The drive to the meeting spot felt like a lifetime. The tension in the car was thick, suffocating, as Zoha sat beside Zafar, her hand gripping his tightly. Ezra was safely with a trusted friend, but Zoha's heart was heavy with the weight of what was coming. The fear that had been gnawing at her since the message arrived had grown unbearable.
Zafar's jaw was set, his gaze forward, but Zoha could see the storm brewing behind his eyes. His past had caught up to him, and now they had no choice but to face it head-on.
"Zafar," Zoha said quietly, her voice trembling despite her best efforts to stay calm. "Please be careful."
He squeezed her hand, his eyes briefly flicking to hers, softening just enough for her to see the raw emotion beneath his tough exterior. "I'll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. I promise."
Zoha's breath hitched. She had always trusted him, but this… this was different. They were about to walk into the lion's den, and no matter how strong their love was, Zoha couldn't shake the feeling that nothing would ever be the same again.
When they arrived at the old warehouse on the outskirts of town, the sky had already turned dark. The eerie silence around them seemed to mock the tension that hung in the air. Zafar's car pulled into the dimly lit parking lot, and Zoha's heart raced faster with every passing second.
Zafar didn't speak as he cut the engine, his eyes scanning the area. His muscles were tense, his every movement calculated, as if he were preparing for battle.
Zoha reached for the door handle, but Zafar stopped her. "Stay here," he said firmly. "I'll handle this."
"No," Zoha replied quickly, her voice sharp. "I'm not staying behind. I'm not going to let you do this alone."
He met her gaze, his eyes dark and full of resolve. "Zoha, I can't risk you getting hurt. This is between me and Imran."
"You're not alone," she said, voice steady, though her heart was anything but calm. "I'm with you. Always."
Zafar's jaw clenched as he nodded, his expression unreadable.
They made their way inside the warehouse, the sound of their footsteps echoing in the empty space. The air was thick with dust and neglect, but Zoha couldn't focus on anything but the man standing before them—the man who had been Zafar's brother, and now, the source of all their pain.
Imran stood across the room, a smirk playing on his lips. He was tall, lean, and as cold as Zafar had described him. His dark eyes gleamed with malice, and his presence was as menacing as the darkness that surrounded them.
"So, the great Zafar Iqbal finally decides to show up," Imran's voice was smooth, dripping with mockery. "I was starting to think you'd forgotten about me."
Zafar stood tall, his fists clenched at his sides. "I didn't forget you, Imran. I've been trying to keep you out of my life for a reason. But now, you've forced my hand."
Imran's smirk widened as he stepped closer. "You always were the righteous one. The one who thought he could save everyone. Too bad you couldn't save yourself."
Zoha's heart pounded as she watched the exchange, the tension in the air almost unbearable. She could see the way Zafar's muscles were coiled, ready to strike if necessary. But Zoha also saw the hurt behind Zafar's eyes—the deep, aching hurt that Imran's words had only made worse.
"Imran," Zoha spoke up, her voice clear and steady. "This is between you and Zafar. Leave us out of it."
Imran's gaze flicked to her, his eyes narrowing with contempt. "You think you can just waltz into his life, make everything better? You're nothing but a distraction. A pretty little toy for Zafar to play with."
Zoha stood her ground, her fists clenched at her sides. "You have no idea who I am or what I mean to him. You don't get to speak to me that way."
Zafar's eyes flicked to Zoha, his expression softening for a brief moment before hardening again. "Enough, Imran. I'm done with this."
Imran chuckled darkly, his gaze turning back to Zafar. "You think I'm done with you? You cut me out of the family. You betrayed me, Zafar. You left me behind. And now, you think you can just walk away from this mess?"
Zafar's voice was low, dangerous. "This mess is your doing, not mine. You've chosen your path, and now you have to deal with the consequences."
Imran's expression shifted from smugness to fury in an instant. "I'm not done with you yet, brother. And I'll make you pay for what you did."
Before Zoha could react, Imran lunged forward, his hand grabbing a nearby metal rod. The next few moments felt like a blur—everything happening too quickly, too violently. Zafar and Imran were face-to-face, their rage and hatred palpable, and Zoha could do nothing but watch in horror as the fight unfolded.
Zafar was a skilled fighter, his body honed by years of training, but Imran knew his weaknesses—knew how to provoke him, how to strike where it would hurt the most.
Zoha screamed, rushing to Zafar's side as Imran raised the rod, ready to strike. But Zafar was faster. With a swift move, he knocked Imran to the ground, disarming him in a single motion. The warehouse was silent except for their heavy breathing.
Zafar stood over Imran, his chest rising and falling with the weight of the confrontation. "This is over," Zafar said coldly. "Stay away from my family."
Imran glared up at him, hatred burning in his eyes. "You'll regret this, Zafar."
But Zafar didn't flinch. "No, Imran. I've been running from you for too long. This ends now."
As they walked out of the warehouse, Zoha's heart was still racing. Zafar had faced his past, and he had won—finally. But Zoha knew that this victory came with a price.
"You're safe now," Zafar whispered, his arm wrapped around her shoulders. "I'll make sure of it."
Zoha nodded, her body still trembling. "I never want to go through something like that again."
"You won't have to," Zafar said, his voice steady. "Not as long as I'm here."