Iman's POV:

My heart hammered in my chest as his words sank deep into me. His resolve, his cold determination, it was all for something bigger than us. Bigger than the shattered pieces of my heart, bigger than my fear.

He wasn't just doing this for me. He was doing this for every woman, every child who had been robbed of their dignity, their life. Zavian's pain was a shadow behind his every action. And yet, through it all, he was my hero.

But it was killing me. The weight of his love, the intensity of his passion... I never asked for this life, for him to carry this burden. I never asked for this kind of love, the kind that would tear us apart just to keep us safe.

I wanted to stop him, to beg him to stay, to leave it all behind. But I couldn't. I couldn't be selfish. Not now. Not when his every breath was tied to the brokenness of this world, the men like Daniyal who thrived on it.

Zavian loved me, but he loved everyone else too. His heart, as wild and as broken as mine, could never be bound by just one person. It was a strength. A curse. A burden I couldn't ask him to lay down.

So I sat there, helpless, as the man I loved prepared to step into the darkness, ready to face whatever hell lay ahead to ensure my safety. Our safety.

He was my everything, and yet, I felt so small in his presence. Not out of fear, but because of the immense weight he carried—the weight of the world, of his own choices, and the ghosts that followed him everywhere. He was a force of nature, someone who could command empires and dismantle them with a glance, yet here, with me, he was still so human. His pain, his sacrifice, it all bled into his every word, his every touch.

I stared at him, the man I loved, the man I feared losing more than anything. "You're a good man, Zavian," I whispered, my voice breaking as I spoke the truth that both tore at me and comforted me. I couldn't believe it at first, but I did. I saw beyond the shadow of the Reaper, beyond the coldness that he wrapped himself in. I saw the man who fought for others, even when it destroyed him.

His gaze softened, the darkness momentarily lifting, and he took my hand in his, pressing a kiss to my knuckles—a gesture so tender it felt like an impossible contradiction to everything else he was.

"I try," he murmured, his voice low, rough around the edges. "For you... I try."

And in that moment, all of the hurt, the confusion, and the unspeakable fear melted away into something raw, something true. Zavian was trying. And that was enough.

"I want to tell you something," I whispered.

He looked at me, his eyes narrowing slightly in concern. "What is it, Iman?" His voice was gentle, but I could feel the weight of his attention on me, as if he knew something important was about to be said.

I swallowed, the words feeling heavier now than they ever had. I touched my stomach, the small secret I had been carrying with me for what felt like forever. "Zavian," I whispered again, my voice trembling slightly, "I'm expecting."

The world around me seemed to freeze for a heartbeat. Zavian didn't move, didn't say anything at first, as if trying to process the words that had just left my lips.

"I... I went to the doctor this morning," I continued, my heart racing as his gaze lingered on me, the silence thick between us. "It's confirmed. We're having a baby."

And for a moment, it felt as if time had completely stopped—my heart pounding, my hands clammy, waiting for his reaction. The weight of my confession, of what it meant for us, for everything we had been through and everything that had yet to come, settled between us like a delicate thread, fragile yet unbreakable.

Zavian's expression softened as the realization hit him, his gaze flickering down to my stomach before lifting back to my eyes. A slow breath escaped him, and I could see the corner of his lips twitch, the barest hint of a smile.

"A baby," he whispered, almost in awe. "Our baby."

But then his features tightened, his eyes darkening in an instant. His hand, which had been gently resting on mine, clenched into a fist. "Iman," he murmured through gritted teeth, his voice now colder, more dangerous, "Daniyal touched you... while you were pregnant?" His words were slow, deliberate, each one edged with the kind of anger I hadn't seen before.

I flinched at the raw fury in his voice, but I also saw the concern, the protective instinct flooding his veins.

"He—he didn't know," I whispered, my hand instinctively going to my stomach. "He never knew. He—he didn't know I was carrying..."

