Ibrahim didn't waste a second. He stormed down the hallway and threw open the door to Samir's room without knocking. Samir, who was reading on his bed, jolted in surprise.
"Get your laptop. We have to go. Now!"
"What's going on? What's the rush?" Samir asked, already scrambling out of bed.
He grabbed his high-end laptop bag and hurried after his brother, who was practically running down the stairs and towards the garage. Ibrahim jumped into the driver's seat of his black SUV, the engine roaring to life before Samir had even fully closed his door. Tires screeched as they sped out of the mansion's gates and into the night.
"Will you please tell me what is happening?"
Ibrahim told about the threatening phone call from Black Mamba. Samir listened, his face growing paler with each passing second, "This... this is exactly why I was on my knees begging you not to let her go! But you didn't listen! Now, God only knows what that psycho meant by his 'gift'. Zainab should have been home! Oh God, Ibrahim, what if she's in trouble? What if she's hurt? You never should have sent her off in a random cab! If she had taken one of our cars, I could have tracked the car in seconds! We would know exactly where she is right now!"
"Just stop it, Samir! It's all a lie! Mamba is just trying to scare me! He's playing a game! Nothing bad has happened to her, do you understand? Nothing! She is fine! She's just... she's just with that boy, that's all! She got angry and she's staying out late to teach us a lesson. She will come back! I know she will!"
Samir looked up from his laptop, "If you are so sure she is safe, then why are we rushing to this location? Why are you driving like a madman to a place our enemy sent us?"
Ibrahim had no answer.
Deep down, in a place he didn't want to admit existed, he knew the truth. Zainab being gone and Mamba's message at the same time... it was too much of a coincidence. But he was too scared to say it out loud. Saying it would make it real.
"I can't lock Mamba's number down," Samir said, "Maybe it's a disposable phone. The signal is bouncing all over the world through hidden servers. First it goes through a server in Russia, then it jumps to Brazil, then to somewhere in Asia. It's like a digital shell game. I can't pinpoint the original source. He's covered his tracks completely."
"That slimy son of a snake!" Ibrahim snarled, slamming his palm against the steering wheel. "When I get my hands on him, I'll rip his spine out through his throat!"
He pressed the accelerator harder, the trees becoming a blur. Soon, a terrible smell filled the car—the smell of smoke. They rounded a bend in the forest road and saw it.
An abandoned building was completely swallowed by fire. Flames shot out of the windows, lighting up the night. The heat was so intense they could feel it from inside the car.
It was a raging inferno.
Ibrahim slammed the car to a stop and he and Samir ran towards the burning building. It was a tall, old building with four floors, and every single floor was on fire. Huge flames were shooting out of the windows. Thick, black smoke made it impossible to see clearly and burned their lungs with every breath.
The main door was a wall of fire. They had to run around to the back, where a smaller door was partly broken. They kicked it open and forced their way inside. It was not a normal place. There were metal tables with straps on them, like in a hospital, but they were rusty and dirty. There were trays with strange medical tools, and broken glass was everywhere. It looked like a place where illegal operations happened. The fire was eating everything—the curtains, the papers, the furniture. The air was filled with the sounds of cracking wood and the horrible smell of burning plastic and chemicals.
They checked behind overturned tables and in dark corners, their hearts pounding with fear. But found nothing on the ground floor.
"We have to go up!" Samir shouted, pointing to a staircase. But the stairs were also burning.
They held their arms over their faces and ran up the burning staircase to the first floor. This floor had small rooms, like prison cells. They kicked open each door, calling Zainab's name. Nothing.
A part of their hearts prayed with every fiber of their being that they were wrong. That they wouldn't find her here. That this was just a cruel trick, a horrible coincidence, and she was somewhere safe, far from this inferno.
"The next floor!" Ibrahim roared. As they turned to run to the next set of stairs, a loud CRACK echoed above the fire's roar. A burning piece of wood from the ceiling broke loose and came crashing down.
