Mafia Captured

13.Three little Monsters

Arsalan's hand shot out, grabbing Sahira's wrist before she could take another step back.

"You think you can leave me and walk away as if I never existed?" His voice was a growl, low and dangerous, like distant thunder rolling across a darkened sky. His grip was tight—too tight—his fingers digging into her skin, reflecting the storm raging within him.

Sahira gasped at the sudden contact but bit her lip, refusing to cry out. His presence felt suffocating, an overwhelming shadow swallowing the air around her.

"You left me," Arsalan spat, his voice slicing through the quiet like a blade. Outside, the rain hammered against the windows, each drop pounding in time with his heartbeat. "You were everything to me, and you left without a word. You let me believe you were dead."

She pulled at her wrist, her heart pounding wildly, the mix of fear and sorrow tightening in her chest.

Arsalan let out a hollow, bitter laugh. "I lived through hell every single day without you," he said, his voice raw, scraped bare by the weight of his pain. "And now you return, after all these years, and still... you ignore me."

His hand tightened, the grip becoming painful. Sahira squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the sensation. She took a deep breath, focusing on staying calm.

But just as quickly, he released her, his fingers trembling as if they couldn't decide between holding on or letting go. He stepped back, frustration and desperation flickering in his eyes.

When she opened her eyes, she found Arsalan standing motionless, his hands clenched tightly by his sides. The anger was still there—anger born of heartbreak and confusion. But beneath it, she saw something else.

Pain.

Real, unguarded pain.

"I just need to know," Arsalan said, softer now, as though the rain outside had sapped his strength. "Did you ever think of me? Even once? Or was I the only one who felt lost without you?"

Sahira exhaled slowly, her heart heavy. She knew this was all a pretense. She had seen this act before—Arsalan's carefully crafted facade of indifference, designed to shield himself from vulnerability.

Her gaze flickered to the room behind him, where their son lay peacefully asleep. Arsalan's voice dropped to a whisper as he followed her gaze, his expression softening for a brief moment. "Our boy won't wake up until morning—the medication is strong," he murmured, almost to himself. Then he turned back to her, his breath warm against her skin as he leaned closer.

"Which means," he murmured, his voice trailing off, "we have plenty of time... just for us."

Sahira stiffened, her body recoiling instinctively. She pushed him back with a sudden jolt of disgust, but Arsalan didn't flinch. His expression darkened, his jaw tightening.

He stepped forward again, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "Do you even know what it felt like?" His jaw clenched, his hands trembling with barely restrained fury. For a moment, it seemed like his anger might explode, but instead, he dropped his hand limply to his side. His shoulders slumped, as if the weight of his words was too much to bear. "Every day, I suffered. I thought you were dead..." His voice cracked, the mask of anger slipping to reveal something raw and broken beneath. "I lost myself. Without you, I lost everything."

For a fleeting second, Sahira's heart ached at the sight of him—the man she once knew, buried beneath layers of pain and anger. But then, the memory of what he had done, of what he had become, steeled her resolve. He deserved this. Every ounce of it.

Arsalan shook his head, frustration hardening his features. "I hate you for what you did," he said bitterly, his voice rough. "But I hate myself even more for still wanting you."