𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐲
Time blurred. I didn't know how long I'd been sitting there, wrists burning, scalp aching, the cold air gnawing at my skin. My heartbeat was a steady drum in my ears.
And this jerk staring at me.
And then... again footsteps.
I frowned, lifting my eyes toward the door. Zaarib was already watching me, leaning back in his chair with a smirk stretching across his face.
That smirk made my stomach churn.
And then the door creaked open.
The moment I saw her, my blood boiled.
Mahveen.
Of course. The one face I prayed never to see here. I should have known this snake would slither lower than anyone could imagine.
"Well, well, well..." she drawled, strutting into the room like she owned it. Her voice was a dagger dipped in poison. "Look who we have here. Poor, innocent Zoya. The perfect daughter-in-law. The perfect little doll everyone adores." Her lips curled in disdain. "Pathetic, really."
I clenched my fists behind me, nails digging into my palms, glaring so hard I wished I could burn her alive.
She tilted her head, feigning sympathy. "You know, you made this too easy. That letter? Oh, Zoya, everyone actually believes you ran away." She chuckled, the sound sickening. "Can you imagine? The great Zaigham Khan's wife... fleeing like a coward in the middle of her sister-in-law's wedding."
I stilled. They do?
No No No, Zoya, you should not trust her. They won't trust that piece of paper over me.
My stomach twisted as the memory flashed—someone gripping my hand, forcing it across paper, my blurred protests drowned in panic. My chest tightened as realization clicked like a knife being unsheathed.
"You," I hissed. My voice was low, trembling with fury. "It was you. You're the one who made me write it."
Her smirk widened into something uglier.
"Smart girl. Took you long enough." She leaned forward, eyes glinting.
"You should've seen everyone's faces when Ayat waved that letter around.
Shock. Betrayal. They all think you threw it all away.
That you humiliated him. And honestly? He deserves it for choosing you over me. "
The laugh that broke from me was bitter, sharp. "You seriously think a piece of paper changes anything? You think it will make him stop loving me?" My eyes narrowed, a wicked edge in my tone.
"You will never have him, Mahveen. Never. Try as much as you want, twist yourself into whatever shape you think he will like, but it won't matter. You're nothing but a little pick-me girl in his life, a shadow chasing after something that was never yours to begin with."
Her nostrils flared, fury flashing across her face. She stomped closer, hand snapping out before I could react.
CRACK!
My cheek burned as her palm connected with my face. The sting brought tears to my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.
She crouched down, her face so close I could see the hatred swirling in her eyes. "He. Is. Mine," she spat through gritted teeth. "One day you will realize that. You're just a placeholder, Zoya. A pretty little mistake."
I forced a smirk, even with my lip trembling. "Hah. Keep dreaming, Mahveen. You will never be more than the bitter shadow lurking behind us."
Her hand twitched again, ready to strike, but before she could, Zaarib's arm shot out, catching her wrist midair. His voice was sharp, commanding.
"Enough."
The tension in the room crackled like fire. Mahveen froze, caught between her rage and his grip.
I scoffed, shaking my head despite the throbbing on my cheek. "Pathetic. Both of you. Do whatever you want, you will never win. Not against Zaigham. Not against us."
Zaarib finally let go of Mahveen's wrist with a shove that nearly made her stumble.
His voice was calm, too calm, the kind of calm that made my skin crawl.
"Bring her food," he ordered flatly, not even looking at her. His gaze was locked on me.
My glare burned through him. "I don't need food," I spat, my voice trembling but fierce. "Don't you dare."
He chuckled low, a sound that made bile rise in my throat. "Relax, little birdie. I don't want you to get sick." He leaned closer, his breath brushing my face. "I care for you. More than anyone ever could."
"Pathetic bastard." I seethed.
My jaw clenched so hard I thought it might shatter. I closed my eyes for a second, trying to steady my breathing, trying not to break in front of him.
His expression shifted instantly—his eyes darkened, sharp, dangerous. Mahveen smirked at my silence, clearly enjoying my torment.
"Don't test my patience, Zoya," he hissed, his voice dropping an octave, heavy with threat.
I opened my eyes and met his gaze, unflinching, scowling. "Or what?" I spat. "You will keep me tied up in this filthy room like a coward? That's all you are, Zaarib—pathetic."
For a moment he just stared at me... then, with a smile that sent shivers down my spine, he reached out. His fingers brushed my cheek, slow and deliberate, like a predator savoring the kill.
My stomach turned. Every part of me wanted to recoil, but my body was trapped. My skin crawled under his touch.
