AUTHOR'S POV.
The next day had finally arrived—the one Isra had been anticipating with a restless hunger that gnawed at her insides. She moved through the college rehearsal room with an unusual calm, her body flowing through the practiced steps of her dance as if the world outside had faded into irrelevance. That serenity was a rare armor for her; it meant she was happy, or at least hopeful. Deep down, she knew Zorain would come for her. He had to. After all the threats and warnings she had hurled at him like sharpened blades, he wouldn't dare disappoint her today. Not when her performance meant everything, and his presence was the only validation she truly craved.
Evening settled over the campus at 6:45 pm, casting long shadows through the auditorium windows. It was Isra's turn. She had already spotted Zorain in the audience earlier—he had arrived, spoken briefly with the principal, his commanding presence ensuring that no one could stop her from taking the stage. Dressed in a deep maroon saree that clung to her curves with elegant precision, the fabric shimmering under the lights like liquid fire, she looked every bit the fierce, captivating woman she was. The color accentuated her skin, her dark hair cascading in soft waves, and the drape of the saree moved with her like a second skin, exuding both tradition and raw sensuality.
As the anchor called her name, Isra stepped onto the stage with unshakeable confidence. The music swelled, and she danced as though no one else existed—as if the entire world had dissolved, leaving only the rhythm pulsing through her veins. Every sway of her hips, every intricate footwork, every graceful arch of her arms was a declaration of freedom and passion. She lost herself completely, pouring her soul into the performance, oblivious to the eyes devouring her.
From his seat, Zorain watched with a storm brewing in his chest. Her every step was killing him slowly, a exquisite torment that made his blood run hot. He enjoyed the way she moved, the raw power and beauty she unleashed, but the sight of others—strangers, leering men, envious women—watching what was undeniably *his* ignited an ugly, possessive fire within him. Jealousy clawed at his insides, dark and unrelenting, making his jaw clench and his fists tighten at his sides. She was his to protect, his to claim, and sharing even a glimpse of her fire with the world felt like a violation.
Isra's performance ended in a flourish of applause that thundered through the hall. As she caught her breath and scanned the audience, her eyes locked onto Zorain. But he wasn't alone. Sitting far too closely beside him was Ibna, his so-called fiancée, her presence a deliberate shadow that soured everything. The intimacy of their proximity twisted like a knife in Isra's gut. She shot Zorain one searing, accusatory glance before turning on her heel and walking off the stage, her heart pounding with a mix of betrayal and barely contained rage.
Thirty minutes later, Zorain slipped out of the auditorium in search of her, his mind already racing with dread. She was nowhere to be found in the bustling crowd. He pulled out his phone and dialed her driver's number, his voice edged with urgency.
"Where's Isra?" Zorain demanded.
"Sir, she's inside the mansion," the driver replied promptly.
"How is her mood?" Zorain pressed, already knowing the answer would sting.
"Sir, she was looking very angry when she asked me to take her home," the driver said carefully.
Zorain cursed under his breath. He had fucked up badly, and he knew it.
Another thirty minutes passed before Zorain and Ibna entered the sprawling mansion. The moment they stepped inside, Zorain's eyes widened in shock. Isra sat rigidly on the couch, her posture a statue of suppressed fury. In front of her, the glass coffee table lay shattered into a thousand jagged pieces, glittering dangerously across the floor like the remnants of her shattered composure. She stared at the destruction with an eerie, emotionless gaze that sent a chill through him.
ZORAIN'S POV.
I fucking knew Isra wouldn't let this slide easily. The second she saw Ibna with me at her performance, I could feel the storm coming. What a goddamn fool I was, letting Ibna tag along without thinking about the consequences. She was my fiancée, yes, but Isra... Isra was my everything—my responsibility, my fire, my weakness. I entered the mansion with a knot in my gut and saw my sweetheart sitting there, staring at those shattered pieces like they mirrored her own broken trust. God, she looked so small yet so terrifyingly fierce in that moment.
"Isra, stay out of there," I said calmly, trying to keep my voice steady as I approached the dangerous debris.
She didn't move. Didn't even acknowledge me.
"Isra, I said stand up and come here," I repeated, firmer this time, but she remained stubbornly rooted, her silence louder than any scream.
I walked toward her without another word, reaching for her hand. She jerked away violently, her eyes blazing.
"DON'T YOU DARE TO TOUCH ME!" she roared, her voice echoing through the mansion like thunder. Fuck, my fiery baby—always ready to burn the world down.
"I said it twice, right? But you didn't come on your own. Now, come with me," I ordered coldly, masking the storm of guilt and desire raging inside.
She finally stood, her movements sharp and defiant, and walked toward me. I kept a slight distance, but she closed it in an instant, shoving me hard with both hands. As a strong man, I didn't fall—I staggered back a few steps, absorbing the force of her anger.
"Bohot mazaa aaya hoga na tumhe," Isra spat, her words dripping with venom. God, why did she always twist my actions into something malicious?
"Isra, listen to me," I tried.
"NO, YOU FUCKING LISTEN TO ME!" she roared, her chest heaving with raw fury.
"Tumse meri khushiyan bardasht nahi hoti na." Her voice cracked with pain beneath the anger.
"It's not like that," I protested.
"Please, apna yeh naatak band karo," she chuckled bitterly, the sound hollow and heartbreaking.
