inaya ali shah pov
After finishing all her meetings and work, it was already late.
She stepped out of her cabin. The entire office floor was silent now—no voices, no footsteps, no lights except a few dim ones left behind. All the employees had gone home. The place that once ruled by her presence now stood empty, lifeless.
She walked through the corridors alone.
Her heels echoed softly, the sound following her like a shadow.
Outside the building, the driver was already waiting. The moment he saw her, he stepped forward and opened the back door instantly.
She got in without a word.
Sitting silently in the back seat, she stared out of the window, city lights blurring into meaningless streaks. Her reflection appeared faintly on the glass—strong on the outside, distant on the inside. Her mind wandered, lost between unfinished thoughts and memories she never allowed herself to face.
The driver started driving.
Forty minutes later, the car stopped in front of her mansion.
She stepped out slowly.
The hall welcomed her with silence.
No footsteps.
No voices.
No warmth.
All the servants had gone to their homes. The house that once felt too controlled now felt unbearably empty. The silence pressed against her ears, heavier than any crowd.
She stood there for a moment, alone in the vast space, surrounded by walls that knew her too well.
Without having dinner, she went upstairs to her room. She threw her bag onto the dressing table and walked into the closet. Moments later, she emerged in a soft nightdress.
Her body was completely exhausted. Her face showed the weight of a long, merciless day. Yet her mind refused to rest—occupied by the thought of going back home.
She was happy at the thought of meeting her family after years.
And at the same time, she felt an ache—because of the past accident she could never forget.
Shaking her head, as if trying to push the memories away, she lay down on the bed and closed her eyes.
After some time, exhaustion finally won.
She drifted into sleep.
And as the darkness claimed her—
the armor she had worn all morning finally slipped away,
leaving her vulnerable once again.
The next morning, her eyes opened to the sharp sound of the alarm.
She sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand—almost childlike, a rare softness slipping through before she could stop it. Then she swung her legs off the bed. The moment her bare feet touched the cold floor, a sharp current shot up her spine, sending a brief shiver through her body.
She didn't pause.
She walked to her closet, changed into gym clothes, and headed straight to her private gym.
She pushed herself hard—harder than necessary. Every movement, every breath, every drop of sweat was an attempt to quiet her thoughts. To exhaust the fear before it could speak.
After finishing her workout, she went to the bathroom and showered. When she came out, she dressed in casual pants and a simple shirt. Today was her flight.
No armor.
Just control.
She picked up her suitcase and began packing—clothes, documents, essentials, things that mattered. Everything was neat. Precise. When she was done, she stood in front of the dresser, brushed her hair, applied light makeup, and slipped on her watch.
She picked up her handbag and phone and went downstairs.
She took her seat at the dining table, phone in hand—just like always.
The moment she entered, the hall fell into silence.
No one dared to speak.
Everyone knew she hated noise.
She placed her phone on the table.
An old maid appeared quietly from behind, placed breakfast in front of her, and disappeared back into the kitchen without a word.
She ate in silence.
She was starving.
When she finished, she stood up, picked up her bag and phone, and walked out of the mansion. A servant followed behind her, carrying her suitcase.
She slid into the back seat of the car.
The driver started driving.
The road was silent.
Her mind wasn't.
After two hours, they reached the airport.
She stepped out of the car and walked inside, her guards following at a careful distance. She stopped in front of her private jet and stared at it for a few moments.
This was it.
You have to do this, she told herself.
With a steady breath, she walked inside the jet and took her seat. She leaned back, resting her head against the headrest, and closed her eyes.
Just then—
her phone vibrated.
A message.
Unknown Number:
You don't look back when you leave.
You never do.
Her brows furrowed slightly.
Another message appeared.
Unknown Number:
Canada. Airport. Black suit yesterday. Casual today.
You're predictable, Inaya.
Her fingers tightened around the phone.
She hadn't given anyone her travel details.
A third message followed, slower this time.
Unknown Number:
Don't worry.
I'll see you soon.
Her heartbeat skipped.
She stared at the screen for a long moment, then locked her phone without replying. She told herself it was nothing. A coincidence. A wrong number.
She leaned back again and closed her eyes.
She didn't know—
the man sending those messages was already closer than she thought.
She threw her phone onto the table in frustration.
Her chest rose sharply as her subconscious whispered the truth she didn't want to hear.
The war has already started.
She clenched her jaw, then closed her eyes again, forcing her expression back into calm. Control. Always control.
After many long hours, the jet finally landed.
She stepped out wearing dark sunglasses, her bag in one hand and her phone in the other. She walked forward like a queen—confident, composed, untouchable. Her face revealed nothing.
No one could see the storm raging inside her.
