Gereksiz İntikam

39

Taniya's POV

My eardrum hurts the way Ella shouted upon seeing the name she referred to as Theodore.

I can’t help it—she's a teenager too, unlike me. She’s full of life, and I think this man must be her crush or someone really influential.

I looked towards where Ella was staring, her eyes wide and her mouth slightly open.

At first, my eyes landed on a pretty little girl with blonde hair and pale, pink skin.
She looked adorable in a blue frock, different from her sea-blue eyes.

My lips curled into a tiny smile, adoring the 3 or 4-year-old baby in the arms of a scary, giant-looking man.
Well, not scarier than Shoaib Malik. Shoaib is my curse—or rather, my punishment for a sin I never committed.

Just thinking about him sours my mood, and unwillingly, I caress my belly—where his sin is growing, that haram, unborn baby of his.

If I had the privilege, I would have aborted this filth first—medically—rather than following all the pregnancy restrictions.

I was so lost in my miserable overthinking that I forgot I was staring straight into that giant man’s eyes—
Cold and lifeless, like mine.

I quickly averted my gaze to Ella, only to see Brevis returning with the drinks she ordered.

I took mine, offering him a thankful smile.

The park was full of life—children playing on swings and rides, elders sitting peacefully, and couples enjoying their time together.

Even though I looked away and focused on my drink, taking a sip and tasting the fresh flavor of blueberry with lemon and a hint of bubbles,
I could still feel someone’s constant gaze.

But dismissing it as my illusion, I focused on my drink while Ella continued talking about this man named Theodore.

I listened to her wholeheartedly. She’s the only one in this strange country who listens to everything I say without judgment.

After bidding our goodbyes, I finally dragged my feet into the cage—or hell, I don’t even know anymore—
To witness the same scene I’ve been seeing for the past few days.

Shoaib, waiting at the dining table with folded sleeves and a face full of tiredness.

I went to the basin near the stairs and washed my hands.

I didn’t want any drama, to be honest. My bhai and bhabhi are already suffering, and I’m burdened with a haram child.

To be honest, I’m not completely stone-hearted. I do feel something for this thing growing inside me—but it’s not love.
How could I love and adore the haram child of my bipolar tormentor?

I sat down without fuss and ate whatever he served me. I’d lost my appetite, but to stay strong, I had to fill my stomach.

We didn’t exchange a single word while eating—just silence.

I was about to head to my room when his words stopped me in my tracks.

"You can sleep in another room. I brought someone to..." he trailed off, but I understood.

It’s routine now. He doesn't touch me or force me into bed anymore, but each night he brings a different girl,
And they share the room while I sleep in the guestroom, forced to hear those dirty, unholy voices and moans.

I told you—Shoaib Malik is scarier than that giant man.

I didn’t have the energy to say anything. It's his life.
The fact that he isn't forcing himself on me anymore is enough of a relief to call it happiness.