"Don't cry," he whispered, looking away.

I should have laughed at the irony. He was the reason for these tears, and now he wanted to take them away? How convenient.

But then I saw it—the redness in his eyes, the way his jaw clenched like he was holding back something heavy. Pain. Regret.

But why?

He was the one who left. He was the one who made me feel like I was nothing. He didn't care.

...Did he?

"I... I baked us a cake, Zavian," my voice cracked, the words barely making it past the lump in my throat. "A meal. I set the table, I—" My breath hitched as a sob tore through me, my shoulders trembling. "It was our day, Zavian." I clutched my chest, as if that could hold me together, as if I wasn't already crumbling apart. "You forgot. Was it really that hard to remember?"

His jaw clenched, his eyes dark and unreadable, but he said nothing.

"Say something," I whispered, shaking my head. "Deny it. Tell me you were stuck in traffic. That your phone died. That—" My voice faltered, another sob choking me. "That I still matter."

Zavian exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. "I—" He stopped, his voice failing him.

I let out a broken laugh. "You can't even lie to me, can you?"

His lips parted, but there was no excuse, no soft words to ease the ache inside my chest. And somehow, that hurt more than anything.

My gaze flickered to the small, carefully wrapped gift on the table—the one I had picked out with so much love, so much hope. My fingers curled around it, the paper slightly crumpling under my grip. I turned to him, my heart aching as I pushed it against his chest, forcing him to take it.

"Happy anniversary, dear husband," I whispered, my voice trembling, yet laced with quiet devastation.

Zavian stiffened under my touch, his hands slowly closing around the box, but he said nothing.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and turned away before my tears could betray me again. My feet felt heavy, but I moved—because if I stood there any longer, I would shatter completely.

I made it to the door, gripping the handle as my shoulders sagged. "You know, Zavian," I murmured, my voice hollow, "I didn't need diamonds or grand gestures. I just needed you."

Silence.

I nodded to myself and walked out, the ache in my chest so deep it felt like it would swallow me whole.

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Zavian's POV:

Tears blurred my vision, my breath catching in my throat. Iman. My Iman. Was she even mine anymore? Had I pushed her too far? Had I broken something beyond repair?

A lone tear slipped down my jaw, burning like acid against my skin. My gaze fell to the small gift in my hands—the one she had chosen with love, the one I had ignored. My fingers trembled as I traced the delicate wrapping, the weight of my mistakes pressing down on my chest like a boulder.

Oh Allah.

I swallowed hard, but the guilt was relentless, clawing at my insides, suffocating me. She had given me her love, her loyalty, her unwavering faith—and I had given her nothing but disappointment, cold silence, and shattered promises.

I pressed the gift against my lips, squeezing my eyes shut. I wanted to turn back time. I wanted to go after her. Drop to my knees, beg for forgiveness, hold her close until she felt safe again.

But could I?

Would she still want me?

My grip tightened around the box as I forced myself to my feet. I couldn't let this end like this. I wouldn't.

I turned toward the door, my heart pounding. I had to fix this. I had to fix us.

But I couldn't.

Not now.

Not when my men warned me that every move was being watched. Not when my name was whispered in the dark, my enemies sharpening their knives, waiting for one misstep. Not when the people hunting me would do anything—anything—to break me.

And Iman? She was my greatest weakness. My most precious thing. My love. My light. And if they knew—if they even suspected—she'd be the first thing they'd take.

I wanted her safe, even if it meant she'd hate me. Even if it meant she thought I didn't care. Even if it meant she walked away from me forever.

Even if it broke me.

Even if it broke us.

I clenched my jaw, shoving the gift into my pocket. My fingers curled into fists at my sides. I wanted to chase after her. I wanted to fall to my knees and tell her the truth. That I loved her more than my own life. That every breath I took was for her. That she was the only thing keeping me from slipping into complete darkness.

But I couldn't.