"Don't. Touch. Me!" I hissed, jerking my head away, hatred burning in my eyes.
The mask of calm cracked, his jaw tightened, his hand curling into a fist. For a terrifying second, I thought he'd strike me. But instead, he exhaled through his teeth, straightened, and backed away with a bitter laugh.
"You will eat," he snapped, his voice sharp enough to cut glass. His gaze shifted to Mahveen, who was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching like a vulture. "Bring her food. And make sure she swallows every damn bite."
Mahveen's lips curved in a poisonous smile as she tossed her hair back. "With pleasure," she purred, her voice dripping venom. She turned her gaze to me, eyes glinting. "Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll feed you myself if I have to."
My glare shot daggers at her. Rage and disgust boiled in my chest, but I refused to look away.
One of his men appeared almost instantly, setting a tray down on the table, bread, rice, a bowl of curry that smelled heavy with spice. The steam curled into the air, but it only made me feel sick.
My lip curled in disgust. "I told you—I don't need your food. Don't you dare try to feed me like I'm your prisoner."
Zaarib's lips twitched. That dangerous smile again. "But you are my prisoner, Zoya. And I can't let you weaken. I want you strong...." His tone was deliberate, chilling, heavy with implication.
I glared at him, my pulse racing. "You're disgusting."
He crouched in front of me, his shadow falling over my bound form. His hand snatched the bowl of curry, and before I could turn away, he lifted a spoonful, holding it near my lips.
"Eat."
"I'd rather starve." My voice trembled, but the fire in it didn't waver.
Something sharp flickered in his eyes. He leaned in closer, his voice a whisper at my ear. "You think I won't force you? Don't tempt me, Zoya. Because I will, if that's what it takes."
My stomach turned violently, revulsion making me choke back bile. "You wouldn't dare."
"Oh, I would." His tone was silk over steel. He pressed the spoon closer, and when I jerked my face away, his other hand clamped on my jaw, fingers digging into my skin.
I gasped, the pain sharp, tears stinging my eyes from the pressure.
"You see?" he hissed. "One way or another, you'll learn to obey me. Every little rebellion, every sharp word—it only makes me want to break you more."
"Never," I spat through clenched teeth, my voice raw. "You can tie me, starve me, hit me, I don't care. You'll never have me. Never. I belong to Zaigham. Only him."
The fury in my eyes must have reached him, because his mask cracked. His nostrils flared, his chest heaved once, then he shoved me back so hard the chair scraped against the cold floor.
"Get her to eat," he barked at Mahveen, his tone venomous.
Mahveen, still smirking like a serpent, stepped forward with the spoon in hand. "Gladly."
Zaigham will come. And when he does, you will wish you'd never touched me.
It was already past 8 in the morning. The house outside was alive but dreaded with silence.
Zaigham sat rigidly in the armchair near the window, the soft morning light spilling across his face, highlighting the exhaustion etched deep into it.
His eyes, bloodshot red, raw from the hours of relentless thinking, stared ahead, unblinking.
He hadn't slept a single second. Not when his Zoya's absence had burned through his veins like poison.
A faint knock broke through the silence. His jaw flexed once.
"Come in," he said, his voice gravelly, roughened by fatigue and fury.
The door opened slowly, and Nouran peeked in, her face drawn with hesitation. When she stepped inside, her steps were quiet, cautious, but determined. She walked over and sat down directly in front of him on the chair, folding her hands in her lap before lifting her eyes to meet his.
"Bhai..." her voice was soft, careful.
His bloodshot gaze met her worried one, and for a moment, neither spoke. Nouran's throat tightened, she had never seen her eldest brother like this.
His composure was still intact, but she could feel the storm underneath, the weight of helpless rage pressing against his ribs.
"Did you... did you find any clue about her?" she asked quietly, almost afraid of the answer.
Zaigham slowly shook his head, a muscle ticking in his jaw.
Nouran's shoulders sagged as she let out a shaky sigh. Then, forcing a small, reassuring smile onto her face, she placed her hand gently over his.
"Bhai, you will find her. Insha'Allah. Have faith. She'll be here very soon."
His lips pressed into a thin line, but he gave her a short nod. Faith was the only thread keeping him from falling apart completely.
For a moment, they sat in silence, the air heavy. Then Nouran inhaled deeply, as if preparing herself, before speaking again.
"Bhai... I came to talk about something important."
Zaigham's tired eyes shifted to her, sharp and expectant, wordlessly giving her the space to continue.
She hesitated only a second before confessing, "Bhai... I don't trust Zaarib. At all. I don't just doubt him—I believe it's him. I believe he's the one behind this."
