16.

3rd person POV

The late afternoon sun painted the walls of the house in warm, golden hues as Ayub and Anam stepped inside, their arms laden with shopping bags. Laughter lingered on their lips, Ayub teasing Anam about her inability to decide between two shades of pastel for her dress earlier. Ayan, who had driven them home, waved them off as he hurried to take care of some urgent errands, leaving the two sisters to face the quiet storm awaiting them indoors.

Chachi was the first to spot them, her sharp eyes narrowing as they entered the living room. Her gaze flicked to the numerous bags they carried, her disapproval radiating before she even opened her mouth.

"Wah, ji wah" she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Looks like someone thinks she's a queen. How much money did you two waste today? Money doesn't grow on trees, you know." (Oh wow, look at that)

Anam's smile faltered, but Ayub's expression darkened instantly. Before Ayub could speak, Seher appeared, her arms crossed and her lips pressed into a thin line. She surveyed the bags with a scornful look, her envy barely concealed.

"Isn't it funny how the person who wasn't even supposed to have a special day is suddenly acting like it's all about her?" Seher sneered, her voice laced with bitterness.

Anam blincked, taken aback by the venom in Seher's words. She opened her mouth to respond, but Ayub was quicker.

"Special day? Oh, you mean the one Anam didn't ask for but was thrown into? And for your information, these bags aren't just for her. We got things for the house and for you too, but maybe we should return them since you're so ungrateful," Ayub snapped, her tone cutting.

Chachi stepped forward, her anger now fully ignited. "How dare you talk back to your elders, Ayub! And you," she said, pointing a finger at Anam, "look at you, parading around like this house belongs to you. This is what happens when orphans are given too much leniency... they forget their place!"

The words stung, and Anam felt her chest tighten. She tried to steady herself, reminding herself not to let Chachi's sharp tongue get to her. Ayub, however, was having none of it.

"Don't you dare talk to my sister like that!" Ayub fired back, her voice trembling with anger. "She's done nothing but try to keep this family together. And you, all you do is tear her down!"

"Enough!" Chachi barked, her voice echoing through the room. But before the argument could escelate further, the atmosphere shifted.

The sound of steady footsteps entered the hall. Everyone turned to see Feras walking in, his tall frame commanding the space. His usual calm expression was replaced by a hint of irritation, his dark eyes scanning the room as the tension crackled like static.

The room fell silent in an instant.

Feras's gaze swept over everyone, finally landing on Anam. She was holding a small bag tightly to her chest, her face slightly flushed from the confrontation. But what struck him most was how radiant she looked, her cheeks glowing softly and her eyes sparkling with life. She wasn't dressed extravagantly, but there was a natural elegance to her that was impossible to ignore.

For a brief moment, Feras's usually stoic expression softened. He cleared his throat and addressed the room, his tone measured but firm.

"What's going on here?" he asked, his voice low and calm, but it carried an edge that made everyone uneasy.

Chachi, suddenly cautious under Feras's watchful gaze, faltered. "We were just... discussing the unnecessary spending today," she muttered, her confidence waning.

Feras raised an eyebrow. "I don't think there's anything wrong with a little shopping, what is money for, if not for spending?. Ayub, Anam... go put those bags away. The rest of you," he added, his eyes fliking toward Chachi and Seher, "let's leave the bickering for another time."

Seher shifted uncomfortably, her jealousy simmering beneath the surface. She glanced at Anam, who was now carefully avoiding her gaze, and clenched her fists.

Anam turned to leave, her heart beating fast. She felt Feras's eyes follow her for a moment longer before he turned away, his usual cold demeanor slipping back into place as he addressed Chachi about other matters.

As she walked toward her room, Anam couldn't help but feel a strange mix of emotions...

.....

Dinner was a tense affair that evening. The dining room, bathed in the warm glow of overhead lights, held an undercurrent of unease despite the delicious aroma of biryani wafting from the serving dishes. Anam sat quietly, her hijab carefully pinned, a slight flush still lingering on her cheeks from the day's outing.

Chachi, wasn't one to let any silence go unfilled. She placed her spoon down with a deliberate clink and turned her sharp gaze toward Anam and Ayub.

"So many bags for just two people?" Chachi began, her voice dripping with disdain. "Do you think money grows on trees? Who spends like this? And on what? Useless things, I'm sure."

Ayub, sitting beside Anam, bristled instantly. "Chachi, those were basic things we needed, not luxuries. And it wasn't just for us... some of it is for the niqah preparations, and we brought some stuff for everyone."

Chachi wasn't appeased. "Oh, really? Preparations for a niqah that doesn't even feel like it's for this family! Spending like you're queens. It's shameless."

Anam, who had been quietly scooping rice onto her plate, froze. Her throat tightened, but she forced herself to stay composed. She had promised herself she wouldn't let Chachi's words affect her.

"I only bought what was necesary," Anam said softly, her voice steady but gentle. "And I made sure to stay within budget."

Chachi's scoff was loud and cutting. "Necessary? Do you think you're some bride-to-be deserving of such extravagance? Allah knows what kind of black magic you've done on this family to secure this niqah."

Ayub slammed her glass down on the table, her eyes blazing. "Chachi! That's enough!"

The tension thickened as everyone paused, unsure of what would erupt next. Aman, seated opposite Anam, leaned back in his chair, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. His gaze flicked to her, slowly and deliberately, lingering just long enough to make her squirm.

His eyes carried a glint of something vile... mocking and demeaning. "Black magic, huh? Makes sense," he muttered, loud enough for Anam to hear. "Can't be her appearance or intelligence, that's for sure."

Anam felt her cheeks burn, humiliation clawing at her chest. She wanted to shrink into herself, to disappear, but she straightened her back instead, trying not to show how deeply his words cut.

