Lashirah_Hash

They called it blasphemy.
A sin against God.
A disgrace against blood.

The news headlines twisted her name like a curse.
Muslim Girl Marries Two Brothers in Secret Ceremony.
Father Disowns Daughter Over Immoral Union.
Religious Extremists and Feminists Clash in Street Protests.

But none of them knew the truth.

Not the journalists who stalked her outside the courthouse.
Not the clerics who spat fire from the pulpit.
Not the activists who used her face for posters, never asking if she even agreed with them.

They didn’t know about the long nights with one brother’s rage burning her skin—and the other’s cold touch wrapping around her heart like barbed wire.

They didn’t know how it started—not with love, but with survival.

They didn’t know that once, she believed in God more than anything.
And now?

Now, she stood in front of a grave with no name.
Black veil pulled tight.
A Qur’an in her hand.
Two wedding rings on her finger.

Behind her, they stood—her husbands.
One with blood on his hands.
The other with secrets behind his eyes.

She would never be the same girl again.
But she was still alive.
Still burning.

And if the world wanted a monster?

She would give them on

BETWEEN GOD AND THE MONSTERS

They returned to the place it all began.

The Vale estate sat like a wound on the hillside—gated, grey, unbothered by time. Nothing about it had changed, and that was the worst part. It was still perfect. Still beautiful. Still cruel.

Lucien stared at the iron gate for a long while. "I dreamt of this place more than I lived in it."

Silas said nothing, his jaw clenched so tight Aaliyah reached for his hand to ground him.

They entered quietly. No guards. No alarms. Their father never believed they had it in them to return.

But the house seemed to breathe as they stepped through the doors. The hallway smelled of whiskey, books, and ghosts. Every floorboard they crossed echoed with memories that had once broken them.

Lucien nodded toward the study. "Always there. Behind that desk."

Aaliyah stood back as they pushed open the doors.

Damien Vale Sr. Age had barely touched him. The same pristine suit. The same pale eyes. The same stillness that terrified them as boys.

"I knew you'd come," he said, voice smooth, unhurried. "You're too much like me."

Lucien stepped forward. "No. That's why we're here. To prove we're not."

Damien chuckled, reclining in his chair. "You don't get to escape blood, boys. You inherited everything. The darkness, the violence. Even your taste in women."

Silas trembled. "Shut your mouth."

He looked past them then—to Aaliyah.

"You brought her here? How poetic. Two sons and a lamb."

Aaliyah didn't flinch. "No. A lion."

That made him pause. A small crack in the marble of his confidence.

"You should be careful," he said. "Women like you don't survive men like them."

"And men like you," she replied, "don't survive women like me."

It wasn't loud. It wasn't chaotic. It was clinical. Years of rage distilled into cold precision.

Silas held him down. Lucien broke his nose. Aaliyah watched.

But the thing about men like Damien Vale Sr. is that they never understand mercy until it's already passed them by.

They let him feel what fear truly was. They let him feel helpless. Then they left him bleeding on the floor, alive enough to regret.

But as the estate burned behind them—flames rising like judgment—the weight began to lift.

Silas looked at Aaliyah, then at Lucien. "It's done."

Lucien shook his head. "No. It's just beginning."

Aaliyah turned to the rising smoke. "Let it burn. Let all of it burn."

The House That Bled Us