Isra's POV.
A pure, ugly anger burned through me, the kind that didn't just simmer under the surface but scorched my own body from within, twisting my insides until I could barely breathe. It wasn't the fleeting irritation of daily life—this was deeper, more vicious, fueled by betrayal and the raw sting of being reduced to nothing. I had overheard every word of their conversation downstairs, each one carving into me like shards of glass. So that's what I was to him—just a fucking responsibility, a burdensome duty for a guardian like Zorain. Nothing more. I should have been relieved, grateful even, but instead an ugly, suffocating pain wrapped itself around my heart, squeezing until I felt like I might kill someone or die trying to escape it. I couldn't control the rage anymore. It demanded release, something—anything—to quiet the storm in my mind. All I truly wanted was for him to be here, to hold me, to prove I wasn't just some obligation. But what the hell was I expecting from a man like him? A bastard who only ever gave me pain, over and over again, leaving me shattered in ways I could never fully mend.
Author's POV.
Unable to contain the inferno raging inside her any longer, Isra unleashed her fury on the room, shattering expensive glass art pieces, photo frames, and anything else within reach. The sound of breaking crystal and splintering wood echoed through the mansion like violent punctuation to her heartbreak. Why not? A spoiled, fiery brat like her had always found destruction a fitting outlet, and tonight it suited her perfectly—a chaotic reflection of the turmoil devouring her soul.
Zorain entered the room just as another ornament crashed to the floor, his presence cutting through the destruction like a dark storm. "Isra, sweetheart, listen to me," he said, his voice a careful blend of command and concern as he grabbed her arm, turning her to face him. Her cheeks were flushed deep red with anger, eyes blazing like twin infernos.
"LEAVE ME, I SAID!" Isra spat, the words flying out raw and unfiltered, every syllable laced with venom.
"I will, but first you need to calm down, sweetness," Zorain replied, his tone steady, trying to anchor her in the chaos.
"GO TO YOUR FUCKING FIANCÉE! JUST LEAVE ME ALONE. YOU DON'T NEED TO SHOW ME YOUR FAKE CARE!" she shouted, her voice cracking with the weight of betrayal.
"Isra—" Zorain began, only to be ruthlessly cut off.
"No. Mai tumhe is guardian wali responsibility se azaad karti hoon. Aur mai toh tumhe apna guardian banana hi nahi chahti thi, but now leave it and go fucking go to your innocent, fragile fiancée," Isra hissed, the words dripping with bitter sarcasm. Zorain's jaw tightened—he knew instantly that she had overheard his conversation with Ibna.
He tightened his grip on her waist, refusing to let her slip away into further destruction. "Tumse bas do cheezein kahi thi ki time par aana aur akele, but you did both opposite of what I said," she accused, her body trembling with suppressed sobs and rage.
"You knew I'd make a scene after seeing Ibna, but you like it when I get angry and show my bitchy side, right?" Isra continued, each word a dagger thrown with precision.
Zorain remained silent, absorbing every drop of venom she hurled at him. He knew better than to interrupt; if he opened his mouth now, she would devour him alive. For at least fifteen minutes, Isra yelled and shouted, pouring out every ounce of hurt, jealousy, and accumulated pain until her throat burned. Only then did Zorain finally speak, his voice calm and measured.
"What do you want me to do?" he asked quietly.
"Huh?" Isra looked at him with wide, questioning eyes, momentarily thrown off balance.
"Yeah, tell me what I should do to calm your anger," Zorain pressed, his gaze steady on hers.
"Go fucking die and then go to hell," she shot back without hesitation.
"How can I go alone? You'll have to come with me for that," Zorain replied, a faint, disarming hint of warmth in his tone as he gently tucked a stray baby hair behind her ear.
"Don't fucking touch me," Isra growled, though her resistance was weakening.
"How much you curse, baby," he murmured, almost affectionately.
"I am not your fucking baby," she retorted, wiggling futilely in his firm grip on her waist. "Leave me, Zorain."
"No," he said simply, unyielding.
Refusing to yield, Isra sank her teeth into his shoulder with all her strength, pouring every bit of pent-up energy into the bite. It barely fazed him—like a fierce kitten's nip against a powerful lion. "Leave me now," she demanded, breathing hard.
"Fierce cat, done now? Should I bite you too?" Zorain teased lightly, though his eyes held deeper emotion.
This time, Isra looked up at him, her anger momentarily eclipsed by something raw and unspoken she couldn't quite name. Zorain's gaze dropped to her lips, and he closed the distance between their faces, his breath mingling with hers.
"Just calm down, baby. I want you to listen to me at least once," he whispered.
"I fucking hate you. You know that, right?" Isra breathed, her voice barely audible.
Zorain nodded and gently pressed her head against his hard chest, enveloping her in his warmth. "I know you're very, very angry with me," he said softly.
Isra didn't pull away. For those few precious minutes, she let herself remain there, forehead pressed to his chest, allowing the steady beat of his heart to offer a fleeting comfort she had long forgotten how to accept. Maybe, just maybe, she could forget her hatred and the ghosts of her past for a little while.
