𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐂𝐚𝐧𝐯𝐚𝐬.

𝟔. 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐄𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞.

The walls of the Khan mansion quaked in alarm at the audacity of the one who could bring down Musa Hassan Khan. Even in his confusion, Musa's ocean-blue eyes blazed with intense agitation.

❝ Dadi!❞ The name hung in the air, suspended like a whispered promise. Altamash's lips curled into a gentle, nostalgic smile, even as tears began to well up in his eyes.

His fingers fidgeted anxiously, betraying the turmoil brewing within. Meanwhile, his brows knit together in dismay, as if the very mention of the name had stirred up a mix of emotions he couldn't quite contain.

The Dadi, whom he had called, approached her grandson Altamash, ruffling his hair affectionately and patting Aroosh's back reassuringly.

Aroosh and Altamash hurried through the corridors, their minds reeling from the unimaginable incident that had just occurred. It felt as though a storm was about to break. They knew their friend all too well, and what had happened today was something they had never witnessed before. Zubaida Akbar Khan, their Dadi, had never slapped nor yelled at Musa in all these years, but today was a different story.

Dadi Zubaida, known for her poetic nature, had been the wife of Zaid Khan, a ruler of his time—a man of justice. Zubaida and Zaid had been blessed with two sons, Hassan and Firoz Khan.

Hassan Khan and his wife, Shaima Hassan Khan, had two sons, the eldest being Musa, the heir to the Khan clan.

Dadi Zubaida's second son, Firoz Khan, and his wife, Zahra Khan, had one son, Altamash Firoz Khan.

After the death of Hassan and Shaima, it was Dadi Zubaida who took on the enormous responsibility of raising her grandson Musa.

Musa's love for his Dadi was boundless, but his stubborn nature often plunged Dadi Zubaida into deep worry.

❝ Dadi, listen—❞ Musa tried to speak, but she wouldn't let him finish. She had heard enough, her heart devastated, her eyes brimming with tears. She was a beautiful woman in her fifties, Musa her eldest grandson, and Altamash the younger.

She stormed out, nauseated, her grey hair modestly covered with a hijab, her aura exuding grace, and the wrinkles on her face a testament to her age.

Musa, filled with rage, stormed towards a familiar room, his eyes darkening like the ocean in the dead of night. His jaw clenched, the veins in his neck threatening to burst, and his large hands raked through his silky hair in an attempt to steady his uneven breath. His cold heart swelled with unfamiliar feelings of hatred toward the wretched soul.

He took long strides to reach the familiar door, and as soon as he pushed it open, his ocean-blue eyes found a fragile figure huddled in the corner. His eyes shot daggers at the poor soul, devastated and sobbing, pleading for God's mercy.

She trembled in fear.

When her dark grey eyes met his, they reflected nothing but pure loathing toward her soul.

She was yanked into his strong, muscular chest, fear overtaking her body. Her breathing became shallow, and it felt as if her soul would leave her body at any moment. This didn't feel right.

His large arms wrapped around her thin waist, her breath brushing against his chest. His left hand gripped her neck brutally, his rage leading him down a path of self-destruction.

❝I will destroy you, Mrs. Khan. Watch me!❞ he spat venomously, his words echoing off the room's walls, his voice filled with utter disdain for his wife, Fayra Hassan Khan.

He slapped her across her soft cheek, tears streaming down her brown skin. Her grey eyes reflected the bitter hatred she felt toward the man, and the faint imprint of his fingers marred her skin, her lips bruised from the force of his cruel hand.

He was ruthless, intolerant.

❝You will shed tears, your heart will be shattered by my hands, your soul will depart from your body. That day will be one to celebrate, Malika.❞ Musa's voice was dripping with malice.

His words sent chills down her spine. His grip was suffocating, and her eyes begged him to release her.

He was losing his sanity, the scent of her heavenly fragrance driving him to the edge. Fayra, feeling like a bird trapped in her master's grip, longed to escape and soar above the skies.

But the fragile soul forgot—her wings were damaged, bruised beyond repair. They were not strong enough to let her fly. Tears welled in her captivating eyes, and a whimper escaped her throat in her helplessness.

Her grey eyes stared deeply into his intense ocean-blue ones. She was foolish to have tried to explore the depths of his eyes, seeking some connection, but his soul was steeped in darkness, corrupted beyond measure.

❝Please, let me go.❞ Fayra could do nothing but plead. His grip around her neck grew tighter with each passing second, and she knew better than to say anything more, fearing the consequences.

❝Not another word. From tomorrow, you will live here at your own expense.❞ The authority in his voice made her tremble like a leaf. His ocean-blue eyes darkened, filled with sentiments of disdain and revulsion. But did his heart truly mirror the emotions in his eyes?

He was unpredictable.

Musa's grip finally relaxed, releasing Fayra's neck from its vicious vice. The skin was marred by deep, crimson marks, a gruesome testament to his brutality. Fayra's legs buckled, and she collapsed to her knees, her body drained of strength, her spirit shattered.

Musa stormed out of the room, a turbulent storm raging within him. His departure was as swift and merciless as a whirlwind, leaving destruction and devastation in his wake. The air seemed to vibrate with the intensity of his emotions, as if the very room itself was trembling in fear of his return.

He carried a heart devoid of blood—he was Satan.

Fayra hugged herself, trembling in fear, and allowed her tears to flow freely. Her grey eyes were red from crying. She felt numb—the pain in her bruised lips, the marks on her neck and cheeks, her heart giving up. She was numb.

Fayra Hassan Khan was losing the battle, and there was no one to save this fragile soul.

________________________________