Isra's POV.
Finally… after so long, I stepped into my parents' mansion. The air smelled the same, the sunlight fell exactly like it used to, and every corner looked untouched—like I had just left yesterday and come back today. But reality wasn't that kind. This place had been waiting for me for six years… and yet it felt like I had been gone for a lifetime.
My steps slowed as I entered the living area. My eyes were instantly drawn to the wall that was crowded with photographs—snapshots of the past, frozen in time. My childhood, my parents, our life together… but then, my chest tightened when I saw him.
Zorain.
His smiling face in frames with my mom and dad. His arm casually draped around me in some pictures. Some were just him alone, some with all three of us, and some where I was standing next to him, oblivious to the storm he would one day cause in my life.
He didn't deserve to be here—not in my parents' memories, not in my home.
I turned sharply and called for Mrs. Era, the head of the house staff who had been here since I was a child. She came quickly and stood in front of me, her hands folded respectfully.
"Iss ghar mein jitne bhi Zorain ke photo frames hain, sab jala do… even wo bhi jisme mom-dad ya main hoon. Mujhe iss ghar mein uski koi bhi cheez nahi chahiye. Am I clear, Mrs. Era?" My tone was cold, but soft—deadly calm.
"Yes, Ms. Isra. I'll do this," she said quietly before walking away.
I continued exploring the mansion, my footsteps echoing in the silence, and I stopped in front of the painting room. My heart swelled. Painting… one of my favourite hobbies. This room had always been my little world, the place where colours told my secrets. And for the first time in six years, I felt a flicker of real happiness.
I pushed the door open and stepped inside. The smell of paint hit me instantly. My old paintings were still here, untouched, waiting. My fingers brushed over the dried strokes as I moved from one canvas to another—until my eyes stopped on that painting.
The one Dad and I had painted together. Our last one. He used to paint with me often, his brush dancing on the canvas beside mine.
A lump rose in my throat, but I swallowed it down and called one of the bodyguards.
"Bring some fresh colours from the store," I ordered.
An hour later, he returned and placed them beside me before leaving quietly.
And then I started.
For two straight hours, I painted—lost in the swirls of colour, the soft scratch of the brush, the way my heart felt just a little lighter with every stroke. It was noon, and the sunlight through the window painted the floor golden. My canvas was nearly complete, the image blooming in front of me—when the door slammed open with a violent bang.
I spun around, frowning.
And there he was.
ZORAIN.
What the fuck was he doing here?!
Before I could even open my mouth to yell at him, before I could ask what the hell he wanted—
A hard, stinging slap landed across my left cheek.
The sound cracked through the room. My head tilted from the force, my skin burned, and my eyes widened.
I stood frozen, like a statue, my brain still trying to process what had just happened.
Zorain's POV.
I woke up late today — didn't give a damn about the time because I had only one meeting, and that too in the evening. No need to step into the damn company this morning. The clock was brushing against noon when I finally dragged myself out of bed.
A shower, a half-ass shave, casual clothes. Simple. I didn't feel like dressing up for anyone today. I made my way downstairs, yawning lazily, expecting the usual chaos — Grandpa barking orders, the staff rushing like ants, Isra being a headache somewhere in the house.
But the place was… quiet. Too quiet.
Only Grandma was sitting on the couch, hands clasped, staring at nothing.
That's when it hit me — Grandpa had an important meeting today. He wasn't here. Which meant something was off. Very off.
I walked to the couch and sat beside her.
But the moment I did, I felt it. Something in her posture, her face. The air around her wasn't just heavy — it was suffocating.
"Grandma," I called, my voice casual at first. No response.
"Grandma, what happened?" This time my voice sharpened, no space for ignoring me.
She turned her head slowly, and for the first time in years — hell, maybe the first time ever — I saw tears in her eyes.
That hit me. Hard.
This woman… she's made of stone. Of iron. She doesn't cry. She doesn't break.
And yet here she was, her eyes glassy, lips trembling.
My stomach twisted. "Grandma, what happened? Tell me. Why the hell are you crying?" My tone was almost desperate now, but she still didn't speak.
I leaned closer, my jaw tight. "Tell me, Grandma."