Zavian stood up abruptly, pacing a few steps away, his back to me. The tension in his shoulders was palpable. "That doesn't matter, Iman," he snapped, his voice rough with emotion. "The fact that he touched you, that he hurt you—while you were carrying my child... I'll make him regret it. I'll make sure he never lays a hand on anyone again."

I watched him, my heart aching for him. He was torn between the overwhelming joy of knowing we were going to have a child and the intense anger that Daniyal had dared to hurt me in the worst possible way.

"I'm so sorry, Zavian," I whispered, standing and walking over to him. "I never wanted this... this danger for us."

His eyes met mine, softening just a fraction as he took a deep breath. "Iman, don't apologize. Don't you ever apologize for this. For us." His hands cupped my face, and his thumb brushed away the stray tear that had escaped down my cheek. "You're everything to me. And now... now, we have something even more precious to protect."

The tension in his body loosened as his forehead rested gently against mine. I could feel the rawness of his emotions, the conflict swirling inside him.

"But Daniyal... he won't get away with this," Zavian growled, his tone dark and unyielding. "Not this time."

"I know," I whispered, feeling a chill run down my spine as I imagined what he might do to Daniyal once he found him. But at the same time, I felt a warmth spread through me, knowing that, no matter what, Zavian would protect us. He'd protect me. He always had, and now he would protect our child.

And I knew, deep down, that nothing would stop him from making sure our little family was safe—no matter the cost.

Zavian yanked off the IV tubes with a sharp motion, the sterile room suddenly feeling too small. His jaw clenched as he strode toward the door, his every step purposeful, as though the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. The doctor stepped in just as Zavian's hand reached for the door, his eyes wide with surprise.

"Mr. Zavian—" the doctor began, but Zavian cut him off, his voice low and commanding, the kind of voice that made people listen, whether they wanted to or not.

"My wife stays here. I'll be back soon." He didn't wait for a response. He didn't need to. His tone left no room for argument.

The doctor stood frozen, momentarily stunned, as Zavian moved past him with a dangerous calmness that spoke volumes. He was leaving to settle things. There was no question in his mind. His focus was absolute, and there was nothing that would distract him from making things right. Not now. Not when it came to protecting what was his.

As Zavian disappeared into the hallway, the doctor's gaze flickered between me and the door. He was concerned, but I knew better. Zavian wouldn't let anything stop him. He never did.

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Zavian's POV:

"Back so soon, brother?" Daniyal drawled, his voice dripping with malice as he hung there, bound by his wrists, blood trickling down his body like a river of consequence. His smirk was a grimace, one that hadn't faded despite the pain. Good. He deserved this.

Without a second's hesitation, my body surged forward, my fist meeting his jaw with the kind of force that echoed through the room. The sickening crack of bone against bone sent a shiver down my spine, but I didn't stop. His head snapped to the side, but the bastard didn't even flinch, his eyes narrowing as he slowly lifted his head, a taunting smile still curling on his lips.

"Is that all?" he mocked, his voice low, even through the blood and brokenness.

I didn't respond. Instead, I slammed my fist into his gut, watching as the air left his lungs in a sickening wheeze.

"Shut up," I growled, moving in closer, my voice low and dangerous, barely a whisper in the silence of the room. "You have no idea how much I've been holding back, Daniyal."

I leaned in, my eyes locking with his. "For the hell you've put my wife through... for every innocent life you've ruined—" my voice dropped an octave, "you will pay."

And that's exactly what happened. By the end of the hour, Daniyal was broken. Carved to the very soul. Every inch of him screamed with the kind of pain that made even the bravest flinch. His blood was everywhere—on the floor, on the walls, staining the air.

He couldn't even lift his head now, his eyes barely open, swollen with the weight of his own mistakes. But the smirk—the one thing I had wanted to break—was gone. There was only fear. And that fear, it tasted sweet.