Her words lingered in the air, sharp and cutting.
Zaigham exhaled slowly through his nose, his expression darkening, before he finally answered, his tone low and steady.
"I know, Nouran."
Her brows drew together, startled. "You... you know?"
He leaned back in the chair, dragging a weary hand across his face. "He's already under my watch."
Nouran frowned. "But... you let him go last night. Bhai, why—"
"Yes." His interruption was calm but edged like steel. "I did. Because he needed to believe he was safe. That he wasn't on my target list."
The cold precision in his words made Nouran's breath catch. Her brother's brilliance had always amazed her, but in this moment, she saw just how ruthless his mind could be.
Before she could reply, Zaigham's phone rang sharply, breaking the tension. He answered instantly.
"Speak." His voice was clipped, commanding.
On the other end, the man he had assigned to surveillance spoke quickly, delivering updates.
Zaigham's hand clenched tighter around the phone as he listened, his entire body going still, the storm inside him sharpening into lethal focus.
When the call ended, he didn't waste a second. He shot up from his chair, snatching his car keys from the table.
"Bhai?" Nouran stood immediately, alarm flickering across her face. "Where are you going?"
He turned his head slightly toward her, his expression carved from stone, but his eyes, those merciless, burning eyes, held something else entirely.
"To get Zoya."
Nouran's heart skipped. Relief bloomed across her features, and she almost smiled, almost cried. "What—wait! Let me tell everyone—"
"No." His voice cut through her words like a blade. He took a step closer, lowering his tone but lacing it with deadly firmness. "Don't. If anyone finds out, it could alert them. You say nothing."
Nouran blinked, silenced by the weight in his voice.
But she would not let his brother go alone, though she nodded.
Zoya, think. Think.
You cannot just sit here like some fragile victim while they revel in your misery.
You are not weak. You are Zaigham Khan's wife.
I inhaled sharply, trying to push down the ache of the ropes cutting into my wrists. If this bastard is obsessed with me... then why not use it? Turn his own obsession into a weapon.
My hair was a tangled mess across my face, lips stinging where Mahveen had slapped me earlier pretending to "feed" me while yanking my hair the moment he left the room.
But now he was back, lounging in the chair like some self-appointed king, his eyes glued on me.
I swallowed hard, forcing fat tears to brim in my eyes. My chest trembled with carefully manufactured sobs.
Slowly, deliberately, I lifted my gaze to him, ignoring the snake at my side. My voice cracked, soft and broken, though every word was calculated.
"Okay... fine. Whatever you want to do with me... just do it. Who's going to stop you anyway? After that letter, no one's coming for me. Not him. Not anyone."
I sniffled, looking down, letting a sob escape as bile rose in my throat.
Ya Allah, I feel like gagging.
"Maybe... maybe it's better this way. I'm tired of being unwanted. Tired of begging for one look of affection, one ounce of love... but all he knows is arrogance and commands. Never care."
His brows furrowed. He leaned forward, confusion flashing in his eyes.
"You think I'll just believe that? You were singing his praises not long ago. Zaigham this, Zaigham that." His lip curled. "Why would I believe you now?"
Perfect. Hook him, reel him in.
I widened my eyes, innocent, trembling, even as my mind screamed.
Oscar performance, Zoya.
"That was just fear. Fear of what the family would say if they knew I wanted to leave.
Fear of being judged. But now..." I gestured weakly toward Mahveen, lowering my lashes.
"She told me everything. That they already believe I ran away.
That I ruined my own honor. If that's what they think.
.. then what's the point of going back?"
For a second, his expression cracked. Something darker replaced the suspicion. His lips twitched into a smile.
"So... you finally see it. That he was never worthy of you. That only I can keep you."
Idiot. Bastard. If only he knew the man he was mocking would already be coming for me like a storm.
I forced a tiny, hesitant smile through my tears. My voice quivered as I whispered, "Then prove it. Make me believe you'll keep me happy... pamper me... protect me. Just... please, my hands. They hurt so much. Untie me. Please."
I made a pout, every muscle in my face revolting, but I didn't break character.
His eyes softened, twisted in obsession. "Of course, little birdie." He leaned forward, fingers reaching for the rope—
"Wait!" Mahveen's voice sliced the air.
He froze, turning toward her.
Mahveen's eyes burned with rage. "Are you out of your mind? You really think she means any of this? Can't you see she's playing you? The moment you untie her, she will run straight back to him."
Zaarib's jaw tightened, indecision flickering.
