A Sinister Plot

The soft hum of the city buzzed in the background as Fiza stepped into her home, the warmth of her family's laughter immediately enveloping her. She sighed, slipping off her sneakers and neatly placing them by the door before stepping into the living room.

"Fiza, my love, you're back," her mother, Shazia Alvi, called out, her face lighting up. "Come, sit. I just made tea."

Fiza smiled and walked over, giving her mother a gentle hug. "You spoil me, Mother. I've missed your tea all day."

Her father, Hafeez Alvi, was seated on the sofa, engrossed in a news program peeked over with a warm smile. "Long day at work?"

"Yes, Father," Fiza replied, settling on the couch. "But seeing you all makes it better."

"Where's Aqsa?" she asked, glancing around.

"Here I am!" Aqsa appeared, carrying a bowl of fruit and plopping down beside her. "So, did you conquer the world today?"

"Not quite," Fiza said with a soft chuckle. "Just survived it."

The family shared small, sweet moments of conversation, filled with teasing, laughter, and affection. For Fiza, these were the moments that grounded her, a stark contrast to the calculated world outside her home.

---

After spending time with her parents, Fiza headed to her room. As she climbed the stairs, she turned and motioned for Aqsa to follow.

Once inside, Fiza flopped onto her bed, her face buried in the pillow. Aqsa closed the door behind her and sat on the edge of the bed, raising an eyebrow. "What's up?"

Fiza turned her head to look at her sister, her face a mix of reluctance and annoyance. "There's a party at NeuraTech tomorrow."

Aqsa's eyes widened with excitement. "And? Are you going?"

Fiza sat up, crossing her arms. "I don't know. Should I?"

Aqsa's expression turned serious as she folded her arms. "Seriously, Fiza? You're asking me? Of course, you should! It might help you with… you know… your mission."

Fiza sighed dramatically, throwing herself back onto the bed. "But I don't want to. I'd rather stay home, order food, watch Netflix, and just relax. Why do I have to go?"

Aqsa shook her head, smirking. "Because, dear sister, you're impossible. You're funny, charming, and full of life when you're with us, but the second you step out of this house, you become this quiet, brooding person. Why can't you just be yourself?"

Fiza rolled her eyes. "I *am* myself. It's just... different."

"Different?" Aqsa said, giving her a knowing look. "No, it's you being stubborn. If I tell Mother about this party, you know she'll *make* you go."

Fiza sat up abruptly, her eyes wide. "No, don't tell her! Please. I'll think about it tomorrow, okay? I'll decide then."

Aqsa smirked knowingly. "You won't think about it. You'll just do whatever you've already decided."

Fiza couldn't help but laugh. "You know me too well."

Aqsa stood, giving Fiza a playful pat on the shoulder. "Goodnight, stubborn one. And think about what I said—you might actually enjoy yourself."

As Aqsa left the room, Fiza leaned back against her pillows, her mind drifting. After completing her nightly prayers and routine, she slipped into bed, pulling the blanket over her. The thought of the party lingered in her mind, but she shook her head, deciding to deal with it later.

For now, she let the peaceful silence of her home lull her to sleep.

-------

The dimly lit room was heavy with silence as Zara paced back and forth, her heels clicking against the marble floor. Her phone buzzed on the table, interrupting her restless thoughts. She snatched it up, her sharp eyes narrowing as she answered.

"Speak," she commanded, her voice cold and demanding.

The voice on the other end spoke calmly but with an edge of urgency. "Ibrahim Siddiqui will be at a party tomorrow night. NeuraTech is hosting it."

Zara's eyes darkened, a slow, cruel smile curling at the corners of her lips. "A party at NeuraTech?" she repeated, her tone filled with malice. "Perfect."

"Yes, but security is tight, as expected," the caller warned. "Getting close to him won't be easy."

Zara let out a soft laugh, her voice dripping with contempt. "Nothing worth achieving ever is. I've waited long enough for this moment. It's time to end this game with a single move."

The caller hesitated. "Are you certain? This could escalate—"

"Enough!" Zara snapped, her patience fraying. "Ibrahim has lived too long in defiance of me. Tomorrow, at that party, it all ends. No loose ends. Make sure everything is in place."

"Yes, ma'am," the caller replied reluctantly before the line went dead.

Zara placed the phone down and stared out the large window overlooking the city. The lights twinkled below, oblivious to the dark thoughts swirling in her mind.

Her lips pressed into a thin line as she thought of Ibrahim. *Always standing tall, defying me, just like his mother did.* The memory of her rivalry with Ibrahim's deceased mother sent a wave of bitterness through her.

"This ends tomorrow," she whispered to herself, venom in her voice. "And with Ibrahim gone, there will be no one left to challenge me."

Zara turned to her desk, opening a drawer and retrieving a small, unmarked file. Inside were blueprints, photos, and plans meticulously crafted over time. She spread them across the desk, her eyes scanning every detail.

*The party will be the perfect cover. No one will see it coming.*

She leaned back in her chair, her mind racing. "Let's see if you can charm your way out of this one, Ibrahim," she muttered under her breath, her smile returning as she envisioned her victory.

Zara pressed a button on her intercom, summoning her closest confidant. Within moments, a tall, shadowy figure entered the room.

"You know what needs to be done," Zara said, her tone void of emotion. "Tomorrow, we strike. Ibrahim must not leave that party alive."

The figure nodded silently and disappeared just as quickly as they had come.

Zara leaned forward, resting her chin on her clasped hands. The thought of eliminating Ibrahim filled her with a twisted sense of satisfaction. Tomorrow, she would ensure that the Siddiqui name, and everything it stood for, was extinguished forever.

Outside, the city carried on, unaware of the storm brewing in the shadows.