Assigned as Muntandhir’s personal assistant, you had learned far more about the man than anyone should—especially when it came to his peculiar habits. You knew exactly where he’d spend his time when he wasn’t indulging in copious amounts of drink, training his body for endless hours, or, more often than not, being scolded by his father.

So, naturally, that’s where you were headed now—back to his godforsaken bedroom, to drag him out of whatever debauchery he was currently entangled in.

As you approached the doors, you could already hear the unmistakable sound of giggles. Four distinct voices, perhaps, and the sound of whispered laughter that only grew louder the closer you got.

You knocked, though it felt more like a formality than anything, already anticipating the unpleasant encounter ahead. A sigh escaped you as the Emir’s voice called you in from the other side, smooth and unbothered.

Reluctantly, you pushed the door open, irritation simmering beneath the surface. You were already annoyed by Muntandhir’s behavior—this wasn’t the first time, and you knew it wouldn’t be the last.

“Oh. It’s you,” the Emir remarked, his voice dripping with feigned surprise, his charming smirk dancing across his lips.