I leaned forward, forcing my voice to break. "No! No, that's not true! Don't listen to her, please. I don't want to go back. I'm begging you—take me away from all of them. Take me far away."
I faked another sob, pressing my face down so the tears slid dramatically, shoulders shaking.
Mahveen laughed bitterly, venom dripping. "You're actually falling for this? Look at her face. Look at those fake tears. Zaarib, she's smarter than you think. She will do anything to get free."
I snapped my head toward him, eyes glassy, voice trembling. "If I wanted to trick you, wouldn't I already be doing it? Why would I tell you the truth? I'm giving myself to you. Can't you see? She's jealous...she never had what I have."
Zaarib's nostrils flared. He turned to Mahveen with sudden disgust. "Shut up. You don't understand her. You never did."
"Zaarib, don't do it!" Mahveen snapped, stepping forward. "I'm telling you, she's playing you."
"Shut up, Mahveen." His voice was cold, final. "I trust my little birdie. And besides..." his mouth twisted into a smug smile as he moved closer to me, "she's right. That arrogant bastard was never worthy of her. He never saw her the way I do."
I stopped the urge to punch his face at that moment. Every muscle in me screamed to lunge and claw his eyes out. But instead, I forced a soft smile, keeping my performance flawless.
Wow, Zoya... why didn't you become an actress?
Still, I kept my performance flawless, tilted my head, letting my eyes soften with forced gratitude. My lips curved in a tremulous smile.
He stepped behind me, fingers fumbling with the knots. The coarse rope loosened and finally fell away. My arms throbbed as blood rushed back into them. I exhaled shakily, more from relief than the act, but I masked it, letting it pass as a fragile sigh.
"Thank you," I whispered, turning my eyes on him like he was my savior. "You don't know... how much this means to me."
He practically preened under the attention, his chest puffing with pride. "You will never have to beg again. Not with me."
Ya Allah, this is nauseating.
I pressed a hand to my stomach, voice small, wavering. "I... I'm hungry. Please. Can I have something to eat?"
Across the room, Mahveen froze mid-step, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. She folded her arms, lips curling. "Hungry? That's convenient. Why now? Why not earlier, when I tried to feed you? What changed?"
I let out a scoff, not bothering to look at her. "Because I'd rather starve than take anything from your hands. Accepting him doesn't mean I've stopped despising you."
Her nostrils flared, and for a second, she looked ready to claw my face off.
"You—" she started, lunging forward.
But Zaarib's hand shot out, catching her wrist mid-air. His voice snapped like a whip. "Enough, Mahveen! Don't touch her."
The shock on her face almost made me grin.
Almost.
"She's lying, Zaarib!" Mahveen's voice cracked with fury, but beneath it, I caught the tiniest quiver of desperation.
I forced my eyes to glisten again, stepping closer to Zaarib as if seeking protection.
"Why would I still be here if I wanted to run?
" My voice trembled, fragile yet pointed.
"If I wanted him, I would've fought tooth and nail.
But I didn't. I stayed. With you." I dropped my gaze, adding a soft, bitter whisper.
"Because maybe... I was wrong about him all along. "
Zaarib's jaw tightened, his eyes flicking between me and Mahveen. Then, with sudden authority, he barked, "Go and bring her food."
Mahveen's eyes widened. "What? No—"
"Now!" he thundered.
She gritted her teeth so hard I thought they'd crack. Her eyes bored into me, venomous, before she spun on her heel and stormed out.
I leaned back slightly, masking my triumph behind another shaky sigh.
Inside, though? I was already plotting.
Step one complete. Now, let's see how far I can push this game.
He looked back at me, his chair scraping against the floor as he leaned forward.
His hand came up, fingers brushing against my cheek.
I pressed my nails into my palm so hard it almost tore through my skin, anything to stop myself from jerking away.
Instead, I tilted my head into the touch and smiled.
"Good girl," he murmured, his eyes shining with something vile. "Finally... you've accepted everything. Believe me, Zoya, I'll keep you happier than you ever dreamed. I'll love you more than that Zaigham ever could. He doesn't deserve you."
I forced my lashes to flutter, a fake warmth flooding my eyes. "Really?" I whispered, feigning fragile hope. "You will keep me happy... forever?"
He nodded eagerly, his thumb stroking my cheek with revolting tenderness. "Forever, little birdie. I'll pamper you, spoil you. Every morning you will wake up in my arms. I'll never let you feel unwanted again."
My stomach churned so violently I almost gagged.
I'm going to vomit. Focus, Zoya. Smile. Pretend.
I smiled up at him, wide-eyed and soft, like a naive girl finally surrendering. "Promise?"
