Isra's POV.
Goddddddd! What the actual fuck did I just do? Did I really—oh my bloody hell—did I really kiss that bastard? My lips… his lips… No, no, no, this can't be fucking real. But it is, Isra. You did it. You bloody kissed him. Damn it, Isra, what the fuck is wrong with you?
And the worst part? I can't even deny it. My heart is still pounding like a lunatic inside my ribcage, my skin is burning hot, and the ghost of that damn kiss is still lingering on my mouth. Shit. What the fuck did you do, girl? You went there to provoke him, to mock him, to throw some bold words in his face and shove your warning down his throat—that you'd make this so-called marriage of his a nightmare, a shameless fucking disaster he'd regret every single day. That was the goddamn plan.
Not… this. Not planting your mouth on his like some desperate bitch. Fuck you, Isra. Seriously, fuck you.
---
Next morning -10am.
I was slumped in my college classroom, trapped in the middle of some never-ending lecture that could bore a dead corpse back into its grave. The professor's voice was droning on and on, and my eyelids felt heavier than the goddamn weight of my guilt.
Great. Just fucking great. I ruined my night by overthinking that stupid kiss, and now I was about to ruin my morning by falling asleep in class. My pen was in my hand, notebook open in front of me, but my brain? My brain was in another world, replaying that scene like a cursed movie reel.
The way he looked at me. The shock in his eyes. And then the silence. God, that suffocating silence after I pulled away. What the hell was I thinking? Oh right—I wasn't thinking at all. Because apparently Isra Alvi, the bold, fearless, bad bitch who doesn't give a fuck about anyone, completely lost her sanity last night.
And now here I was, yawning, half-dead in class, fighting the urge to scream into my damn textbook.
"Isra, wake the fuck up," I muttered to myself, pinching my own arm under the desk. But no use. My head was about to slam against the table any second.
This boring-ass class was going to be my coffin.
Author's POV.
Isra stood in the restroom, her hands under the cool stream of water as she washed them lazily in the marble basin. Her reflection in the mirror gleamed back at her, chin raised, eyes glinting with that fearless sharpness. But what really caught her attention wasn't her own face—it was the sight of Aarushi and Mashir standing silently behind her.
A smirk curled across her lips, dangerous and mocking, as she turned around to face them.
"After such a long time, hmm? Nice. So—where's my thing?" Isra asked smoothly, her voice laced with that casual arrogance only she could carry.
"We got the best one this time. You said not to bring you cheap trash," Aarushi replied, her tone quiet but confident.
"Good. Now hand it over," Isra demanded, snapping her fingers slightly.
"Yeah, yeah, but do you even realize the hell we went through to get you this expensive shit?" Mashir muttered bitterly, his jaw tight.
Isra rolled her eyes and exhaled in irritation. "Fine. How much money do you want? Say it already."
"Add ten percent more to what you were going to give," Aarushi said, smirking faintly.
"Done." Isra didn't even hesitate. With a flick of her phone, she transferred the money straight into Aarushi's account.
Mashir reached into his jacket pocket and carefully pulled out a small packet, handing it over discreetly. Isra's manicured fingers closed around it, and with no shame whatsoever, she tore it open slightly, inhaling a sharp breath of the white powder. Her lips curved into satisfaction.
"Real one. Not fake. By the way, Mashir, next time don't come into the girls' restroom. People might get the wrong idea," Isra said sweetly, flashing him her famous fake smile—the one that could send daggers into anyone who dared challenge her.
The three of them left the restroom together, their footsteps echoing down the corridor as they headed toward the cafeteria. But before they could make it any further, a professor appeared suddenly in their path. His expression was grave, his voice firm.
"The principal has called you three. Come with me—now."
The trio exchanged quick glances, suspicion and unease passing through them. Still, they followed, though Isra walked with her chin high as if nothing could ever touch her.
---
Principal's office.
The principal sat in his chair, eyes sharp and face hard, as the three students entered and stood before his desk. The silence was suffocating until he finally spoke, his voice low but brimming with restrained anger.
"I have given you multiple warnings," he began, glaring at them.
"What did we do now?" Isra asked boldly, her confidence as unshaken as ever.
"You two—Miss Aarushi and Mr. Mashir," the principal said, his voice cutting through the air. "You've been selling drugs on campus. I've received numerous complaints but never enough proof. Until now. And you, Miss Isra…" He leaned forward, eyes boring into her. "You aren't only a bully. You buy drugs. You consume them. Do you understand what this poison will do to your health? Oh, whom am I even telling? Words don't matter to someone like you."
Isra raised her chin higher, her smirk mocking. Aarushi and Mashir, however, shifted uncomfortably, their faces pale with fear.
