"He was last seen alive in this place," Governor Arash thundered, his voice reverberating through the parlor. "And now you're telling me you have no idea how he went missing?"
His tone was sharp, a storm of anger that made everyone in the room cower.
Madam Baran, the matron of the Glory House, prostrated among her trembling girls, all of them with heads bowed in shame.
The governor's piercing glare bore down on them, and Madam Baran's lips quivered as she struggled to find her voice.
Governor Arash was no ordinary man.
He was one of the most powerful figures in the empire, a man whose name commanded both respect and fear. As the governor of multiple provinces, his authority rivaled that of a shah within his domain. But his power was not the kind that inspired admiration—it brought fear.
Madam Baran, her body battered and bruised, dared to lift her head slightly to meet his gaze. Her movements were hesitant, weighed down by pain and humiliation. Blood trickled from the corner of her lips. Her voice, when it came, was weak and trembling.
"He… he had some drinks," she managed to say.
The sight of her injuries and the destruction around him did little to soften Arash's anger. If anything, it seemed to fuel his disdain. A strict military man to the core, Arash had stormed into the Glory House with his soldiers in tow, unleashing chaos in his wake. No corner had been left untouched; no object had been spared his wrath. The once-opulent brothel now lay in ruins, its furniture smashed, its tapestries torn, and its women beaten.
Baran's body ached with every movement, her limbs heavy with pain. But it wasn't just her physical wounds that weighed on her—it was the crushing fear of the governor's relentless fury. Her lips moved in silent prayer to the goddess, seeking solace in the divine amidst the turmoil.
"I never thought there would come a day when I would set foot in a place like this," Arash sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. His sharp gaze swept across the room, taking in the disarray with disgust.
There were two kinds of powerful men in the empire. The first were those who flaunted their riches, indulging in the pleasures of life—women, wine, and all the extravagances that wealth could buy. Such men thrived on luxury, their influence marked by the trails of indulgence they left behind.
But Arash was of the second kind, a breed of men who held fast to rigid principles and unwavering piety. A devout follower of the goddess, he adhered strictly to the ordinances of religion. He abstained from strong drinks, shunned the company of women he deemed immoral, and scorned anything that strayed from his definition of righteousness.
The Glory House represented everything he despised. To him, it was not merely a den of sin but a blot on the fabric of society, a filth that needed to be purged. He saw no need for investigation, no place for justice—only the necessity of destruction.
In his eyes, the vandalism he had wrought was not an act of cruelty but one of purification.
Arash spat on the ground.
"To think that even in death, Shapour remains a disgrace to my household," Arash said coldly, his voice cutting through the oppressive silence like a blade. His voice was dripping with contempt.
"Believe me, my lord!" Madam Baran cried out, her voice cracking from both fear and frustration. Her body trembled visibly, her once dignified posture reduced to a quivering form.
She was crying, which made most of the girls afraid, they had never seen their madam cry.
Not like this…
Not this miserably.
"He only drank a few cups, I swear! He didn't even stay the night with the girl who was offered to him. He left shortly after." She explained in a haste.
Arash's stern gaze did not waver. His piercing eyes burned with intensity as he leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs in a posture that conveyed both authority and contempt.
"Shapour's body was found in the forest," he continued, his tone cold and unforgiving. "He was mauled to death by wild beasts. Tell me this: why would Shapour wander into the forest at such an ungodly hour? And why would he take the soldiers I assigned to him along?"
A suffocating silence descended upon the hall. The women, their battered and naked bodies sprawled across the cold floor in submissive prostration, dared not speak.
Arash's lip curled into a sneer as he broke the silence.
"Shapour was a chronic drinker, that much is true. But he was also my son. Despite his vices, he never failed to return home after drowning himself in liquor. That is precisely why I entrusted him with guards—to ensure his safe return, even in his drunken stupor." His voice hardened further, laced with accusation. "So, tell me, Madam Baran, how did this tragedy come to pass?"
Baran's lips parted, but no words came out. Her mind raced, searching for answers that would not incriminate her or her house.
"My lord," she finally said, her voice trembling, "we are but a humble entertainment house. We lack the strength or the numbers to overpower royal guards."
Arash's gaze darkened, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. "But it wouldn't have been difficult if you had drugged his drink first," he countered sharply. "What I fail to understand is your motive. Why would you do such a thing?"
Once more, the hall fell silent. The tension was palpable, thick enough to choke.
Arash nodded grimly, as if confirming his own suspicions. "Since none of you are willing to speak the truth…" He raised his left hand, signaling to his guards. The clatter of heavy boots echoed as they stepped forward, carrying thick paddles in their hands.
"Beat them," Arash commanded, his voice as cold as steel. "Beat them until there is no skin left on their bones."
"Yes, sir!" the guards barked in unison, their voices sharp and obedient.