"Isra…" she whispered, and then the dam broke. Light sobs shook her shoulders.
My jaw clenched instantly. Of course. Of fucking course.
The second she said her name, I didn't even need the full story. That girl had done something again — and this time it had pushed Grandma to tears.
"What did she do?" I asked, my voice flat, cold.
"She…" Grandma's voice faltered, her gaze dropping.
"Grandma," I cut her off, my tone like ice, "are you going to tell me, or should I go ask her myself? Because if I go to her without knowing the full story, I swear to God it won't be good for her."
Her eyes widened at my words — she knew I meant it. She knew the exact kind of storm I could bring down on Isra when I was in this mood.
So she started talking.
And the more she spoke, the tighter my fists clenched, the darker my vision got.
By the end of it, I wasn't just angry. I was fucking furious.
Isra had crossed the damn line.
Author's POV.
past- a few hours ago.
"Where are you going?" Sofia's voice cut through the silence, sharp and demanding.
Isra didn't even slow down. "None of your business." Her tone was dripping with cold indifference.
She tried to step past her, but Sofia moved forward, blocking her path like an immovable wall.
"I asked something, Isra," Sofia repeated, her eyes narrowing.
"And I gave you your answer," Isra shot back, her voice matching the same level of ice.
"You're not going there," Sofia pressed, her voice taking on that fake, sugary concern Isra despised. "You know anything can happen with you. You're not safe there."
Isra's lips curled into a bitter chuckle.
"Really? Am I in danger, Mrs. Raza?" she said mockingly. "But you know what? If I can live under the same roof as you and still be alive, then I'll happily survive there. One more thing—" her eyes hardened, her voice slicing through the air, "—I'm not your daughter who would fall for your fake care and fake words. Main Isra Alvi hoon. I don't believe people easily, and like you? Never. Ever."
"Isra, try to understand. I care about you, baby. I'm your grandm—"
"STOP YOUR FUCKING DRAMA, MRS. RAZA! I'M DONE WITH YOU!" Isra's roar made the air itself vibrate.
Sofia's face tightened. "CAN'T YOU SEE MY LOVE FOR YOU? You're just stuck in one place—on your mom and dad! After them, there's so much more in this world, just open your damn eyes and see!"
Isra's nostrils flared. Her anger had now reached boiling point.
"Main shayad aage badh jaati… agar mujhe yeh na pata hota ki wo kaise mare… aur unhe maarne ke peeche KIS ka haath hai." She spat the word KIS with venom, her voice loaded with accusation. The silence that followed was deadly.
Sofia's expression hardened. "Bass, Isra! Bahut ho gaya ab! Jao apne kamre mein—abhi ke abhi!"
"Aapko lagta hai, main aapki baat manungi?" Isra's tone was pure defiance.
She took a step forward to leave, but Sofia's arm shot out, blocking her again.
"Lemme go," Isra warned.
"No," Sofia replied flatly.
That was it. That was the exact moment Isra's patience snapped like a brittle thread. Her eyes turned to ice, and when she spoke, her voice was cold enough to freeze the blood in anyone's veins.
"KITNA ACCHA HOTA KI MERE MOM-DAD KI JAGAH AAP MAR JAATI."
The words slammed into Sofia harder than any slap ever could. She froze, her face pale, her breath caught in her throat. It was like her soul had been ripped open.
Isra didn't spare her another glance. She shoved past her and walked out of the mansion without looking back, leaving only a suffocating silence behind.
Zorain's POV.
Rage was boiling in my blood like lava, thick and unstoppable. After hearing what Grandma had said—after hearing the audacity of Isra's words—I was done. That girl had crossed her fucking limits. Now? She needed a lesson. A real one. And I was going to give it to her.
I shot up from the couch, my fists already clenched, and walked with long, deliberate strides towards the parking lot. Every step made my anger grow heavier, tighter in my chest. I slid into my car, slammed the door, and started the engine without a second's hesitation. My destination was set—Alvi Mansion.
The moment I arrived, I didn't even bother parking in the lot properly. I stopped right at the entrance, yanked the door open, and walked straight inside.
Mrs. Era was in the hallway, gathering photo frames—some broken, some intact, all of them with Zorain's face staring out. My eyes scanned her for only a second. I didn't give a damn about the frames right now.