I turned, walking toward the window, staring out at the city lights. Somewhere out there, someone was waiting for me to make a mistake. Someone was waiting for me to lose focus, to let my guard down.

I exhaled sharply. They wouldn't get the chance.

I pulled out my phone, my grip tight, my heart heavier than it had ever been. "Double security around the house," I ordered, my voice cold, detached. "No one gets near her."

I ended the call and closed my eyes.

I had made my choice.

And God help me...

I prayed she would forgive me one day.

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Iman's POV:

I walked to the guest room, my steps slow, heavy—like my heart was dragging me down with every beat. The moment I stepped inside, I shut the door behind me, pressing my forehead against the wood. My breaths came out shaky, uneven.

I didn't turn on the lights. I didn't need to.

Blindly, I walked to the bed and sank onto it, curling up on my side, hugging myself as if that would stop the ache spreading through my chest. My body felt cold, even beneath the warm fabric of my clothes.

He had forgotten.

Or worse—he had remembered and simply didn't care.

A sob tore from my throat, muffled into the pillow as I clutched it like a lifeline. I had never felt this alone. Not even before marriage. Not even in my loneliest days. Because back then, I didn't have him. I didn't know what it felt like to be loved by Zavian.

But now? Now I knew what it felt like to have him—to be held by him, to be cherished by him, to be his.

And I also knew what it felt like to lose him.

I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself to stop crying, but the tears wouldn't stop. My throat burned, my heart ached, and no matter how much I tried, I couldn't stop replaying the look in his eyes.

Why did he look like that?

Like he was in pain.

Like he wanted to reach out and touch me but couldn't.

Like he was breaking, too.

I sniffled, pressing a trembling hand to my lips. Then why? Why was he pushing me away? Why was he choosing distance over us?

I wanted to ask.

I wanted to demand answers.

But I was so tired.

Tired of loving him so much it hurt.

Tired of hoping he would come back to me.

Tired of trying to hold together something that was slipping through my fingers.

A shiver ran down my spine as I curled in tighter, wrapping myself in the empty silence of the room.

For the first time since marrying Zavian, I had never felt so...

Unwanted.

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Zavian's POV:

I stood outside the guest room, my hands clenched into tight fists. My chest felt tight, suffocating. I could hear her.

Soft, muffled sobs.

My Iman. My Mashal-e-Mehtaab. Crying herself to sleep because of me.

I pressed my forehead against the door, shutting my eyes. My breathing was ragged, uneven. My fingers itched to turn the doorknob, to walk inside, to pull her into my arms and tell her I was sorry.

Sorry for forgetting. Sorry for ruining everything. Sorry for making her cry.

But I didn't.

I couldn't.

Because if I let myself go to her now, I wouldn't have the strength to leave. And leaving... leaving was the only way to keep her safe.

My fingers brushed over the small box still clutched in my hand. The ring I had gotten for her. So useless now.

Would she even wear it?

Would she even believe me if I told her that forgetting our anniversary was never my intention?

I wanted to tell her everything.

That every second of the day, I thought of her. That every time I stepped into the darkness, she was my only light. That my hands were stained, my soul ruined, but the only thing that ever felt pure, untouched, good—was her.

I wanted to tell her that I wasn't pushing her away because I didn't love her.

No, I was pushing her away because I loved her too much.

I clenched my jaw and turned around, walking back to our room. If I stayed here a second longer, I would lose the battle with myself.

I shut the door behind me, but the silence wasn't comforting.

The bed was cold.

The room felt empty.

Because she wasn't here.

I laid back, staring at the ceiling, gripping the ring box so tightly it dug into my skin.

It was our anniversary. I should have been holding her, not a damn ring.

I should have been making love to my wife, not listening to her cry herself to sleep in another room.

I should have made her feel cherished, loved. Not broken and unwanted.

I threw my arm over my eyes, biting back a curse.

God, what have I done?

_

Beep.

