Chapter 16- Unmasking the Past

Morning came like a curse.Sunlight spilled lazily across the sprawling corridors of the Shah Mansion, gilding the marble floors in gold—casting a warm, deceptive glow that mocked the turmoil simmering beneath Raneya's skin.

She rose with difficulty.

Her body moved with the stiffness of a soldier returning from war. Limbs heavy, spirit drained, she carried the weight of a thousand sleepless thoughts. Dark circles rimmed her weary eyes, and the fire that once animated her dimmed beneath layers of forced composure.Last night's encounter with Aahil lingered like smoke in her lungs—his eyes, his grip, his looming presence, the venom-laced warning he whispered—seared into her memory like a brand.

Yet not a word escaped her lips.

Though exhausted and hollow-eyed, she did what she always did—kept moving with robotic grace through her routine.

She helped Razia Begum with a tender touch and soft words, her concern genuine despite the storm clouding her thoughts. Then she stepped into the kitchen, assisting the househelp with breakfast. But not even the comforting scent of spices or the rhythm of boiling tea could distract her spiraling mind.

She nearly burned her hand flipping a paratha.

"Are you alright?" the househelp asked gently.

Raneya blinked back into reality. A faint, hollow smile ghosted across her lips. "Just distracted. That's all."

She changed the topic like a seasoned illusionist, but her dazed eyes betrayed her.

Silently, she prayed Aahil had forgotten the cold promise he made yesterday—to take her to retrieve her belongings.

But fate—or perhaps cruelty—had other plans.

As the family gathered for breakfast, Raneya kept her head low, willing herself to disappear into the background. She quietly served Razia Begum her tea and tried to retreat, but as she walked past him, Aahil looked up.

His gaze locked with hers—void of warmth, piercing and arrogant.

Then, he spoke.

Cold. Commanding. Unapologetically indifferent.

"Get ready. I'm taking you to get your things."

He didn't even glance up from his phone.

Raneya froze mid-step. Her blood ran cold. Her breath caught in her throat.

Justice Shah raised a brow, amused, hiding a smile behind his teacup. Razia Begum blinked in surprise, her expression carefully neutral—but secretly pleased. Aahil, taking initiative? Voluntarily? Her grandson showing interest? She tried to school her face, but the knowing glance exchanged between the elders betrayed their amusement.

They mistook duty for sentiment.

But Raneya knew better.

Her lips parted to protest—but faltered. There was no escape that wouldn't sound suspicious, no excuse sharp enough to slice through his command. She wanted to vanish. To melt into the floor. To be anywhere but wherever he planned to take her.

Within the hour, she sat beside him in his sleek black Mercedes. Back straight. Fists clenched. Silence thickening between them like storm clouds.

She opened her mouth to give him an address.

He didn't ask for one.

And the moment she recognized the familiar route, panic unfurled inside her like poison vines.

She knew this street.She knew what waited at the end of it.

"No… stop. Don't take me there," she whispered, voice cracking.

He didn't look at her. He kept driving. Silent. Unmoved.

"Aahil, I'm serious!" she cried, fingers fumbling with the door handle. "I'll jump if you don't stop—"

The door cracked open, the wind howling through the gap. Before she could leap, his hand shot out, gripping her wrist tightly and yanking her back in. The car jerked as he yanked the handbrake. Tires screeched. Her heart thundered.

"Are you insane?!" he hissed.

But she was already out—breaking free, feet slamming against the pavement. Running.

Her breaths came in ragged bursts, her heart pounding like war drums, as if hell itself chased her.

She didn't get far.

Aahil caught up within seconds.

His strong arms caged her between himself and the iron gate of a closed shop. His face was inches from hers. His breath fanned across her cheek. She froze—caught between fear and fury.

"Don't test me," he growled, voice low, dangerous. "You're not some clever little runaway. I know what you're hiding—and exactly who you are."

Raneya's chest heaved. Her eyes widened.

"You know nothing about me," she shot back.

"Your father came to my office," Aahil snapped.

Raneya froze.

His eyes narrowed. "He called you unfilial. Said you ran from your marriage like a coward. What were you planning? Running into my family's life to hide your scandal?"

The word hit like a slap.

Her eyes burned with fury.

She shoved his chest, her voice cracking under the weight of everything she'd held back. "You think I wanted to be here?! You think I chose this?!"

Aahil didn't move. Just stared.

"Do you know who I was married to?" she choked out. "A pimp. That's right. My 'groom' was a human trafficker. He raped me on our wedding night—like he was entitled to it."

Aahil's expression darkened.

"My father sold me off," she cried. "He plotted it all. My own father."

Her voice broke completely, sobs spilling from her lips as she told him everything—gasping between words, drowning in memories too painful to contain. She spoke of the safe house. The betrayal. The fear. And then, Razia Begum.

"The only person who saw me… not as a liability. But a human."

And with that last whisper, she collapsed.

Her knees hit the cold concrete.

She didn't sob softly. Her cries were guttural. Raw. The kind of grief that tore at the air like thunder.

Everything she had hidden spilled from her like oil catching fire.

By the end, she knelt in silence—tears soaking the earth. Broken. Empty.

A crushing silence followed.

And Aahil stood above her—still, unreadable.

But something shifted in his eyes.

The usual ice dimmed… just slightly. A flicker of something dangerously close to humanity. Not pity. But disgust—not at her, but at the monsters who had done this to her. At the betrayal. The injustice.

He hated manipulation. Hated cruelty masked as tradition.

Without a word, he reached down—and pulled her up by the shoulders. Not roughly. Not gently. Just… firmly.

A quiet storm brewing behind his eyes.

He didn't offer sympathy.

Didn't promise comfort.

Didn't look away.

And somehow, that was enough.