I leaned down, my breath hot on his bloodied face. "You thought you could touch my wife? Destroy lives? What you didn't understand, Daniyal..." I whispered, my voice dark as the room around us. "You weren't just messing with me. You were messing with my family."

I straightened up, looking at the wreck of a man in front of me, the man who had dared to think he could control everything. I wiped the blood from my hands slowly, deliberately, the taste of victory like acid in my mouth.

"I'm done with you," I said coldly, turning away. "But don't think you'll die easy. You're going to rot. You're going to suffer every second you draw breath, knowing you'll never hurt her again."

I nodded to my men, signaling them to secure him. Let him live. Let him breathe in that hell he had created for himself.

"You won't escape," I growled, my words sharp as a blade. "You'll rot to death, right here. Every second of agony will be your eternity."

I ripped off my shirt, tossing it aside carelessly. The blood on my hands and arms was a reminder of the hell I'd just unleashed on him, but it wasn't enough. Daniyal would never be enough. Not until he felt every ounce of suffering he'd caused.

I cast one last glance at the wreck of a man on the floor, his body shaking, broken. He didn't even have the strength to look back at me. I could have ended him, but I wanted him to live this torment. I turned toward the bathroom, my footsteps steady but heavy with the weight of it all.

The shower ran hot, the steam rising as I stepped under the water. I let the water wash away the blood, the dirt, the anger. I needed to be clean. Not just for the moment, but for her.

Iman was waiting for me. I could feel her, even now, in my mind. She had no idea what had just happened, no idea how close we had come to losing everything. But she was safe, and I would make sure it stayed that way.

The water felt good against my skin, but my mind was elsewhere—focused on her. I couldn't wait to hold her again, to make sure she knew I was here. That I would always be here, no matter what.

I shut off the water, stepped out, and dressed quickly. Every motion deliberate. Calm. But beneath it all, the rage still burned. And I wouldn't stop until I'd made sure no one ever threatened her again. Not while I was breathing.

I walked out of the building, the weight of everything settling over me. My car felt like a cage as I sped back toward the hospital, the urgency of the moment burning in my chest. There was no peace for me until she was safe, until I could make sure she knew I was here, by her side.

I arrived and entered the hospital with steady steps, my mind focused, my eyes sharp. My heart raced as I approached the room, knowing she would be waiting for me.

I pushed open the door and saw her, pacing, her movements restless, like she couldn't find her place. The sight of her in distress was a blade in my chest, and it took everything in me not to break right there.

She froze the moment she saw me, and I couldn't wait any longer. I crossed the room in an instant, pulling her into me.

"I'm back," I whispered against her hair, my voice thick with relief, my arms tightening around her like I could keep her here forever.

She didn't say anything at first, just stood there, her body trembling slightly. But I could feel it—her warmth, her presence, her soul. She was my anchor, and I couldn't lose her.

I held her tighter, pressing my lips to her forehead, breathing her in. "You're safe now, Iman. You're safe."

Her hands clutched at my shirt, and I could feel the tears she hadn't let fall yet, soaking into my chest. Her shoulders shook, her breath shaky, and it felt like she was trying to hold it all together just for me.

"Zavian," she whispered my name, and the way she said it—like she was afraid it might be the last time—shattered me.

"I'm here. I'm not going anywhere," I murmured, my voice raw with emotion. I pulled back just enough to look at her, my thumb brushing across the tear stains on her cheeks. "Iman, I would die before I let anyone hurt you again."

Her eyes searched mine, a mixture of fear and love in them. "I... I don't know what I'd do without you."

I kissed her forehead softly, my lips lingering. "You'll never have to know. I won't let that happen."

The silence between us was thick with everything unspoken, but in that moment, I knew: we would face whatever came next together.

She leaned against me, and I held her there, breathing her in, holding on as tightly as I could. We were still standing. We were still breathing. And that was enough. For now.

We didn't need words to understand what we meant to each other. All we needed was this—each other.