"Pakka," he breathed, so absorbed in his fantasy that he didn't see the disgust flashing in my eyes before I buried it again. "I promise you'll never cry again... unless it's in my arms."
Oh, trust me, creep. You will be the one crying soon.
I tilted my head, letting my lips tremble as though relief flooded me.
His grin widened, triumphant, vile. He leaned closer, his breath hot against my face. "That's it, little birdie. That's the truth I've been waiting for."
Congratulations, Zoya, I thought, teeth clenched behind the smile. You deserve an Oscar for not spitting in his face right now.
Just then, the door opened with a creak.
Mahveen entered, smug as ever, carrying a tray of food. She placed the tray on the floor.Two bowls of steaming curry, some rice, and roti, a glass of water.
She straightened, dusting her hands, then deliberately walked back...standing beside Zaarib.
I lowered my gaze to the food, my face calm, almost docile. But inside, my mind was racing.
The tray. The bowls. The steam. The distance.
I let my eyes wander slowly, as if I were just tired and dazed, but every detail was calculation.
The space between them.
Zaarib chuckled low beside me, his hand brushing my arm. "Eat, my love. You'll need your strength... for us."
That was it. I couldn't hold it in anymore.
I snapped my gaze up, fire blazing in my eyes. And before either of them could process what was happening, I moved.
In one sharp motion. I surged to my feet—before either of them could blink—and flung both bowls forward.
The boiling curry exploded across their faces, scalding, burning, stinging with spices.
Their screams ripped through the room. Mahveen clutched at her skin, shrieking, while Zaarib reeled back, clawing at his eyes, roaring in pain.
"AGHH—YOU LITTLE—!" He howled, clawing at his face, thrashing blindly.
I didn't wait. I drove my foot forward with all my strength, kicking himbetween his legs with every ounce of strength in me.
His scream broke into a guttural cry as he collapsed to his knees.
"You creepy bastard!" I shouted, voice shaking with rage and adrenaline. "I despise your existence, let alone accepting you. You're filth. NOTHING!"
I spun to Mahveen, who was wailing, trying to wipe curry from her eyes. I lunged, yanking her by the hair so hard she shrieked louder.
"And you, bitch," I hissed through clenched teeth, my face inches from hers. "You dared to take my husband's name with your filthy mouth? You dared to touch me? Burn in it."
I shoved her back, watching her writhe, her face red and raw from the spices.
Both of them were screaming now, curses spilling from their mouths, agony twisting their features.
I didn't waste the chance. My lungs heaved, my heart pounded, but I forced my legs to move. I spun toward the door, shoving it open so hard it slammed against the wall.
Run, Zoya. Run.
The door slammed open under my shove, and I bolted, breath ragged in my throat.
All I knew was move, Zoya. Run.
The hallway stretched ahead, dim and narrow, the walls damp and cracked. My heart hammered so violently it drowned out everything, until the sound of men's voices made my blood run cold.
Two of them stood at the end of the hall. They hadn't seen me yet, but if I ran straight, I'd crash right into them.
Panic surged, but instinct kicked in....I darted to the side, shoving open another door. It creaked painfully loud, but I slipped inside, crouching low against the wall. My chest rose and fell in sharp, desperate gasps.
"Catch her!"
The roar shook me to my bones. Zaarib's voice, bellowing in a fury I'd never heard before. "Don't let her out of this place—GO!"
Boots thundered against the floors, the men rushing past the very door I was hiding behind. My hand flew to my mouth, clamping it shut to smother the sound of my breathing.
Through the crack of the door, I saw shadows stretching long and crooked across the hallway.
The men had split, stomping off in the opposite direction, their curses echoing down the dark corridor.
My pulse drummed in my ears.
This is it, Zoya. Move now, or you're finished.
I slipped out silently, hugging the wall. The air was thick with dust, tasting like rust and old oil.
My legs trembled, raw rope burns stinging with every step, but I forced them to keep moving.
The corridor opened into a wider space.
My breath caught.
Then reality struck me—my saree. The heavy silk from the function dragged around my ankles, slowing me down, tangling with every step. And the heels still strapped to my feet clicked against the concrete, the sound sharp enough to expose me in seconds.
Idiot, Zoya. You'll trip and fall before you even make it out alive.
I crouched low in the shadows, fumbling with the straps of my heels. My fingers shook, but I yanked them off and clutched them in one hand, the rough floor biting into my bare feet.
With my other hand, I grabbed the fabric of my saree and pulled it up to my knees.
