Wrongly Accused

Chapter 50

The moment the words left Uncle Ashok's lips, words that should never have to be spoken, the room froze.

"He tried to molest Sharmila."

A stillness followed, not the quiet of peace, but the terrifying pause before a storm breaks loose. The air thickened, heavy with rage and disbelief, as if the world held its breath, bracing for impact. Suhail felt the fire ignite in his chest, a wildfire roaring through his veins, turning his blood to molten fury. His fists clenched so tightly his knuckles cracked, the skin stretching taut over bone. Logic vanished, thought dissolved, leaving only a primal, all consuming rage that pulsed with every heartbeat. His breath came in shallow, ragged gasps, each one stoking the inferno within. He stood with such force that his chair crashed backward, splintering against the polished mahogany floor with a deafening thud. The glass in his hand shattered under the pressure of his grip, shards slicing into his palm, blood seeping between his fingers in slow, crimson streams. He didn't feel the pain. His vision blurred, red with vengeance, his mind consumed by one thought: someone had dared to harm his sister. He stormed out of the house, rage pounding through his veins, and slammed into the driver's seat. The tires screeched as he tore off toward the mansion, his jaw clenched and eyes burning with fury.

Uncle Ashok stood rigid, his own fury barely contained. His jaw locked so tightly it seemed his teeth might shatter, his knuckles pale as he gripped the edge of the table, the wood groaning under his hands. His eyes, usually warm with the wisdom of years spent guiding his family, were now storm clouds, dark and unyielding, flickering with a rage tempered by restraint. He turned his gaze slowly toward Amaira, who sat across the room, her arms wrapped tightly around her slender frame, as if to hold herself together against the weight of those words. Her face was drained of color, her lips parted in a silent gasp, her dark eyes wide with a fear she couldn't name. Her fingers trembled, clutching the fabric of her kurta, her breaths shallow and uneven. She looked confused on who was Sharmila but when she heard that she was molested she was shocked and was wanting to see her despite not knowing who she was. And seeing how Suhail stormed out, one thing she could conclude she was someone important to him.

Uncle grimly, his voice low and resolute, each word carved from stone. "I'm taking Amaira with me. She's not staying here anymore. If she has to be in this house, she'll stay under my roof, where I can keep her safe."

No one objected. Adithya and Rafeeq, stood at the hall, exchanged a glance, their faces taut with unease. Adithya, the family's peacemaker, shifted uncomfortably, his fingers drumming lightly on his knee, his eyes flickering with worry. Rafeeq, ever loyal, clenched his jaw, his gaze darting to Amaira, bracing for what was to come. Amaira remained silent, her eyes fixed on the floor, her body trembling slightly, her mind reeling from the shock. Thinking that it will be better for her to stay there they agreed for Amaira staying with Ashok uncle as he could be a guarantee for her safety.

The drive was a blur of fury and guilt. Suhail gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white, his bloodied hand staining the leather. Each second ticked by like a drumbeat marching toward war. His mind churned, a storm of self loathing and rage. Sharmila, his little sister, the one he'd sworn to protect, had been violated again. And he being a underworld don could not protect her again. He was raging, vein protruding in his temple where he did not see any traffic lights and drove rashly to the mansion. He could not protect the two women who he swore to protect. And both of them hurt in his house, the one where they both should find protection. He swore that when he sees the bastard who dare to molest his sister, he will show him hell. And this time even if the devil comes down and asks him to stop, he would not stop.