It hit Ibrahim directly on his shoulder and back. It slammed him to his knees. The wood was on fire, and the flames immediately started to burn through his shirt onto his skin.
Samir rushed to him.
Gritting his teeth against the blinding pain, Ibrahim used all his strength to shove the burning beam off himself. His shoulder screamed in agony, and a large, angry burn mark was already visible on his back. "It doesn't matter. Keep going."
Ibrahim's greatest fear was waiting for him on the fourth floor. This floor was different from the others. Downstairs, the fire felt wild and burning everything on purpose. Up here, it was quieter. The fire hadn't been set here directly. Instead, the flames had climbed up the stairs and crawled along the electrical wires, slowly spreading to this top level.
And then, Ibrahim's world shattered into a million slow-moving pieces.
There, by the balcony door, was a shape his heart recognized before his mind could accept it.
His little sister was pinned to the floor under the heavy, charred weight of a collapsed door. At first, his mind couldn't make sense of it. He saw the familiar line of her nose, the way her hair fell across her forehead—even though the ends were singed and blackened. Her eyes were closed, her face smudged with soot.
"Zainab!"
The name was a ragged cry torn from the deepest part of him.
Samir gripped the smoldering edges of the door. The heat seared his palms instantly. Both brothers used all their strength to lift the massive weight and hurl it aside. It crashed against the wall, sending up a shower of sparks.
Now they could see the full, horrifying truth. The fire was still alive on her. The denim of her jeans wasn't just burnt; it was melting, sizzling against her skin, eating into her flesh. The awful smell was not just of smoke, but of burning hair and skin.
Ibrahim began slapping at the burning fabric with his bare hands, trying to smother the flames.
Behind him, Samir was a statue of shock, unable to move or speak as he watched his brother fight a losing battle against the fire.
Ibrahim carefully slid one arm under her back and the other under her legs, trying to lift her as gently as he could.
The moment he applied pressure under her knees — the skin there, burnt and terribly damaged, did not hold. It was soft and came apart. It stuck to his hands and arms like hot glue, leaving behind raw, red flesh.
Ibrahim stared down with wide eyes. He was holding her, but he was also hurting her. He was causing her more pain just by trying to save her.
Zainab's eyes fluttered open. She was alive. For God's sake, she was still alive.
"I knew... you would come, Ibi... I knew it."
A strange, peaceful look was on her face. The terrible pain that should have been there was gone. It was as if her body had suffered so much, it had simply shut down. She could no longer feel the fire, or the broken bones, or the ruined skin. She was floating, numb, and the only thing that felt real was her brother's face.
"Don't talk," Ibrahim begged, "Save your strength. We are going to the hospital right now. I have the best doctors in the world. I will save you, I swear to you."
Zainab gave a tiny, painful shake of her head. A tear traced a clean path through the grime on her cheek. "No... Ibi... I can't make it. I won't survive this. The pain is gone now."
She struggled to take a shallow breath, her gaze locking with his, pleading and full of a love that even the fire couldn't burn away.
"Just... one thing. Promise me... you will never harm my people. Never... him. I can't bear the thought of him getting hurt because he loved me back. You know... I always liked to make people happy. It was my only job... to see everyone smile. If you hurt them... because of me... my soul... will never find peace. It will be a heavy stone on my heart forever. Promise me, Ibi."
Ibrahim shook his head, his own tears falling onto her face, mixing with the soot. "Don't say that. There's no time for this. We have to go! Just hold on!"
"Promise me, Ibi," she whispered, her voice fading into nothing more than a breath. "Please... consider it... my last promise to you."
Looking into her eyes, seeing the life and light fading from them, Ibrahim felt his entire world collapse. He had no choice. To deny her now would be the cruelest thing he could ever do.
"I promise.... I promise I won't hurt them. I give you my word."
On the other hand. Samir's horrified gaze swept the room. In a shadowy corner, partly hidden by debris, he saw them. Scattered used condoms. His mind tried to piece it together—the illegal medical equipment, the isolated location, and now this. What kind of horrible place was this? What had they done to his sister here?
