Faqir wasn't the only one who felt that way.
Layla did too.
Her heart—her poor, exhausted heart—kept lurching every time she saw him.
Every time Malik so much as breathed on that damned projection, she felt something claw up her throat.
This was the man she knew.
The man she married.
The man she fell in love with.
The man who, despite everything, was still him.
Layla exhaled shakily, forcing herself to stay silent.
The world had twisted him into something else.
Something she couldn't recognize.
But these past few days?
She saw him again.
The real him, choosing to protect people who were nothing to him.
Fighting, even when he didn't have to.
Fighting, even when it would've been so much easier to turn away.
This was Malik.
Her Malik.
Not the Villain they had painted him as.
Just a man. A man who was too kind for his own damn good.
Layla bit the inside of her cheek, holding back the sudden, overwhelming urge to wail a third time.
Malik was good.