The principal's voice thundered again. "Enough. All three of you—outside. Now."
They obeyed. Aarushi and Mashir looked like trembling leaves in a storm, whispering their fears under their breath. Isra, however, leaned against the wall with folded arms, her mind not on the drugs or even the possible expulsion—no. She was thinking only of one person. Her grandfather. How would she face him if he found out?
Minutes later, they were called back inside.
The principal's tone was curt. "Your parents have been informed. Both of yours, Aarushi and Mashir, are on their way. And Miss Isra—your guardian has been called."
Isra's eyes widened, her smirk vanishing instantly. "You… you told everything to my grandpa?" she asked, her voice laced with a rare note of unease.
The principal frowned. "Who said I called your grandfather?"
"You did. You said you called my guardian—and he is my guardian." Isra's tone grew sharper, defensive.
The principal shook his head. "No, Miss Isra. Your guardian is Mr. Zorain Raza. When you were admitted here, he accompanied your grandfather. On all the documents where your parents' details were required, his signature stands as your legal guardian. Perhaps you were unaware. But this does not matter right now."
Isra's breath hitched, her face twisting in sheer disbelief. "W-what the hell are you saying? Zorain Raza is my guardian? Principal, you're mistaken. My guardian is my grandpa—not him!"
"I'm not mistaken, Miss Isra. You can deny it all you want, but the paperwork doesn't lie. And yes, Mr. Zorain Raza has been informed. He is on his way here."
Isra's fists clenched at her sides, her blood boiling with rage. "No. Tell him not to come! I'll handle this myself. Don't call him here."
The principal's eyes narrowed, his voice sharp as steel. "Miss Isra, not everything in this world bends to your orders. And let me warn you—if Mr. Zorain Raza does not arrive, then the only option left will be action against you. Which means suspension, expulsion… or perhaps even jail. Do you understand?"
Her chest felt tight, her mind spinning. Every possible escape felt blocked. Aarushi and Mashir's faces were drained of all color, but Isra's face? It was burning red—not with shame, but with fury.
What would happen when he walked through that door?
Would he save her from ruin?
Or would he let her fall straight into hell?
Isra's POV.
What the actual fuck was going on? He—Zorain—was my guardian? And I didn't even know about it? Grandpa kept this from me? That old man, why? Why the hell would he do this to me? Did he not know I would never tolerate something like this? And I sure as fuck wasn't going to tolerate it now.
But right now, more than my anger, I needed to save myself from that monster. Because he was coming. God. God, please help me. I swear I'll never touch drugs again, promise—I'll never even fucking look at them. Just… save me from that bastard.
But then my pride hit me like a slap. Wait—why the fuck should I be scared of him? Huh? It's my fucking life, not his. Who the hell was he to decide what I do, what I take, how I live? I won't let him scare me. No way. I'll face him head-on. I'll see him. Huh.
---
After an hour.
Aarushi's and Mashir's parents came first, and now we were all waiting for him. And just as my luck would fucking have it—wow. Think of Satan and he appears.
Zorain walked in.
I didn't look at him. Not because I was afraid—hell no—but… I don't even know why. Maybe because if I met his eyes, something inside me would break. Or maybe because some part of me was afraid, and I refused to admit it. No. I wasn't afraid. Not me.
The principal began his lecture, talking to Aarushi's parents, Mashir's parents, and him. Blah, blah, blah—the same boring fucking shit. Should he take action against us, should he give us another chance, should he let us slide like every other time. Blah blah fucking blah.
But then that dick of a principal had to open his oversized mouth and complain about me. Not just the drugs—no, he just had to go further. He told Zorain that I bunk classes, that I torture students. Like—was that seriously necessary? It's fun, damn it. He made it sound like I was some criminal.
Zorain sat there, silent, his face unreadable, but his jaw was sharp, his eyes darker than a fucking storm. He was listening to every damn word. Settled. Calm. The kind of calm that makes your blood run cold because you know it's the quiet before the fucking explosion.
Then came the final blow. The principal, that snake, ordered a teacher to search my bag. And—ta-dah—the drugs spilled out like a confession I never made. The principal snatched them away like he'd just uncovered gold and lectured me again about health, future, blah blah blah. I barely even listened because I was too busy staring at him.
Zorain.
He looked like an angry fucking lion. No—scratch that—he looked like a lion who'd just spotted his prey and was ready to tear it apart limb by limb. And guess who the prey was? Yeah. Me.
My stomach twisted, but I straightened my spine. No way was I going to let him see me flinch.
Finally, after the endless lecture, after the drama and warnings, when the office went back to its fake peace, he didn't even give me a second to breathe. Zorain grabbed my wrist, hard, and dragged me out of the principal's office. I struggled, cursed under my breath, but he didn't care. His grip was iron, his stride long and merciless, pulling me like I was some misbehaving child.