"Samir! Give me your jacket!" Ibrahim's sharp command cut through his thoughts.
Samir snapped back to the emergency. He quickly took off his jacket and handed it to Ibrahim.
Ibrahim wrapped the jacket around Zainab's burnt body, trying to shield her from any more harm. Then, he carried her in his arms, running back through the burning building, down the smoky stairs, and out to the car.
Zainab was rushed into the Emergency Room, and then straight into the Operation Theatre.
For hours, a silent war was fought behind those doors. Zainab's young body tried desperately to survive. Her heart stopped beating. The doctors shocked it back to life. It stopped again. They brought her back. This happened five times. Five times, her spirit tried to fight. She battled massive organ failure and burns that covered most of her body. For a brief, shining moment, it seemed like her incredible will might actually win.
But fate is a cruel writer. It had already written a different ending.
Just as the first hint of light touched the sky, the operating room doors swung open. The head surgeon walked out slowly. He didn't need to say "I'm sorry." The complete and total defeat in his eyes, the slight shake of his head, said it all. The fight was over. They had lost.
Ibrahim's wealth, all his fearsome reputation, every threat he had ever made—it was all useless. It meant nothing. Money cannot buy a soul back from the edge of death. Power cannot command a heart to keep beating.
Zainab was gone. She died in the sterile light of a hospital, one day before her eighteenth birthday. She never got to taste the freedom of adulthood she wanted so badly. The day she had talked about with such longing became the day after her death.
The birthday cake that was already ordered would never be cut. The candles—eighteen of them—would never be lit. The gifts, wrapped in shiny paper and sitting in a silent corner of the mansion, would now remain unopened forever. The grand party planned for Malacca would never happen.
But the horror was not over. It had only just begun to speak.
When she died, she was no longer carrying a child. Seeing other severe injuries, the doctor suggested an autopsy to understand the full cause of death.
The report they gave to Ibrahim was not just a medical document. It was a map of hell.
She had suffered a forced abortion. And the examination found the DNA of at least fifteen different men inside her. She had been gang-raped.
The monsters had then set her on fire. They thought it would burn away all the proof of their evil, leaving behind just another tragic accident.
But they were not doctors. They did not know that the human body keeps records. That violence carves its history into flesh and bone. The fire took her life, but it could not destroy the evidence of the torture that came before. Her dead body told a story of hours of unimaginable pain, of cruelty stacked upon cruelty.
All Ibrahim was left with was the screaming silence of a truth more horrifying than any enemy he had ever faced.
.....
Back in the present.
Ibrahim lay with his head on Ava's chest, his ear pressed over her heart. Her fingers moved slowly through his hair, like she was trying to smooth away the old hurts etched into his soul. For her, the tragedy was new and shocking. For Ibrahim, it was an old nightmare he had been living with for years.
"Did you ever find them? The men who did that to her?"
Ibrahim slowly lifted his head. He turned and looked at her, supporting his weight on his elbows, "What makes you think I didn't? I found them. It took me one month. I used every person who works for me. I followed every dirty little clue in this city. Found all fifteen."
"And then?"
"I took them to a place where no one could hear them scream. I made sure they knew why they were there. And then… I gave them the same gift they gave her."
He leaned a little closer, "I poured gasoline. I lit a match and watched them burn. Stood there and listened to every scream until their voices cracked and died. I watched until their skin blackened and their shapes stopped moving. I waited until there was nothing left but a pile of black, smoking bones and ash. Then kicked what was left over the edge of the cliff. An eye for an eye. A fire for a fire."
Ava swallowed hard. She understood his pain. But hearing him describe it so calmly made her heart beat fast with fear. But understanding didn't take away the terrifying truth: the man she held, had the power and the will to do something so brutally dark. He could plan it, carry it out, and watch it happen without blinking. "What about Prof. Syed? And… Black Mamba?"