The wedding festivities continued in full swing, laughter and music filling the air, but for Zarif, it was becoming increasingly suffocating. Huda's relentless attempts to cling to him were grating on his nerves, and every time he shook her off, she found a new way to get close to him again. Zara, however, remained entirely unbothered. She simply smiled as usual, as if nothing was happening, as if Huda didn't even exist. That irritated Zarif more than Huda herself.
They were seated at a round table in the garden, enjoying a break from the festivities, when Huda came up again, pulling a chair beside Zarif. She leaned in close, her perfume strong and overwhelming. Without hesitation, she took a sip from her glass and then offered it to Zarif, her eyes twinkling flirtatiously.
"Here, drink from mine," she said sweetly, pushing the glass towards his lips.
Zarif pulled back, his expression darkening. "No, thanks."
"Oh, come on!" she giggled, pushing it toward him again. "It's just a sip. Don't be shy."
"I said no."
He placed his own glass down with a bit more force than necessary, his patience running thin. But Huda still didn't take the hint. She stood up and, without warning, hugged him from behind, resting her chin on his shoulder. Zarif tensed immediately, his jaw tightening in frustration.
"Zarif , why are you acting so cold towards me?" she pouted, her arms still wrapped around him.
Zara, sitting across from them, simply took another sip of her tea, her serene smile never fading. She didn't even glance at them. Her indifference was like a knife twisting in Zarif's gut, and he hated how much it affected him.
That was the final straw.
Zarif abruptly stood up, shaking Huda off him. He grabbed her wrist firmly but not roughly and dragged her away from the crowded area. He didn't want to cause a scene, but at this point, he couldn't hold back anymore. He pulled her to a secluded corner of the garden, away from prying eyes.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" he snapped, throwing her wrist away from him as if even touching her disgusted him. "Why do you keep doing this?"
Huda crossed her arms and pouted, acting as if she was the victim. "Why are you so mean to me?"
"Mean?" Zarif scoffed. "You're making me uncomfortable, and you just don't get it! You keep touching me, clinging to me, and acting like we have something when we don't. It's annoying. I don't like it."
Her expression darkened. "I don't care if you don't like it," she shot back. "I love you, Zarif!"
Zarif froze.
Huda stepped closer, her eyes filled with desperation. "I've loved you for so long, and you never even noticed! If it weren't for that Zara, you would've seen me! She took you away from me!"
Zarif took a step back, stunned at her delusion. "Are you insane?" he said slowly. "Zara has nothing to do with this. She didn't 'take' me away because I was never yours to begin with."
"Yes, she did!" Huda screamed, her voice shaking with fury. "She doesn't love you! She doesn't even care about you! She just sits there, smiling like a damn doll! She's only with you because she has to be, not because she wants to be! I could love you better than she ever could!"
Zarif clenched his fists. He had never been this furious in his life. The way she talked about Zara—his wife—made his blood boil.
"You don't know anything about Zara," he said coldly. "Don't talk about her like that."
"She's just a bitch who doesn't deserve you!" Huda screamed.
That was it.
Zarif's hand moved before he could stop himself. A sharp slap echoed through the night as his palm met her cheek. Huda staggered back, eyes wide in disbelief.
"Don't you ever say that about her again," he said, his voice dangerously low. "And don't come near me again. You're nothing to me, Huda. Nothing."
Tears welled in her eyes, but he didn't care. He turned around and stormed off, leaving her standing there, clutching her burning cheek.
But Huda wasn't done. If she couldn't have Zarif by choice, she would have him by force. She wiped her tears away and smirked to herself. If she had to create a scandal, so be it. By the end of this wedding, Zarif would be hers—one way or another.