I bolted forward, the sound of my breathing mingling with the hollow echoes of the abandoned factory.
My lungs were on fire, each breath tearing like knives through my chest. The factory stretched into endless shadows, pipes overhead dripping, iron doors groaning in the wind.
I tightened my saree and ran harder, occasionally looking back, until my bare feet stepped on sharp shards of broken glass.
"Aaah—!" I gasped, stumbling forward.
Pain shot up my leg like fire licking bone. I tried to run, but every step was worse than the last, blood smearing across the concrete in crimson streaks.
No, no, not now. Keep moving, Zoya. You can't stop.
I limped, dragging myself forward with ragged breaths, clutching the wall for support.
But before I could take another step, a shadow loomed over me.
Fingers fisted into my hair, yanking back so hard my scalp.
I screamed.
"Thought you could outsmart me, you witch?" Zaarib's voice dripped venom as he dragged me backward, my feet skidding helplessly across the floor. "You dare humiliate me? You dare burn me?"
I clawed at his wrist, kicking and thrashing. "Let me go, you disgusting—"
"Shut up!" he roared, jerking my head back so I was forced to look into his face. His skin was still blotched red from the curry burns, his eyes wild, unhinged. "You think you can outsmart me and then run? You think Zaigham's name is some shield that will protect you here?"
I closed my eyes in pain.
"Not his name... but he himself will protect her."
Zaarib froze. My chest heaved, I opened my eyes immediately.
There he stood.
Zaigham. Eyes burning hotter than any fire, and behind him—Ayaan and Zayyan bhai.
A sob clawed up my throat as relief broke through my pain. Tears blurred my vision, but through them, I smiled. "Zaigham..." I whispered, voice cracked but full of faith.
Zaarib's men surged forward with shouts, but they never reached. Ayaan and Zayyan bhai crashed into them like a storm unleashed, fists and fury colliding in violent rhythm.
The air filled with the sounds of bones cracking, groans, and steel hitting concrete.
But I couldn't tear my gaze away from Zaigham.
His eyes found me first, trailing over me—the blood, the torn saree, the rope burns, the way I sagged under Zaarib's grip.
And then his gaze slid to Zaarib.
The fury there... God help anyone who stood in his path.
"Let her go, you filthy bastard," Zaigham growled, voice low, sharp, vibrating with wrath.
Zaarib sneered, jerking my head higher as though using me as a shield. "Or what? You'll bleed for her?"
Zaigham's lips curled into something between a snarl and a smirk.
"Gladly, but right now. I'll make you bleed until you beg me to end you."
And then he moved.
Like a beast unchained, storming forward, shoving aside a fallen chair with his boot. His fist connected with Zaarib's jaw in a sickening crack. The grip in my hair loosened instantly, and I collapsed to the ground with a cry, clutching my torn feet.
Above me, chaos erupted.
Zaigham's rage was a force of nature. He slammed Zaarib against the rusted pillar, punch after brutal punch landing across his already ruined face. "You touch her again, how dare you? you bastard—" His voice broke into a roar as his fist drove into Zaarib's ribs. "—and I swear I'll bury you alive!"
Blood sprayed, Zaarib coughing, wheezing curses. "She... she's mine—"
"Say that again, and I will rip your fucking tongue out!" Zaigham snarled, his hand gripping Zaarib's throat so tightly his feet scraped helplessly against the floor.
Zaigham was unrecognizable.
The moment Zoya slipped from Zaarib's grip and fell to the floor, something inside him snapped.
His fury exploded like a storm that could not be contained. He drove his fists into Zaarib's face, again and again, each strike harder, more brutal, until blood splattered across his knuckles and dripped down his wrist.
Zaarib's cries turned to gurgles, his body sagging under the onslaught, but Zaigham didn't stop.
His veins stood out, thick and pulsing, his jaw clenched so tight it looked carved from stone.
Every punch carried a roar, a curse, a promise of annihilation.
"You dare touch her?!" CRACK. His fist shattered Zaarib's lip.
"You dared to hurther?!" THUD. Another punch to the ribs, making Zaarib wheeze in agony.
"You fucking bastard—I'll rip you apart with my bare hands!"
Blood sprayed, Zaarib coughing, choking, his head snapping back against the rusted pillar. His arms flailed weakly, no longer resisting.
Still, Zaigham's rage only burned hotter. His eyes were wild, like a beast, knuckles splitting open with the sheer force of his blows.
"I'll kill you here—I'll end you today!" Zaigham roared, his voice echoing like thunder.
But before he could land another devastating punch, strong hands grabbed at his shoulders.