A sharp, piercing sound in the silence. My eyes fluttered open, my head throbbing from exhaustion. I dragged myself up, reaching for my phone on the nightstand. The screen glowed in the dark, an unknown number flashing.

I picked up. No words, just my heavy breathing as I waited.

Then—two words.

"Daniyal. Flee."

My heart stopped.

The air in the room turned ice cold as my grip tightened around the phone. For a second, everything felt suspended in time. Then, the words settled, and my world tilted.

Daniyal. That bastard.

He had escaped.

Jail was supposed to hold him. He was supposed to rot there. And yet—he was free.

I swallowed the rage that crawled up my throat. My fingers twitched, my breathing sharp.

"How?" My voice was low, deadly.

"Inside help. He's gone, Reaper. And you know what that means."

I clenched my jaw.

Oh, I knew exactly what it meant. Daniyal—my so-called stepbrother—was coming for blood.

Mine.

But worse...

Iman's.

I shot up from the bed, throwing on my jacket, my body moving on instinct. My mind raced, calculations forming. Where would he go first? He had a vendetta, a sick obsession with destroying everything I ever loved.

And right now?

Iman was at the top of that list.

My breath came out ragged.

No. I wouldn't let him touch her.

I stormed out of the room, my fingers already dialing another number. The second it picked up, I barked, "Lock down the house. No one in. No one out. Double security on her."

"Understood."

I hung up and slipped my gun into my holster. My hands were steady, but inside? I was a hurricane.

Daniyal wasn't just an enemy.

He was family—by blood, if not by choice. My father's second wife's son. A shadow lurking in my past, a snake that should've been crushed long ago.

And now?

He was out.

And I had never been more fucking terrified.

My phone buzzed again. The sound cut through the silence like a blade.

I picked up, pressing the device to my ear.

"Reaper. Confirmed."

A slow breath left my lips.

"Daniyal was the one we're looking for. The trafficking and drug dealings have increased. It's all connected. He's running it from the inside out. Meet at headquarters. Make sure you're not followed. Kill or die if you are."

Words. Cold. Calculated.

That's what I had to be too.

I ended the call, my fingers curling around the phone before I shoved it in my pocket.

Daniyal.

The bastard wasn't just back—he had been pulling the strings all along. Running his empire from behind bars like a fucking king. And now that he was free?

Things were about to get worse.

Much worse.

I grabbed my second gun, loading it with precision, then pulled on my gloves. My movements were sharp, mechanical. My mind was already at war, strategizing.

My gaze flickered to the door of the guest room. She was in there. Iman. My light. My ruin.

I swallowed hard. I couldn't go to her. Not now. Not when my hands were drenched in this darkness.

She would hate me if she knew what I was about to do.

I clenched my jaw and turned away, stepping out of the house, blending into the shadows like I always did. My car was parked in the farthest corner of the street. A precaution.

I slid inside, started the engine, and pulled out.

The streets were quiet, empty at this hour. I moved like a ghost, taking unfamiliar routes, switching lanes, checking for tails.

Nobody was following me.

Good.

Because if they were?

I would have to put a bullet between their eyes.

And if Daniyal was out... and he found out I had a wife.

Shit.

Shit.

Panic crawled up my spine like ice, but I shoved it down. I couldn't afford panic. I immediately dialed a number, gripping the steering wheel tight enough to crack bone. The moment the call connected, I didn't wait for pleasantries.

"Cameras in my house. Now. Guards outside. I. Want. My. Wife. Safe." My voice was sharp, lethal. A command, not a request.

"On it," came the curt reply before the line went dead.

Not enough.

I dialed again, this time my father. The call rang for an eternity before a groggy voice finally answered.

"What?"

"Where are you?" My voice was clipped, controlled.

"America, with your mother. Why?"

A slow exhale left my lips. Half relief, half dread. Good. That means he won't be a target.

"Good," I muttered. "Allah Hafiz."

I hung up before he could ask more questions. I didn't have time for them.

Because right now, there was only one priority.

Keeping Iman safe.