Gereksiz İntikam

30

Taniya's POV

Everything stopped when I saw him. 
His intense gaze bore into mine. 

His betrayal flashed before my eyes like a screenplay, and I blinked to avoid crying in front of him. 

He is my husband now, but he lost my trust yesterday. 

How could he stoop so low? Why did he do that? And for what sin did he punish me by tearing apart my dignity? 

I am not close enough to any answers. 

I tilt my head to look at him as he stands before me. 

"You should eat something," he says, sitting beside me on the bed. 

I curl my knees to my body unconsciously, my fists tightening over my dupatta. 

How could he be so cruel? After shattering me into uncountable pieces, he behaves like everything is fine. 

I flinch when he tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. 

A shiver runs down my body—not from excitement, but from fear. Or disgust. 

These are the same hands that did not hesitate for even a second while tainting my dignity. 

I know I am pathetic, but what can you expect from an innocent girl who has lived her entire life in a cage called home, without love or affection? 

Bhai loves me a lot, and so does Baba Jaan, but the little girl in me always longed to breathe fresh air. 

Like the women I used to see in movies—happy, unafraid of death, unworried about their brothers' safety. 

People will never understand my miseries. 

Before the revelation that we are the niece and nephew of Abraham Ahmad, I had only one true relationship—my brother. 

He is my everything. My brother, my father, my mother, my friend. 

And the pain of not knowing whether he will return safely or in a dead body every day is beyond anything. 

He sacrificed his childhood, his teenage years, his happiness—everything—just to keep me safe. 

But here I am, unlucky as ever, played by the man who is now my so-called husband. 

The man I once thought was my savior has turned out to be my biggest destruction. 

The touch I now loathe slides from behind my ear to my collarbone. 

I can see the male lust and desire in his eyes and feel it in his touch. 

His fingers trace patterns on my collarbone, and our eyes lock. 

I want to push his hand away, but I feel weak, pathetic. 

Before I can process anything, I feel his lips on mine. 

He kisses me as if in urgency, his hand fisting my hair to tilt my face according to his need. 

But I do nothing. 

To be honest, I stay numb. 

Right now, I feel nothing—not discomfort, not pain. 

I do not move my lips. 

I close my eyes in sheer confusion. 

Allah, why am I not feeling uncomfortable like before? 

I hiss when he squeezes my breast, but I immediately clamp my lips shut again.