"Tumse maine kya kaha tha? Nahi, kya maanga tha? Huh?" She pushed me again, her palm slamming against my chest with surprising strength. "Kya maanga tha aur tum?"
"What happened? Isra. Why are you so angry?" Ibna interjected, her voice cutting through like an unwelcome intrusion. Fuck, not now. She had no idea how volatile Isra's temper could be.
"I AM ASKING YOU SOMETHING!" Isra yelled, ignoring her completely.
AUTHOR'S POV.
"I AM ASKING YOU SOMETHING!" Isra yelled at Zorain, her voice laced with pure, unfiltered rage that vibrated through the air.
"Isra, why are you shouting at him—" Ibna began, only to be brutally cut off.
"I AM NOT FUCKING TALKING WITH YOU SO STAY THE FUCK AWAY!" Isra roared like a lioness defending her territory, her eyes flashing with disdain.
"ISRA, talk respectfully with her. She's your elder," Zorain said coldly, though the command felt heavy even to him.
"I don't give a fuck about your manners," Isra shot back, stepping closer and grabbing his collar in a bold, defiant grip. No one in his entire life had ever dared touch his collar like this—a 5-foot-something girl with fire in her veins holding the untouchable Zorain. But he couldn't bring himself to react harshly. She was his, after all.
"Isra, listen to—" He tried again, but she cut him off sharply.
"I told you to cancel your fucking date and come on time, but no—you came late. I swallowed that, but then you had to bring her with you for *my* fucking performance," she hissed, jabbing a finger accusingly toward Ibna. "What do you mean?" Ibna finally interrupted, her tone edged with confusion and hurt.
"I said what I mean. Don't you understand?" Isra spat venomously.
"You didn't like that I came with him?" Ibna asked, her voice trembling slightly.
"Of fucking course, I didn't," Isra replied without hesitation.
"Ibna, don't talk with her right now," Zorain warned, trying to de-escalate the brewing chaos.
"No, no, let me talk to her now," Ibna insisted seriously, stepping forward.
"So, as you know, I'm going to marry him, and as your guardian, he'll continue to have you under his care. After marriage, I'll live with both of you. So why so much hate if I came to see your performance?" Ibna explained, her words carrying a note of genuine hurt.
"Oh please, I'm not in the mood for any melodrama here," Isra sneered.
"Answer me, Isra," Ibna pressed.
"You wanna know? Then listen," Isra said, her voice dropping to a dangerous calm. "I hate everything related to Zorain." The words hung heavy, bitter as poison.
"But why?" Ibna whispered.
"Because he snatched everything from me and left me to live in nothing but pain," Isra said, her tone laced with years of unresolved anguish. "But there's another reason why I hate you—and that's because of your bitchy grandmother."
"ISRA!" Ibna shouted in outrage.
"VOICE DOWN IN FRONT OF ME!" Isra roared back, her presence dominating the room like a force of nature.
"Your grandma is a real bitch, you know why? Because she used to complain to my grandma about me—fucking lies, every single one. She never liked me. From the outside, she was all sugar-coated sweetness, but inside? A total fucking bitch. At first, I wondered why she hated me so much. But as I grew up, I realized it wasn't just that I wasn't like you—her sweet, fragile, innocent granddaughter. It was because I was too close to Zorain. She always wanted him for you and was terrified I'd snatch him away." Isra's words poured out like a flood, each one sharper than the shattered glass on the floor. Ibna stood frozen, absorbing the brutal honesty.
"You know, I'm actually happy being called a bad bitch. At least I'm not your grandmother—all fake sweetness on the outside and pure venom within." That was the breaking point.
Ibna raised her hand to slap Isra, but Zorain caught her wrist mid-air in an iron grip.
"DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE TO LAY YOUR HAND ON HER," Zorain's voice sliced through the tension, cold as ice and laced with a deadly warning that sent shivers racing down Isra's spine despite her fury.
"Continue your drama," Isra muttered dismissively, turning to leave. Zorain grabbed her hand, halting her escape. She shot him a deathly glare that could have felled lesser men.
"Calm down, please," Zorain requested, his tone softening with genuine plea, though his grip remained firm.
"You didn't just ruin my mood—you ruined my entire fucking day. So congratulations on your victory," Isra spat bitterly, wrenching free and storming toward the stairs, her maroon saree swirling like a cape of defiance.
Zorain moved to follow her, but Ibna caught his arm. "You will leave me here like this?" she asked, hurt evident in her eyes.
"Go with the driver," Zorain replied calmly, though his voice carried an undercurrent of cold finality.
"Zorain—" Ibna started, but his harsh tone cut her off.
"I SAID GO WITH THE DRIVER, IBNA," he snapped, then noticed the sadness clouding her face. He forced himself to breathe, tempering his words. "See, Ibna, I know I'm doing wrong by leaving you like this. You're my fiancée, soon to be my wife, my life partner. But Isra... she's my responsibility. I'm her guardian. I can't leave her alone when she's like this. She's mature in many ways, but her anger makes her reckless. Let me handle her."
He gave Ibna a final, apologetic nod before ascending the stairs, his heart torn between duty and the magnetic pull of the woman who owned his soul. The mansion echoed with the weight of unspoken truths, shattered glass, and emotions too volatile to contain.
••••••••••••••••••••••
Hey everyone 👋🏻,
How are you all doing?? I hope you'll like the chapter, i know I'm updating after a long time but please guys don't leave this story, stay with it and enjoy, I'll try to update soon....💗
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