"Where's Isra?" My tone was sharp, clipped.
"In the painting room," she replied, and I was already moving before the last syllable left her mouth.
The hallway blurred around me until I was standing in front of the door. I didn't knock—I shoved it open with a loud bang that echoed through the room.
She was there. Painting. Wearing that same cold, detached expression she always carried… except when she was with Grandpa. She turned at the sound, her eyes narrowing at me, ready to spit fire—
—and I slapped her. Hard. My palm cracked against her left cheek, the sound bouncing off the walls like a whip.
For a moment, I just stood there, breathing heavily, watching her.
"AGAR AAJ KE BAAD TUMNE MERI GRANDMA SE BADTAMEEZI KARNE KI KOSHISH KI," I growled, my voice vibrating with rage, "TOH MAIN TUMHARI JAAN LENE ME SECOND NAHI LAGAUNGA. SAMJHI TUM?"
She didn't flinch. Didn't step back. Just blinked at me, slowly, deliberately. The kind of silence that comes before a storm. The kind that warns you—brace yourself.
And then it came.
The tsunami.
She grabbed the colour palette from the table and hurled it at me. Paint splattered across my shirt, dripping down my arm.
"HOW FUCKING DARE YOU TO SLAP ME?!" she roared.
"SHOULD I SHOW YOU AGAIN?" I shot back, stepping closer.
"NOBODY DARED TO TOUCH ME AND YO—"
"I'M NOT NOBODY, MS. ISRA ALVI," I cut her off, my voice laced with pure venom. "MAIN ZORAIN RAZA HOON."
Her hand shot out, grabbing my collar with surprising strength. Her eyes burned into mine.
"You did really wrong," she hissed.
"Accha? Aur jo tumne kiya wo?" I asked, my words sharp as knives.
"Tumhari pyaari dadi, mere beech mein hamesha aati hain—toh isme meri kya galti? Tum dadi-pota, meri zindagi se nikal kyu nahi jaate?" she threw the words like poison, dripping with mockery.
Before she could step back, I pinned her against the wall, my face inches from hers. I could feel her breath hitch.
"Leave me," she demanded, struggling.
But I didn't move. "Bhot bardasht kar li tumhari badtameeziyaan," I said, my tone low but dangerous. "Lekin ab nahi. Ab tum kuch bhi ulta karne ki koshish karo, aur dekho consequences tumhe kaise jelne padenge."
She let out a bitter chuckle, but then her face turned cold as steel. Her grip on my collar tightened again.
"Main tumse is thappad ka badla zaroor lungi, Mr. Zorain Raza," she whispered, her voice deadly calm. "Aur main tumhe bina chuye aisa tamacha maarungi… jiski awaaz tumhe tumhari poori zindagi sunayi degi."
She shoved my collar away, but before she could push me completely—
—I crashed my lips onto hers.
It wasn't a kiss. It was punishment. My right hand locked both her wrists above her head, my left gripping her neck. Her body stiffened, and she tried to twist away, but I pressed harder. She was trapped. Mine, in that moment.
She struggled, but I didn't relent. My left hand slid from her neck to her waist, pinching sharply. She gasped—and that was the opening I needed. My tongue invaded her mouth, exploring, dominating. I poured every drop of my anger into the kiss. Every insult, every challenge.
Three long, heavy minutes later, I pulled away. She was breathless, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her eyes locked on mine, fury burning bright.
I spoke before she could.
"BE IN YOUR LIMITS," I said slowly, deliberately. "OTHERWISE I'LL NOT HESITATE TO CROSS MINE. AND YOU JUST SAW THE TRAILER OF IT."
I let her go and turned to leave.
Her voice chased after me, loud and sharp.
"I'LL KILL YOU, ZORAIN FUCKING RAZA! HOW DARE YOU TO TOUCH ME!"
I didn't look back. I only smirked.
Words: 2324.
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Hey Flutterz 🦋 🤍.
I'm Eshie.
Please support me guys, your support means a lot to me.
Enjoy.
And tell me your thoughts about the story and specially about this chapter.
Did Zorain's kiss was right?
~Eshie🦋.