Across the table, Feras, who had been silent so far, suddenly set his spoon down with a quiet but firm clink. His dark eyes, sharp and calculating, turned toward Aman, who immediately looked away, feigning interest in his plate.

"Enough," Feras said, his tone calm but laced with authority. His voice commanded silence, and everyone at the table froze, including Chachi.

Anam dared a glance at him, and her heart gave a painful lurch. His expression was unreadable, as always... a mask of indifference. Did he... notice what Aman had said? Did he care?

Feras's eyes flicked to her for the briefest moment, and she quickly lowered her gaze, pretending to focus on her plate. Her thoughts spiraled. Why did he defend me earlier when we came back from shopping, or now? Is it just because of the niqah? Or... no, don't be silly, Anam. He doesn't even like you.

Chachi huffed, clearly frustrated at being silenced.

Anam inhaled deeply, trying to keep her calm.

Ayan, sensing the tension, decided to lighten the mood. He grinned mischievously, leaning toward Ayub. "You know, Ayub, if you're going to keep dragging Anam to all these fancy stores, at least bring me back something next time. Maybe a Rolex?"

Ayub rolled her eyes, smirking despite herself. "Sure, Ayan bhai, because I've got that kind of budget. How about a toy watch instead?"

As the meal ended and everyone began to disperse, Anam quietly gathered the dishes, slipping into the kitchen to find a moment of solitude. Her thoughts were a whirlwind of confusion and insecurity. Why does he defend me one moment and ignore me the next? And why... just why do I care so much?

She sighed, shaking her head. "Ya Allah," she murmured under her breath, "if this is what You've written for me, then make me strong enough to bear it. And if it's not, then take these feelings away before they destroy me."

Little did she know, Feras stood in the hallway, his hands in his pockets, his eyes fixed on her retreating figure. His expression remained unreadable, but his mind was anything but calm.

He goes back to his study upstairs.

The study was bathed in the soft glow of a desk lamp, its light casting long shadows across the dark wood furniture. Feras sat at his sleek desk, his laptop open in front of him. On the screen were the faces of four men, each sitting in dimly lit rooms, their expressions serious and focused. The atmosphere was tense, laced with an unspoken understanding that their discussion wasn't meant for prying ears.

Feras leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the armrest as he listened to the conversation unfold. His crisp white kurta clung to his broad shoulders, giving him an air of composed authority, even as his dark eyes simmered with barely concealed fury.

One of the men on the screen, Asim, a high-ranking officer with a secret back ground. "We've been keeping tabs on Ibrahim, but he's slippery. Every time we think we've got him pinned, he disappears. It's like he knows our moves before we make them."

"Because he does," another voice interjected, this one gruff and sharp. Zameer, a man whose connections to the underworld were as deep as they were dangerous, leaned closer to his camera. "Ibrahim has friends in the right places... judges, local cops, and politicians. He's been paying them off for years. It's why he's been untouchable until now."

Feras's jaw tightened, his expression hardening. He hated hearing Ibrahim's name, hated the power the man thought he wielded. But what infuriated him more was the audacity of someone trying to tarnish his family's name. His pride, his reputation—it wasn't just about him; it was about everything his late mother and grandfather had built. And Ibrahim had dared to threaten that.

"He's playing a dangerous game," Feras said finally, his voice cold and measured, carrying a weight that silenced the room. "He thinks he can get away with it because he's untouchable. But everyone has a weakness."

Zameer smirked, nodding. "True enough. What do you have in mind?"

Feras leaned forward, his fingers interlacing as he rested his elbows on the desk. "We find those weaknesses. His allies, his finances, his hiding spots... everything. I want him exposed. And when we have him, we make sure he understands that no one crosses my family and walks away unscathed."

There was a pause, and then a third man, Rayan—a tech expert who had worked both sides of the law—chimed in. "I've already started tracing his digital footprint. He's been unusually quiet online since the incident, which tells me he's nervous. That's a good sign."

Feras's lips twitched into a humorless smile. "Good. Nervous men make mistakes. And when he does, I want to be the first to know."

Asim sighed, rubbing his temples. "You do realize that this could escalate, right? If Ibrahim feels cornered, he might strike back...hard."

"I don't care how hard he strikes," Feras said, his voice dropping an octave. His eyes burned with an intensity that made the others sit straighter. "He took Seher, humiliated her, and dragged my family's name through the mud. Do you think I'll let that slide?"

The men exchanged uneasy glances, but none of them dared to argue. They all knew Feras—knew the weight his name carried, knew his reputation for being calm and controlled until pushed too far.

Zameer finally broke the silence. "We'll dig deeper. I'll reach out to my contacts in the underground. If Ibrahim is hiding, someone will know."

"And I'll keep the cops on alert," Asim added. "We'll need to tread carefully, though. If we make the wrong move, he'll vanish completely."

"Then don't make the wrong move," Feras said sharply. His tone left no room for error, no space for excuses.

The meeting wrapped up shortly after, and as the screen went dark, Feras leaned back in his chair, exhaling deeply. He rubbed his temples, the weight of everything pressing down on him. The incident with Ibrahim wasn't just a personal affront... it was a challenge to his authority, his position as the protector of his family. And Feras never backed down from a challenge.

His thoughts drifted briefly to Anam. She had no idea about the lengths he was willing to go to keep her and the rest of the family safe. And maybe that was for the best. She didn't need to know about this side of him...

Standing, he adjusted his kurta and walked to the window, staring out at the moonlit garden. The world outside was quiet, serene... a stark contrast to the storm brewing within him.

"I'll find you, Ibrahim," he muttered to himself, his voice a low growl. "And when I do, you'll regret ever stepping into my family's path."

With that, he turned and left the study, his resolve hardened like steel.