Outside the airport, her driver was already waiting. Without a word, she slid into the back seat. The car moved smoothly into traffic.
She unlocked her phone.
One message. Brief. Precise.
To PA:
Find everything about this unknown number. I want answers. Now.
She switched off her phone and leaned back, turning her gaze to the window.
Her city.
Her hometown.
The streets looked familiar, unchanged—but her heart felt heavy. This place held memories she had buried deep. And she knew one thing for certain—
her grandfather was planning something.
But this time, she wasn't afraid.
This time, she was ready.
She wasn't weak anymore.
Just then, her phone screen lit up again.
Unknown Number:
You don't need to look for me.
Her fingers froze.
Another message appeared.
Unknown Number:
I'm already very close to you.
Her breath slowed, eyes narrowing behind the sunglasses.
Then the last message came.
Unknown Number:
See you soon, sweetheart.
Her grip tightened around the phone.
Slowly, a cold smile touched her lips.
"Let's see," she murmured under her breath.
Because if he thought she was prey—
he was about to learn
she knew how to fight back. After some time, the car came to a halt in front of a magnificent palace.
From the outside, it looked breathtaking—grand gates, carved stone, glowing lights, a vision of royalty and power. To the world, it was a symbol of legacy and honor.
But she knew better.
From the inside, it was dark—dark like hell. A place where control lived, where silence was forced, where memories bled.
Inaya took a slow, deep breath, steadying herself. She locked every emotion behind her eyes, smoothing her face into calm indifference. Fear was a luxury she couldn't afford here.
She stepped out of the car.
The cold air brushed against her skin as she adjusted her grip on her bag and straightened her shoulders. Her posture was flawless, her expression unreadable.
Without looking back, she began walking toward the palace doors.
Each step echoed with the weight of the past.
And as she crossed the threshold, one thought burned clearly in her mind—
This time, I won't let it break me.
After some time, the car came to a halt in front of a magnificent palace.
From the outside, it looked breathtaking—grand gates, carved stone, glowing lights, a vision of royalty and power. To the world, it was a symbol of legacy and honor.
But she knew better.
From the inside, it was dark—dark like hell. A place where control lived, where silence was forced, where memories bled.
The iron gates opened slowly.
Too slowly.
Inaya sat stiff in the back seat as the car rolled into the vast ancestral palace. The palace stood tall and cold, its walls heavy with power, tradition, and unspoken rules. Nothing had changed.
And that was the problem.
From the outside, it looked breathtaking—grand gates, carved stone, glowing lights, a vision of royalty and power. To the world, it was a symbol of legacy and honor.
But she knew better.
From the inside, it was dark—dark like hell. A place where control lived, where silence was forced, where memories bled.
The car stopped. The driver opened the door, but she didn't move immediately. For a brief second, her hand tightened around her bag—then she stepped out, composed, untouchable.
The moment she entered, the servants lined up.
"Welcome home, miss," they said in unison, heads bowed.
She didn't respond.
Her heels echoed through the marble hall, each step dragging memories behind it—voices, orders, silence, fear. This place had never been her home.
It was a cage.
"She's here."
The whisper traveled faster than she did.
At the end of the hall, her grandfather stood waiting, hands clasped behind his back, eyes sharp despite his age. Authority radiated from him like a shadow.
"You came," he said, not surprised. "I knew you would."
She met his gaze, her expression unreadable.
"You ordered. I complied."
A faint smile touched his lips.
"Good. You still remember who holds the reins."
Her jaw tightened—but she said nothing.
Then—
she felt it.
A presence.
Her eyes shifted slightly to the side.
A man stood near the staircase.
Tall. Still. Watching.
zeeshan khan.
Dressed impeccably, calm in a way that felt unsettling, his eyes followed her with open interest—not admiration, not curiosity—calculation. Like he had been waiting for this moment far too long.
Their eyes met.
For half a second, the world narrowed.
Something cold slid down her spine.
He smiled first.
Slow. Controlled.
As if this wasn't a first meeting—
but a reunion she didn't remember agreeing to.
"Inaya," her grandfather said, breaking the silence, "you remember zeeshan."
Her fingers curled slightly.
"I remember his name," she replied flatly.
zeeshan stepped forward. His voice was smooth, steady.
"Canada suits you," he said. "You look… unchanged."
She looked at him fully now, her gaze sharp enough to cut.
"People who watch from afar usually think that."
The smile on his lips deepened—not offended.
Amused.
Her grandfather watched the exchange with quiet satisfaction.
"Dinner is ready," he announced. "We have a lot to discuss."
Inaya knew that tone.
This wasn't a family dinner.
It was a negotiation.
And she was the price.