The night hung thick like smoke, choking the light, suffocating the soul.
Raneya lay motionless on the cold marble floor, her body a map of bruises and brokenness. Hours had passed, yet she remained still, too drained, too broken to move. Her limbs ached, her skin burned, and her heart…it had long been shattered. She wasn't crying—there were no tears left. Only silence. A silence that screamed louder than any sob could.
She wasn't a girl anymore. She wasn't a bride. She was nothing but a hollow shell abandoned after use.
The silence was broken by footsteps—slow, deliberate. Zaryab.
He strolled into the room with a light whistle on his lips, as if he hadn't just destroyed the girl lying crumpled on the floor. As if the world hadn't shifted off its axis.
"Raneya," he called, crouching beside her like a curious child observing a broken toy. But Raneya did not react. So he waved his hand in front of her vacant eyes, a lazy smirk on his face. "Hello? Anybody home."
The motion stirred her. A tremor rippled through her limbs, her eyes flickering with raw, animal fear. She flinched, scrambling back like a wounded deer. Every inch of her recoiled from him—from his touch, from his voice, from the monster behind that handsome face. The grotesqueness of it all consumed her. The feeling of being used by a monster like him was worse than death. She felt filthy, worthless, lifeless. But above all, she felt fear. The fear of what more he might do.
"You'll be fine," he said casually, standing up. "You've got a client waiting tomorrow. High-profile guy. Be ready to charm."
Her blood turned to ice. She shivered in fear of what further doom was in her fate.
But then… she saw it.
A flicker of hope. No—of survival.
There, in his back pocket—a glint of silver. A knife.
A spark of survival flared within her, cutting through the thick fog of despair. Her breath hitched. Her heart stuttered. But something inside her, something primal, surged forward.
She lunged.
Her fingers closed around the cool metal, and in one swift motion, she ripped it free. The weight of the blade was heavy in her trembling hand, the edge catching the dim light of the room.
The cold metal against her skin sent a shiver down her spine as she stumbled back, her trembling hands raising the blade toward him."Let me go," she rasped, voice cracked, raw. "Or I swear to God, I'll kill you."
Zaryab paused. Blinked.
He stilled as his expression shifted,"Oh no," he gasped in mock horror, clutching his chest theatrically. "Raneya, my delicate little dove. You'd stab me? Just like that?" He raised his hands in mock surrender as he drawled, eyes twinkling with amusement.
Raneya tightened her grip. Her hands trembled, but her eyes—her eyes burned with something different. Something fierce. She gritted her teeth, holding the knife steady despite the tremors running through her limbs. "I'm not your anything," she hissed. "I'd rather die than be part of your twisted world. Move away or I'll stab you."
He tilted his head. "Really?" he teased. "You? Kill me?" Raneya's chest heaved, her breaths erratic. He placed a hand over his heart. "Ah, I'm terrified," he mocked, feigning weakness. "Please, don't! If you stab me, I'll die!
She clenched her teeth, fury searing through her. "Then die!" she spat. "Die a painful, miserable death, because that's what you deserve!"
Her words carried years of buried resentment. Toward Zaryab. Toward her parents. Toward the suffocating expectations that had forced her into this nightmare. She had sacrificed her dreams. Her freedom. Herself. And for what? For this? For a life dictated by vicious monsters? She was done being a victim.
"Let me go," she commanded, her voice stronger this time. "Or else."
Zaryab stared at her. Then—he laughed. A full-bodied, amused, mocking laugh. Or else?" he sneered. His grin widened as he took slow steps toward her.
He stepped closer, slow, deliberate. His smirk widened. "Then do it," he taunted. "Come on, sweetheart. Right here—" he tapped his chest, "—aim for the heart."
"Don't test me," she warned. Her stomach twisted.
"Test you?" Raneya, Raneya…" He sighed, shaking his head like he was dealing with a tantrum-throwing child. "Do you even know how to hold that thing properly? Look at you—your hands are shaking. You think you can stab me?" His voice dripped with mockery, his laughter curdled into something cruel. A sickening laugh escaped him. "You're pathetic."
Raneya's heart pounded. He was right—she was shaking. She was terrified. But she had no other choice. Something snapped inside her.
"I SAID STAY BACK!"
But Zaryab didn't listen.
He lunged.
Raneya stumbled back, her grip tightening. His hand reached for her, fingers curling around her wrist, forcing the knife downward. They struggled. A blur of motion, of breathless panic. His hand clamped over her wrist, twisting, forcing the blade down between them. Then—pain.
Not hers.
His.
A wet, guttural gasp echoed between them. Zaryab's eyes widened as he looked down. Raneya followed his gaze. She staggered back, her eyes wide in disbelief.
The knife—her knife—was embedded in his chest.
Time fractured.
Blood stained his pristine white shirt, blooming like a crimson flower. He staggered, his fingers grasping at the handle, confusion and betrayal painted across his face.
"You…" he choked.
Raneya stumbled back, the knife slipping from her fingers, her breath rugged and uneven. Her eyes locked on him in stunned disbelief.
"No," she whispered. "No, no, no…"
He took a step toward her, then faltered.
A strangled groan escaped his throat before he collapsed.
Silence swallowed the room.
The blade had spoken for her when words couldn't. When the world silenced her screams, it was steel that cried out.
Raneya stared at him, his body twitching one last time before going still.
And then—she ran.
Her legs moved before her mind could catch up. She fled down the hall, through the gates, into the hungry embrace of the night. The wind clawed at her face, her tears mixing with sweat, blood, and fear.
But for the first time in what felt like forever—she wasn't running from herself.
She was running toward something.
Freedom.
Behind her, Zaryab lay in a growing pool of red. A monster slain. A chapter closed.