Ayaan and Zayyan, both panting and bruised from their own fight, threw themselves at him.
"Bhai, enough!" Zayyan barked, straining as he locked his arms around Zaigham's chest.
"Zaigham, stop—you'll kill him!" Ayaan's voice cracked as he grabbed him, trying to wrench it back.
But Zaigham fought them like a wild animal. "Let me go! Don't you fucking stop me today!" His voice was raw, feral.
He swung again, his fist grazing Zaarib's already swollen cheek before Zayyan yanked him back with all his strength.
"Bhai, you'll have his blood on your hands—he's not worth it!" Zayyan gritted through his teeth, dragging Zaigham back a step.
Zaigham thrashed violently, veins bulging across his neck, chest heaving like a raging bull. "He touched her! He dared lay a hand on my wife—I'll bury him alive with my own hands!"
It took both brothers straining, grunting, their bodies pressed against his, to pull him away.
"Get away from me!" he thundered, muscles rippling, eyes blazing with pure, merciless wrath. "I won't leave this bastard today!"
Zaarib, bloodied and broken, slumped against the pillar, coughing and spitting blood, his once smug face now reduced to a swollen, mangled ruin.
Only Ayaan and Zayyan's grip—unyielding, desperate—kept him from tearing Zaarib apart right then and there.
My knuckles still ached, swollen and raw, and my chest heaved like I had run through fire. I wanted to tear back into Zaarib, to split his skull open, to end him with my bare hands.
But then—
My world narrowed the second I saw her. She was slumped against the wall, trembling, trying to rise on shaking legs. Her saree was shredded, her lips cracked, her hair tangled in knots.
She tried to stand, but her knees gave out. A broken sound tore from her throat as she fell—
—and I caught her before she could hit the ground.
Her body collapsed into me, her arms wrapping around my chest, clutching me.
"Zaigham..." her voice shattered against me, choked with sobs, raw with pain.
I pulled her in, tighter, crushing her trembling frame to my chest. My eyes burned, my jaw clenched.
"I've got you, baby... I've got you," I whispered, my voice shaking as I rocked her. "I'm here. You're safe. No one will ever touch you again. I swear it on my blood."
Her tears soaked through my shirt, her body quaking as she clung to me. Each whimper shredded me alive. I lowered us both, coaxing her to sit against the wall, my hands never leaving her.
And then I saw the full extent of it.
Her delicate feet, torn and bleeding, the glass embedded deep, angry red lines cutting across her skin. My breath hitched.
A sharp pain clawed through my chest, fiercer than any punch I had thrown. My veins screamed with rage, but I forced it down, forced myself to stay steady. She didn't need my fury. She needed me gentle.
I bent forward and pressed my lips to her forehead, lingering there, closing my eyes against the wave of helplessness threatening to drown me.
My voice came out low, rough, but soft. "Shh... baby. Relax. It's over. I'm here now. No one is taking you from me again."
She whimpered, her face twisting in pain, her breaths coming in shallow gasps. My arms slid under her knees and shoulders, and I lifted her carefully.
My chest ached at how fragile she felt.
Her head dropped against my chest, her small hands fisting into my shirt.
"Don't close your eyes, Zoya," I whispered urgently, my lips brushing her temple as I carried her toward the exit. "Stay with me. Just stay with me a little longer."
Boots thudded behind us—the police dragging Zaarib and his men away like trash. I barely heard them.
My focus was only her.
At the car, Ayaan rushed forward, worry written across his face. "Bhai... are you sure you'll be okay? You don't have to do this alone—"
"I am fine," I cut him off. I glanced down at her face, pale and blood-streaked, her lashes fluttering as if she was seconds from unconsciousness. My chest squeezed painfully. "She's all that matters right now. I'll take her. You go home. Keep everyone calm."
Ayaan hesitated, then nodded, stepping back with clenched fists.
"Wait!" I stopped him.
I looked at her again, brushing a strand of hair from her face. My throat closed when I saw her lips part weakly, her breath shallow.
I noticed the disarray of her. Her saree had slipped, her hair was wild, her head bare—exposed in a way she would hate, in a way that stripped her dignity.
My chest clenched. My baby.
"Can you look inside the room she was in, her scarf should be there." I gritted out.
I shifted Zoya carefully against my chest, my thumb brushing the dried blood at her lip, every tremor of hers shaking me to the core.
By the time Ayyan returned, breathless, with her scarf clutched tight in his fist.
I took it and, with slow, reverent hands, wrapped it around her head. I tucked the edges gently, making sure it covered her completely. My fingers lingered at her temple, and I bent forward to press my lips against the fabric.