"Wait!" a voice suddenly cried out, piercing through the tension like a desperate plea. One of the girls scrambled to her feet, her movements unsteady and frantic. Her bruised and battered body shook violently as she faced the governor. Her long dark hair fell across her chest, a feeble attempt to shield her rounded chest.
Nasrin's breath hitched, her eyes widening in alarm as recognition dawned. "Aya, no! Stop!" she shouted, her voice filled with panic.
"I'm sorry, Nasrin, but I refuse to die for some lowlife," Aya whispered, her voice trembling as violently as her frail body. Her lips quivered, and tears streaked her battered face. Slowly, she turned to face Governor Arash, her fear-soaked eyes meeting his cold, unyielding glare.
Arash raised an eyebrow, intrigued by her sudden outburst.
"Lord Shapour had a… a dispute in the bathhouse of the Glory House," Aya confessed, her voice breaking as the tears came harder. "He was arguing over a girl—someone who didn't work for this establishment."
The governor's posture shifted as he straightened in his chair, his interest piqued. "A girl who doesn't belong to the Glory House?" he echoed, his tone sharp and laced with suspicion.
"Yes, my lord," Aya murmured, lowering herself back onto her knees, her trembling hands pressed against the cold floor.
The room erupted in gasps and murmurs.
"Aya, what are you doing?" Sitara and Minoo blurted out simultaneously, their voices laced with panic. Their fear wasn't just for themselves—it was for Leila, who would undoubtedly face grave consequences if her name reached not just the governor's ears but the shah too.
"Silence!" Arash roared, his voice booming through the hall like thunder. He shot the girls a withering glare that silenced them instantly. "If anyone dares speak out of turn again, I'll have the guards rip out their tongues."
The room fell into a tense hush, the only sounds being the soft sobs of some of the women, who now fully realized the governor's merciless nature.
Aya's confession was a death sentence…
Arash turned his attention back to Aya, his icy gaze piercing through her like a dagger. "Speak clearly, girl," he demanded, his voice as cold as the steel of the swords carried by his guards. "If she wasn't employed by the Glory House, then why was she here? And who is she?"
Aya swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper as she continued, her words trembling.
"Her name is Leila. She lives outside the village. Her family was banished years ago, but she sneaks back in… disguised as a merchant. She sells fragrant oils to make a living."
Arash's expression hardened, though he remained silent, waiting for her to continue.
"Lord Shapour wanted her," Aya said, her voice cracking as she glanced at Madam Baran, who stood trembling nearby. "But Madam Baran refused him." Aya's trembling hand pointed toward the madam, who looked as though she might collapse under the weight of the accusation.
The governor's eyes narrowed, his fingers tapping the armrest of his chair as he absorbed her words.
"Lord Shapour didn't relent," Aya added quickly, her words rushing out in desperation. "I… I overheard him talking to his men. When they saw Leila leave the house, they followed her."
"So, you're telling me that a powerless girl named Leila lured my son out of here, disposed of his soldiers, and then killed him?" Arash chuckled, though the sound was devoid of humor. It was a cold, mocking laugh that sent a chill through the air. He leaned forward slightly, his steely gaze sweeping across the trembling women before him. "What a disgraceful way to die. If news of this gets out, my son's name—and my own—will become a joke among the rest of the officials."
His lip curled in self-mockery, the corners of his mouth tightening as he spat the next words.
"No. That isn't the work of a woman," he declared, his voice heavy with conviction. "That is the work of a demon."
The governor straightened, the air around him crackling with resolve. "Boys, ready yourselves," he barked, his tone sharp and commanding. "We're going on a demon hunt." He rose from his chair in one fluid motion, his imposing figure towering over the cowering women.
His piercing gaze fell on Aya, who froze as if struck by lightning. She hadn't expected this. Her chest tightened, her heart hammering wildly as he addressed her directly.
"What's your name, girl?" he asked, his voice calm but edged with a menace that made her blood run cold.
"A-Aya, sire," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. She lowered her head again, her hands trembling as they pressed against the floor as she hoped he would spare her. "My name is Aya."
Arash nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. "Thank you for telling me the truth," he said, his tone unsettlingly even. "But I must tell you something, Aya." He paused, his eyes narrowing as he delivered his next words with chilling detachment. "What happens next isn't personal. I have a pride to protect."
Aya's breath caught in her throat, and a shiver ran down her spine. She opened her mouth to plead, but the cold finality in his voice silenced her.
"Sir, please…" Madam Baran's voice broke through the stillness, her tone desperate and imploring. She stepped forward, her battered form trembling as she fell to her knees. "Spare us, I beg you!"
But Arash didn't even spare her a glance. His mind was made up, his decision absolute. Without breaking stride, he walked toward the exit, his boots echoing ominously on the marble floor.
"Kill them all," he commanded, his voice ringing with finality as he disappeared through the doors.