Chapter 24
I didn't sleep.
I closed my eyes, sure. Pretended to breathe. Let the silk sheets suffocate me in lavender and lies. But the second I opened my eyes, I saw him.
Dominic. L'avvocato del diavolo.
Leaning over me like he hadn't shot my world dead.
My knife had kissed his throat. My hands had trembled. My heart had betrayed me; skipped, jumped, fell, and shattered, all in one impossible second.
It wasn't a dream.
It was real.
"Stronzo bastardo," I hissed into the darkness. Stupid bastard.
I got out of bed before dawn, throat dry, chest tight. The marble floor stung my bare feet. My reflection in the mirror was something unholy, red-eyed, sleepless, wild.
Two new messages from The Right Mr Wrong, but I refused to indulge in any conversation with him. We were not even engaged yet and he refused to give me space.
I pushed the door open, my eyes startling a bit as I came face to face with Zorian leaning on the wall in the corridor. I trained my eyes on his outfit, dressed to train.
"You're up early," he said.
I didn't answer.
He fell into step beside me. "We could spar. Or go for a run. Hit something. Might help."
"I have letters to answer," I lied. My voice cracked on the word letters.
God. I was full of shit.
Zorian stopped walking. "You don't look okay."
I didn't look at him. "I'm not."
He nodded once. "You know your ca-"
I abruptly turned to him. I wasn't short, so the height difference between us wasn't so much. "Who do you think I am Zorian? Or how do you suppose the House of Versace was built? Based on choosing to rest?"
He only stared.
"I want to go to Tehran," I said finally. My voice wasn't mine. It sounded hollow. "I want to see the Khalighis. Visit her."
Zorian blinked. "You sure?"
"No. But are you going to question every one of my decisions? You're my shadow, not my assistant."
I turned back into my room, slamming the door before he could walk in. I sighed. The earlier I make the boundaries between us clear the longer he will have to live.
But I packed my bag anyway.
Tehran greeted us with dry air and quiet judgment.
Asvika met me at the airport gate, no questions, just a tight hug and her designer sunglasses already hiding what her eyes couldn't.
"It's been three years," she said as I rubbed her shoulder and we stepped into the car.
We drove through half the city without speaking.
Old Tehran looked the same, burnt gold buildings, sun-bleached alleys, the scent of rosewater and smoke. Every corner felt like a memory Sanaa had once made louder.
She should've been here. Sipping Chai with her feet on the damn dashboard.
Flirting with the guard. Laughing at nothing. Gosh, she would have loved Zorian. Have an affair with him, maybe.
I wouldn't have minded. But instead—we were on our way to bury her all over again.
The Khalighi cemetery was silent. Generations of powerful people were all buried under the soil we walked on.
Dust curled around our heels as we walked toward her plot. My stomach churned. My pulse thudded like it wanted to leave my body.
There it was.
SANAA ELIRAANA KHALIGHI1999 – 2021
Daughter of fire. A Sister. A niece. Taken too soon.
"Come on, let's clean the gravestone." Asvika and I began cleaning, dusting and brushing everything. By the time we were done, the marble was clean, and we placed fresh flowers.
But the silence? It was violent.
I dropped to my knees.
"She was two when we all met," I whispered. "Even at that little age she was so carefree and we all admired her."
Asvika crouched beside me, her hand brushing mine. "Mera dil usake saath hai."
‘My heart's still with her’.
I swallowed hard. "Mine too."
"You lied," I whispered. “You said we'd die old and wrinkled, drinking wine with bitter laughs and bad memories. You said you'd never leave me.”
And now?
“Now I'm choking on the words you left behind.”
We sat in silence. Drinking Sanaa's favourite champagne and eating her favourite snacks.
Birds flew overhead. Somewhere nearby, a man was reciting the Quran. The wind carried his words in pieces, like Sanaa's memory was being prayed for by strangers.
"Zendegi kheili bezar ast," Asvika murmured.
Life is so cruel.
I leaned my head on her shoulder. "It's not fair."
No one replied. Not the grave. Not God. Not Sanaa.
"Why now?" Asvika asked finally. "Why come here now, after so long?"