Eventually, she lifted her head, her eyes cold as ice once more. "Go away. I don't wanna see your fucking face," she said flatly.
"Okay, I'm going. But please don't do anything reckless, baby," Zorain replied softly, leaning in to kiss her forehead. Isra stepped back sharply before he could.
"Don't fucking show me your cheap love. Fuck off," she snarled, turning away and moving toward her dressing table.
Zorain looked visibly hurt, a rare crack in his formidable exterior, but he stepped out of her room silently. Deep down, he knew he had hurt her again—today, like so many times before—leaving wounds that made her forget how to heal herself.
**Next Morning || 9:15 am.**
The morning felt deceptively peaceful yet suffocatingly tense. Zorain sat at the dining table across from Isra, who attacked her food with the ferocity of a warrior on a battlefield, her fork stabbing at the plate as if it were her greatest enemy. He lacked the courage to break the heavy silence between them. Just then, two familiar figures arrived in the main hall—his grandparents.
Both Zorain and Isra stood up immediately. Isra rushed forward and hugged Kaif with genuine warmth, while Zorain greeted them with respectful formality. They shared breakfast first, the air thick with unspoken words, before moving to the living room.
Sofia's face was cold and etched with barely concealed anger, a tension Zorain had sensed the moment they arrived but hadn't yet addressed.
"I heard Ibna came here yesterday," Sofia said, her tone sharp as a blade.
"Yeah, she did," Zorain replied evenly, already sensing where this was headed—for both him and Isra.
"Aur tumne uski bohot acche se khaatir daari ki," Sofia continued, her voice dripping with icy disapproval.
"Grandma, you don't know what happened," Zorain said calmly, trying to maintain control.
"Oh no, I exactly know what happened. This girl insulted her so badly, and you left Ibna because of her. She cried so much. Seriously, Zorain, I didn't expect that from you," Sofia accused.
"Grandma, I know leaving her was my fault, but try to understand—I was caught between both of them. Ibna isn't a baby who can't handle herself," Zorain reasoned.
"Neither is Isra. I understand you're her guardian, but that doesn't excuse neglecting your responsibility toward your fiancée," Sofia shot back.
On the other side of the room, Kaif and Isra listened carefully, though boredom flickered across Isra's features.
"Yeh last warning hai, Zorain. Agar abse iss badtameez ladki ki wajah se tumne Ibna ke saath kuch bhi galat ya bura behave kiya, toh mujhse bura koi nahi hoga. Arey, yeh toh hai hi badtameez aur isko kabhi tameez aa bhi nahi sakti. Always difficult, par tum iski wajah se apni zindagi kharaab mat karo. Choti choti baaton par tamasha karna aata hai bas isey, begai—" Sofia was cut off sharply by Isra.
"Enough, old lady. I'm done with you. Jo man mein aaye jaa raha hai bole jaa rahi hain, but now just stop. Mai badtameez hoon, okay, I accept it. But what about your fragile fucking crybaby granddaughter-in-law, huh? Itna khauf hai apne grandson ke liye toh lekar jaao isko yahan se. Mujhe na toh iski zaroorat hai aur na hi aapki," Isra declared, standing up with defiant fire in her eyes.
"Dekha, Kaif? Tumhari wajah se yeh kitni badtameez ho gayi hai. Kaise bado se baat kar rahi hai aur tum bas baith kar sun rahe ho," Sofia complained.
"Jab khud galat saabit ho gayi toh Grandpa se meri shikayat karne lagi. That doesn't suit you, old lady," Isra retorted with a bitter chuckle.
"Samjh nahi aata tum meri Zoya ki beti kaise ho sakti ho. Wo itni acchi aur samajhdar thi aur tum—" Sofia began, only to be interrupted again.
"Aur aap hi mere aise hone ki wajah hain, samjhi? Yaad aaya ya yaad dilaun ki kaise aapne mere mumma papa ko marne ke liye chhod diya tha??" Isra's words cut like a whip, heavy with long-buried pain.
A sharp slap from Sofia echoed across the room. For a second, silence descended like a heavy shroud.
"Stop your emotional chant. I did not kill your parents," Sofia said coldly.
Isra stood motionless, as if the world had frozen around her. But those who thought her silence meant defeat were fools—it was merely the calm before a devastating tsunami. A soft, dangerous smile curved her lips.
"Aapne thappad maarkar bohot badi galti kar di. Ab dekhna, mai wo karungi na jisse aapko itni takleef hogi shayad aap mar hi jaaye," Isra warned, her voice laced with chilling promise.
"Isra," Kaif interjected, his tone cold and firm.
"Khayaal rakhiye apni biwi ka," Isra replied sarcastically before turning and heading upstairs, her steps echoing with unresolved fury.
Somewhere deep inside, Sofia began to feel the creeping weight of regret. Slapping Isra had been a grave mistake. She knew all too well that Isra was not the kind of girl who forgave easily—especially not someone already firmly placed in her bad books. The storm Isra promised was only just beginning.
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