed in a meeting, skipping lunch to help him. She loved the way he knew every person’s name in the administrative office, asked about their families, sent graduation presents, wedding gifts or big bouquets of flowers when someone lost a loved one.

Unfortunately, she also knew that she could never be anything more to him than a memory!

Another buzz intruded on the tense silence, bringing Tara’s mind back to the present. When she glanced around again, the council members were subtly shaking their heads, denying that they’d just received an alert.

Then it sounded yet again, the dreadful, unmistakable buzz that indicated another message had come through, the sound adding to the escalating tension in the room. The council members, on edge and eyes narrowed, exchanged wary glances.

As the seconds ticked away, the air thickened with suspicion. The once-stately chamber, accustomed to dignified debates and measured discussions, fairly crackled with an undercurrent of paranoia. The ornate surroundings, adorned with gilded frames and aged tapestries, cast long, ominous shadows that danced across the faces of the councilors, amplifying the sense of secrecy and unease.

And then, like an ominous revelation, Tara felt it — a subtle vibration against her leg. Her eyes widened, the momentary shock registering on her face. The room seemed to shrink around her as she became acutely aware of the watchful gazes that now turned on her.

Tara, normally composed and stoic, faltered. Her hand instinctively moved to her ever-present tote bag, the fabric rustling with a nervous energy that mirrored the charged atmosphere of the room. She reached down into the depths of her bag, her fingers brushing against concealed secrets.

When she withdrew her hand, it held not the expected documents or personal effects, but a secret cell phone. The dim light in the room caught the glint of its screen, a forbidden beacon that illuminated Tara's face with an eerie glow. The tension in the room, already taut, reached a palpable climax as the councilors collectively held their breath.

Tara's fingers trembled as she lifted the phone from her bag. Her fingers trembled so badly, she could barely press the buttons to silence the noise. It took her three tries, but she finally, thankfully, silenced the rancorous buzzing.

However, she couldn’t stuff the phone back into her bag. Notthisphone. Unaware of the combined censure of the room’s occupants, Tara’s quivering fingers pressed the button that allowed her to read the message.

“Just letting you know that the hamburgers are ready. They are on their way to your destination. Enjoy!”

Tara's gaze fixated on the words glowing on the screen, desperation driving her to re-read them as if hoping the second pass would magically alter their meaning. The dim light of the secret phone cast an eerie glow on her face, shadows dancing in unsettling patterns around the edges of the room. The councilors, suspended in a collective breath, awaited her reaction.

But as her eyes re-traced the last word, a sinister revelation dawned, plunging her into a chilling abyss. The message, rather than offering solace or reassurance, carried an undertone of malevolence that sent a shiver down her spine.

A sudden, stabbing pain erupted in Tara's stomach, a physical manifestation of the dread that gripped her. The room seemed to constrict around her, the air thickening with an almost suffocating intensity. Every muscle in her body tensed with terror, turning her limbs into a prison of fear. The oppressive weight of the unknown bore down on her, and the once-sturdy ground beneath her feet suddenly turned into shifting sands.

“Ms. Treon?” the deep, masculine tone interjected into her terror-filled mind.

Tara looked up, but she didn’t see the handsome, roughly hewn features of Sheik Zayed el Mastrion. She didn’t see the ancient walls or the polished table that had witnessed centuries of wars and conflict, negotiations and peace. She didn’t see the twelve, beloved men who would tease her after the meeting for breaking protocol by having a cell phone in this room.

Stammering, she snapped her laptop shut, the sharp clack echoing like a gunshot in the hushed room. Panic etchedacross her face, and the cell phone’s glow extinguished abruptly as she shoved the phone deep into her bag. Her laptop teetered dangerously on the precipice of the stone table while her heart thundered in her chest, a desperate drumbeat in sync with the escalating tension. Every eye in the room fixated on her abrupt movement. The unexpected act spoke of urgency, a volatile secret now confined within the hidden cell phone. The room held its breath, poised on the brink of revelation or ruin.

“Tara?” Zayed prompted again, his tone gentler this time but still firm and commanding.

Tara shook her head and…her numb fingers accidentally dropped another file onto the floor. In the shocked silence, she looked at the papers strewn across the ancient stones, but she couldn’t do anything about them. Clutching her tote containing the cell phone to her chest, she looked into Zayed’s eyes and backed up a step. “I’ll…I…um…!”

Words failed her. In this moment, her brain was consumed with the dire warning relayed in that simple message.

Instead of explaining, which she couldn’t, Tara turned and rushed out of the room. The heavy oak door was already opened thanks to one of the guards. Normally, she would have smiled gratefully up at the man and given him a gracious thanks. But today, she bowed her head, her fingers tightening around her bag as she hurried out.

Once out in the hallway, the bright lights overhead hurt her eyes. The intensity of that light was like the message – a bright, desperate signal that her misery-filled past had caught up to her. Lifting her eyes, she looked around for a private place, a space where she could re-read the message.

Unfortunately, the hallway was teeming with guards and assistants to the council members, none of which were allowedin the council chambers. As the personal assistant to Sheik el Mastrion, Tara was the only assistant permitted to sit in on the meetings.

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