Zoha sat by the window, the sky outside darkening with thick clouds. The peaceful rhythm of her life with Zafar had started to feel almost unreal, as if they had finally stepped into the kind of happiness people often only dream about. But in her heart, she knew life wasn't done testing them.
Zafar was in the study, working on his decision to step back from the cutthroat business world. He had been speaking with his legal team about changing roles in the company, putting most responsibilities under a trusted friend's supervision.
"I want to live," he had told Zoha the night before. "Not just exist in boardrooms and strategy calls."
And Zoha, who had always longed for a simple, warm life, had silently thanked fate for leading her into the arms of a man who finally saw her not as a distraction—but as a partner.
But storms always return, even when you're finally learning to breathe.
That evening, as she read Ezra a bedtime story, the doorbell rang.
Zafar answered, his expression quickly darkening. Zoha peeked out from Ezra's room—and froze.
Ayesha.
This time, she didn't come alone. She was holding a thick file, flanked by two suited men. Her eyes swept the house like a queen entering her stolen castle.
"I came to talk," Ayesha said coolly, stepping inside without invitation.
Zafar didn't stop her. He simply folded his arms, his jaw clenched, body radiating cold fury.
Zoha slowly came out, standing behind him. Her heart thumped painfully as her gaze met Ayesha's—sharp, elegant, and cruelly confident.
"I've reconsidered," Ayesha said, smirking. "I want Ezra. And I want my husband back."
The words struck like a blade.
"You walked out," Zafar snapped. "You left your son. You left me."
"I was lost. But I've built an empire now. I'm stable, focused, and very capable of raising Ezra." She dropped the file on the table. "That's a court order for shared custody. You didn't think I'd just let my son be raised by her?"
Zoha flinched. She remained silent, but her hands trembled slightly.
Zafar's voice dropped dangerously low. "You can try. But you'll never get him. I won't let Ezra grow up around lies and manipulation."
Ayesha leaned closer, her voice like poisoned honey. "Then make a deal with me, Zafar. Come back to me, and this..."—she tapped the file—"disappears."
Zoha felt the breath leave her body.
Zafar didn't move. But his silence sent cracks through her already bruised heart.
That night, Zafar didn't come to bed. He stayed in the study, pacing and angry.
Zoha sat awake, curled against the headboard, the ache in her chest heavier than ever before. Was this the beginning of the end?
The next morning, he walked into the room with red eyes and a fire inside them she hadn't seen in weeks.
"She's trying to use my past against me," he growled. "Using Ezra. Using you."
Zoha nodded slowly, her voice breaking. "What are you going to do, Zafar?"
"I'm going to fight. For you. For Ezra. For the life we deserve."
But fighting meant consequences.
Zafar refused to negotiate with Ayesha, and she responded by launching a media campaign—photos of her and Ezra when he was born, stories about Zafar's "mental state," and articles questioning Zoha's place in the house.
"Zafar Iqbal's Mystery Woman: The Nanny or the Next Mistress?"
It was everywhere. Online. On TV. On people's lips.
Zoha stopped going out. She turned down her volunteering work with kids. She hid from the world.
Zafar saw her change.
One evening, as she was folding Ezra's clothes in silence, he came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist.
"Talk to me," he said softly.
"I'm trying," she whispered. "But it hurts. The whispers. The headlines. Being seen like... like a mistake."
He turned her to face him, his eyes fierce. "You're not a mistake. You're the only decision I've never regretted."
Zoha broke down in his arms.
The following week, Zafar made a public statement. A rare move.
He stood before reporters and declared Zoha as his partner—not as a servant, not as a rebound, but as the woman who saved him and helped him become a father in the truest sense.
"She is not a shadow of my past," he said. "She is my light. And if the world can't accept that, I will still choose her. Every single time."
The world watched. The media backed off.
And Ayesha? She raged—but the court denied her custody for now.
Zafar came home that evening to find Zoha in the nursery, humming softly as she rocked Ezra to sleep.
He stood at the door for a moment, his chest tightening with something heavy and real.
He walked to her, kissed her forehead, and whispered, "You're not alone, Zoha. Not anymore."