"Because he came back," I said. "And I needed to see what he stole from me. I needed to refresh my pain to remember how much it hurt when he stole her from me"
She didn't ask who. She already knew.
Dominic Cassian Moretti.
My first betrayal.
My last weakness.
And the reason Sanaa was gone.
I didn't tell them I was coming. But they opened the door before I even knocked.
Mrs. Khalighi pulled me into her arms like I was her own.
I stood there, frozen, letting her perfume fill my lungs. Something sweet and herbal, the kind of scent that reminds you of tea, safety and prayers whispered over daughters' heads.
"My girls," she whispered. "You came back." Hugging Asvika too.
I couldn't speak. My throat was sandpaper.
Mr Khalighi appeared behind her, older than I remembered. Grief had aged him. He didn't smile, but he stepped forward and hugged me too, gently, like I'd shatter.
"Your butler said you'd be here," he said. "You should have called."
"I didn't want to make it real," I said honestly.
They let us in.
The house felt the same.
Same white tiles. Same glass chandeliers. The same quiet echoes where Sanaa's laughter used to bounce off the walls.
Her photo was still on the mantle. Mr Khalighi had it as his lockscreen. Her bedroom was untouched, still locked, still hers.
"How are your other kids?" Asvika asked as she smiled, not fully.
"They are fine, doing well for themselves. They went on a holiday and will be back soon."
"I didn't want anyone going in after you left last time," Mrs. Khalighi said to me. "It felt wrong."
"Thank you," I whispered.
She gave me a soft smile. "She would've wanted you to come back."
I nodded, then added quietly, "This time, we came to say goodbye properly."
Her smile faltered, but she didn't argue.
Later that night, we sat for dinner—the four of us. Me, Asvika, Mrs. Khalighi, and Mr Khalighi.
The same rice Sanaa used to burn. The same stew that always tasted better the next day. I stared at my plate. My stomach flipped.
"She would've yelled at me for not eating," I murmured.
"She would've made you a burnt version and claimed it was edgy,” Asvika added.
That broke the tension. We laughed, just a little. It still hurt.
"She loved you more than anything," Mrs. Khalighi said, resting her hand on mine.
I looked her straight in the eye. "I loved her more than I love breathing."
Her lips trembled. But she nodded. "We know."
After dinner, Asvika and I walked back upstairs. Her door was still closed.
I unlocked it.
It smelled exactly like I remembered. Cinnamon and rosewater. Lip gloss and musk. Music posters that were still taped to the walls. Her bed was made. Her scarf was still draped on the chair.
I sat on the edge. My fingers brushed the carved initials on the desk: S + V + A= Forever.
Not a lie. Not really.
Just not the kind of forever I expected.
"I saw him," I said aloud.
The room went silent. Only Asvika stood in the doorway.
"I saw the man who killed her."
Asvika walked in slowly. "And?"
"I almost killed him."
She raised an eyebrow. "Almost?"
I clenched my jaw. "I couldn't. I froze."
There. I said it. The shame. The fury. The guilt. All of it, laid bare under Sanaa's perfume-soaked ceiling.
I stood up, pacing.
"I want to destroy him. All of them. Every bastard who had a hand in her death."
Asvika nodded slowly. "Then stop looking back."
I paused. "What?"
"You already mourned her. But now you have come back for you. To remember who you were before grief devoured you."
I looked at her.
She stepped closer.
"Ab waqt hai ki tu khud ko wapas le aaye."Now it's time to bring yourself back.
I closed my eyes.
She was right. This wasn't just grief anymore. It was a rebirth.
Quiet, violent, burning from the inside out.
Sanaa gave me the box. The necklace. The letter.
She knew something was coming.
So, did I.
Before we left, I stood in the doorway of her room one last time.
"I'm not done missing you," I whispered. "But I am done bleeding for you."
Asvika touched my shoulder.
We walked out together.
I wore Sanaa's necklace. Her perfume clung to my coat. Her family hugged me tight, knowing better than to ask when I'd return.
They'd lost a daughter. But they'd helped rebuild a queen. And when I stepped onto the tarmac, something in me clicked.
Not closure.
Clarity.
The girl who left this place three years ago?
She was a ghost.
The woman returning now?
She was the heir.
And the world was going to learn it the hard way.
You don't touch what's mine.