Morning came like a curse. The sun spilled lazily across the sprawling corridors of the Shah Mansion, gilding the marble floors in gold, casting a warm, deceptive glow—mocking the turmoil simmering beneath Raneya's skin.
She rose with difficulty.
Her body moved with the stiffness of a soldier after war. Her limbs felt heavy, as if bearing the weight of a thousand sleepless thoughts. Dark circles rimmed her weary eyes, and her once lively spirit moved sluggishly beneath the fabric of her composure. Last night's encounter with Aahil haunted her, lingering like smoke in her lungs —His eyes, his grip, his looming presence, the warning whispered like venom in her ear—had unsettled her to the core, carving themselves into her mind like a searing brand.
Yet, not a word escaped her lips.
Though exhausted and hollow-eyed, she said nothing. She did what she always did—kept moving with robotic grace through her routine
She helped Razia Begum with a tender touch and sweet words, her concern genuine despite her own clouded mind. Afterward, she entered the kitchen to assist the househelp with breakfast. But even the scent of spices and the rhythm of boiling tea couldn't distract her wandering mind.
She nearly burnt her hand while flipping a paratha.
"Are you alright?" the househelp asked, concerned.
Raneya blinked back into reality, plastered on a faint hollow, vacant kind of smile, and brushed it off. "Just distracted. That's all."
She changed the topic like a skilled illusionist but her dazed eyes betrayed her.
She was silently praying Aahil had forgotten the cold promise he'd made yesterday—to take her to retrieve her belongings.
But fate, or perhaps cruelty, had other plans.
As the family gathered for breakfast, Raneya kept her head low, hoping to disappear into the background. She quietly served Razia Begum her tea and tried to retreat, but as she walked past him, he raised his head and looked her dead in the eye. His gaze was void of warmth—piercing, composed, arrogant.
He suddenly spoke. Cold. Commanding. Unapologetically indifferent.
"Get ready. I'm taking you to get your things," he ordered without even glancing up from his phone.
Raneya stopped in her tracks. Her blood ran cold and her breath hitched.
Justice Shah raised a brow in mild surprise, hiding a smile behind his cup. Razia Begum looked at her grandson as she blinked in surprise. She was actually pleased yet tried not to show it too much. Aahil, taking initiative? Voluntarily? So, the cold-hearted heir had softened under the girl's touch? Both elders exchanged a knowing glance amusingly, mistaking duty for sentiment.
Raneya, however, knew better.
Her lips parted to protest but she faltered, finding no escape that didn't sound suspicious, No excuse sharp enough to cut through his command. She wanted to disappear. To vanish into thin air and never return to wherever he was planning on taking her.
Within the hour, she found herself sitting in his sleek black Mercedes, beside him—back straight, fists clenched, while the air thickened with silence.
She opened her mouth to give him an address.
He didn't ask for one.
But the moment she recognized the familiar route, panic consumed her, twisting her stomach into knots.
She knew this street.
She knew what waited at the end of it.
"No… Stop. Don't take me there," she pleaded, voice cracking.
He didn't spare her a glance. He kept driving, silent and unmoved.
"Aahil, I'm serious!" she cried, fingers fumbling with the door handle. "I'll jump if you don't stop—"
The door cracked open with the wind screaming through the gap. Before she could leap out, his hand darted forward and gripped her wrist tightly and yanked her back in. The car skidded to a halt as he pulled the handbrake in one swift motion. Tires screeching to a halt. Her heart thundered.
"Are you insane?!" he hissed.
But she was already out as she broke free, feet pounding the pavement, her breaths ragged with fear.
She ran blindly, heart thundering like war drums, like hell itself chased her. But she didn't get far.
He followed and caught up within seconds. Within seconds, his strong arms were caging her between himself and the iron gate of a closed shop. His face inches from hers as his breath fanned across her cheek, and she froze, caught between fear and fury.
"Don't test me," he growled, voice low, dangerous. "You're not some clever little runaway. I know what you're hiding and exactly who you are."
Raneya's chest heaved, her eyes wide. "You know nothing about me."
"Your father came to my office," Aahil snapped.
Raneya froze.
Aahil's eyes narrowed as he continued, "He accused you of being unfilial… said you ran from your marriage like a coward. What were you planning, hmm? Running into my family's life to hide your scandal?"
The word hit her like a slap. The anger in her eyes flared.
She stared at him, the heat behind her eyes threatening to explode. And then, like a dam breaking, the words rushed out of her—sharp, broken, raw.
She shoved at his chest, her voice rising, trembling with fury. "You think I wanted to be here?! You think I chose this?!"
Aahil stared at her, unmoving.
"Do you know who I was married to?" she spat. "A pimp. That's right. My 'groom' was a human trafficker. He raped me on our wedding night like he was entitled to it."
Aahil's face darkened, but he said nothing.
"My father sold me off," she cried, voice breaking. "He plotted the whole thing. My own father."
She broke—spilling everything in gasps between sobs especially the moment she realized her own father had orchestrated the entire horror.
And then she dropped to the ground, her knees hitting the cold concrete. Her sobs were no longer quiet—they were guttural, anguished, furious. Her secrets spilled into the world like oil catching fire.
"I went to the police. They put me in a safe house. But even that wasn't enough. They found me again. And that's when I met your grandmother…"
Her voice faded into a whisper. "The only person who saw me… not as a liability. But a human."
By the end of her story, she was on her knees, her voice broken, tears soaking into the dirt.
Silence fell.
A heavy, punishing silence.
And Aahil stood above her—still, silent, his expression unreadable.
But something shifted in his eyes.
His usual icy glare dimmed… revealing a brief flicker of something dangerously close to humanity.
Disgust—not at her, but at the monsters who had wronged her, at the betrayal, the injustice. The filth behind the mask of her so-called family.
He hated manipulation. Hated cruelty done in the name of tradition.
Without a word, he reached down and pulled her up by the shoulders, not roughly, not cruelly—but with a touch that betrayed a quiet storm brewing inside him. He didn't offer sympathy. Didn't promise anything. Didn't pity her.
But he didn't look away.
And somehow, that was enough.