By the time we stopped, we were in the parking lot, standing right in front of his car. My arm stung where he'd held me, and I jerked it back, furious, but before I could open my mouth, his voice crashed down on me like thunder.
"What. The. Fuck. Was. That, Isra?" he roared, every word sharp enough to slice my skin.
Aghhh—fuck, my ear was going to blast.
Author's POV.
"What. The. Fuck. Was. That, Isra?" Zorain's voice ripped through the air like a thunderclap, raw, furious, unrestrained. His roar reverberated through the empty parking lot, and for the first time, Isra didn't immediately fling her venom back. She stood still, her chest heaving, her lips pressed together. Her silence wasn't weakness—no, never that—it was her shield. Because Isra was Isra: a bitter tongue, a stubborn spirit, a heart packed with hate for the man in front of her. She was scared, yes—scared as hell—but she would rather slit her own throat than let him see it.
Her lips curved into that annoying little smirk, her brows lifting with mockery. "Why the fuck is this bothering you?" she asked, her tone dipped in poison, her expression carrying that irritating, calculated arrogance.
Zorain's jaw tightened, his eyes blazing like molten fire, and then he snapped. "BECAUSE YOU'RE MY DUTY!" he thundered, his voice raw with an anger that scraped her very bones.
Isra actually flinched this time. Hard. The way he shouted—it wasn't just anger, it was something deeper, something heavier, something that clawed at her insides before she could smother it with her ego.
"BECAUSE YOUR DAD GAVE ME YOUR RESPONSIBILITY!" Zorain's voice cracked the silence again, louder, harsher. "BECAUSE THEY TRUSTED ME! BECAUSE THEY DIDN'T THINK ABOUT ME THE WAY YOU DO! DO YOU UNDERSTAND THAT? DO YOU?"
He was out of control, his rage spilling everywhere like fire burning through dry wood. And Isra—Isra, who could spit venom at anyone, who could make gods themselves regret crossing her—was suddenly quiet, listening, her heart pounding in her chest. Her throat felt dry, but she said nothing.
"WHY DO YOU TAKE THAT SHIT?" His voice lowered only to rise again, fury painted in every word. "AND FOR HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN INTAKING IT?"
For a moment, Isra felt cornered. Her chest tightened, her palms grew damp, but she shoved the fear back down her throat. No. She wouldn't let him see it. Not him. Never him. Slowly, she blinked, and when her eyes opened again, she had slipped back into her armor—the cruel smile, the bad-girl attitude, the sharp edge of her words.
"Why the fuck does it bother you?" she hissed, tilting her chin up. "Yes, I take it. So what? It's my fucking matter, not yours. If it's about this whole guardian bullshit, then hear me loud and clear—leave that position. Right. Fucking. Now. Because I don't need you. I never did. And I sure as hell never will. Just leave me the fuck alone, Zorain."
But he didn't falter. He didn't step back. If anything, her words only made his face harden more, his glare sharper, his rage deadlier.
"You know what?" Zorain's tone dropped, quieter, but far more terrifying than his roar. "You'll not. You will never improve. But I know how to make you."
Before Isra could even spit out another insult, Zorain's hand shot forward. His grip clamped around her arm like iron, and with one swift, merciless pull, he dragged her toward his car. "Let me go!" she hissed, fighting against him, nails clawing, but he didn't budge. He wrenched the passenger-side door open, shoved her down into the seat with a force that made her gasp, and slammed the door shut.
Isra tried to push it open, but the click of the central lock cut her rebellion short. Zorain slid into the driver's seat, started the engine, and the growl of the car filled the tense air. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel, his eyes fixed straight ahead, his voice like ice, sharp and merciless.
"From now on, you'll live with me. Not with your grandparents. Not in your parents' house. With me." He didn't glance at her; his tone alone was enough to cage her. "And don't you dare do anything or create any mess, Isra. Because I have full rights on you as your guardian. I didn't show it until now, but don't think for a fucking second that I won't."
Isra's eyes widened, her heart hammering, but she refused to let her voice tremble. Her pride was her shield, her weapon. "I'll kill you, Zorain," she spat, her voice a dagger hurled at him. "I swear I'll fucking kill you."
His lips curled into the cruelest of smirks, one that could drive anyone mad. "Surely, my sweetness," he drawled, the word dripping with mockery, deliberate and poisonous.
"Don't. Call. Me. With. That. Fucking. Name!" Isra's scream cracked through the car, raw, furious, almost desperate.
Zorain didn't answer. He just smirked again—sharp, cocky, dangerous—the kind of smirk that promised hell was only beginning.
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Words: 2742.