"There," I whispered, my voice breaking.
The emergency ward doors banged open as I stormed in, Zoya cradled tightly in my arms. My shirt was soaked with her blood, my hands trembling, but my grip on her never loosened.
"Doctor!" I barked, my voice sharp.
They rushed forward with a stretcher, but when one tried to take her from me, her weak whimper tore through me. She clung to my shirt like a lifeline, and I glared at them.
Her eyes fluttered open just slightly, glazed with pain, and she tried to smile at me. "Zaigham..." she whispered, so faint I had to lean close to catch it.
I bent my head, pressing my lips to her forehead. "Shh, baby. I'm here. Don't waste your strength." My jaw clenched, my throat burning with a grief I couldn't show.
The doctor finally came rushing in, barking orders. They worked around me, checking her pulse, her bleeding feet, but I never moved, never set her down. My hands kept stroking her arm.
"Her feet are full of glass shards. We'll need to clean and extract every piece, otherwise infection is a risk," the senior doctor explained briskly, already snapping on gloves.
Zaigham's jaw tightened. "Then do it."
"We will," the doctor replied gently, but then looked up at him. "Sir, you need to step outside. This will take time, and it won't be easy to watch. Please."
Zaigham froze. Step away from her? Leave her alone, even for a second? His fists clenched at his sides. "No. I'm not leaving her."
"Mr. Khan," another doctor urged, "she needs absolute focus from us. She will be under anesthesia—she won't feel a thing. Please, give us space."
Zoya whimpered softly as they adjusted her position, and the sound gutted him. He bent down, brushing his lips over her damp forehead, whispering, "I'm right here, baby."
Her trembling hand weakly squeezed his fingers, and it nearly broke him in half to let go.
The doctor gave a nod, and Zaigham straightened, his face hardened again before going out.
After some time....
The door creaked open at last. Zaigham's head snapped up, his bloodshot eyes locking on the doctor.
"She's stable. You can come in now."
He didn't wait for another word. His long strides carried him inside, and the sight hit him like a blow to the chest, Zoya lying pale against the sheets, both feet carefully bandaged, an IV line running into her arm.
She stirred weakly at the sound of his steps. Her lashes fluttered, and when her gaze found him, tears welled instantly.
A faint, broken whisper left her lips—"Zaigham..."
He was at her side in a heartbeat, sinking into the chair, taking her hand in both of his. He pressed it to his lips, his forehead, breathing her in like air he had been starved of. Silent tears rolled down his face, but he didn't bother to hide them.
"I'm here," he murmured, voice husky and raw. "You're safe, my love. You fought so hard... now let me carry it all."
Her fingers curled weakly into his shirt, tugging him closer until her cheek brushed against his chest. She clung as if the world would vanish without him, and he held her carefully, afraid to hurt her but unable to let go.
The doctor cleared his throat gently. "Mr. Khan, she needs rest. The wounds were superficial, but glass can be cruel.
We extracted every shard, cleaned the tissue, and dressed the cuts.
For the next week, no strain on her feet—no walking unless absolutely necessary.
She will need oral antibiotics to prevent infection, and the bandages must be changed daily.
If swelling or fever develops, bring her back immediately. "
Zaigham's eyes didn't leave Zoya's face as he nodded once.
"We'll send painkillers as well," the doctor added, a little softer. "She'll be in considerable pain the first couple of days. Keep her elevated. And... she will need emotional rest as much as physical."
Zaigham stayed seated by her side, his hand wrapped gently around hers, his thumb tracing circles against her knuckles. Zoya had drifted back to sleep, her face pale but peaceful now, and he couldn't look away.
When the doctor returned to check her vitals, Zaigham finally spoke, his voice low but steady.
"When can I take her home?"
The doctor glanced at the monitors, then back at him. "She's stable now. You can take her. We'll have the discharge papers ready within the hour," the doctor assured him.
After a long moment as the doctor left, he slipped his phone out, his expression hardening into steel as he dialed a number. He kept his tone low so as not to disturb her sleep, but every word vibrated with restrained violence.
"Did you find her yet?" A pause, then his jaw clenched. "Not good enough. Keep searching. Tear the city apart if you must. Mahveen doesn't get to disappear. Not after what she did."
His grip tightened around Zoya's hand, his thumb caressing her soft skin even as venom coated his words.
"I don't care what it takes, find her and bring her to me. Alive."
He ended the call, exhaling slowly. Then he bent down, kissing Zoya's forehead tenderly, whispering against her skin, "My baby."