Gereksiz İntikam

41

Authors pov

Taniya walked into the house, her hand instinctively covering her stomach. The lights were off, but she didn’t bother flipping the switch. The silence felt heavier tonight—like it was waiting to explode.

Then she heard the door slam shut behind her.

Her body jerked in surprise.

“You didn’t even flinch when he touched you,” Shoaib said from the shadows.

Her heart dropped. “Shoaib…”

“You just let him own what’s mine.”

“It wasn’t what you think—”

He stepped into the light. His face was a storm—rage, heartbreak, obsession. “Tell me what it was, then! Because from where I stood, it looked like you were playing the perfect wife to someone else.”

“I was comforting his niece—she jumped into my arms. And he is Ella…”

Shoaib laughed—a hollow, cracked, unhinged sound.

“How convenient. He touches you, and you don’t even blink. I touch you, and you flinch like I’m a monster.”

“You’re acting like one,” she said, trembling now, both in fear and sorrow. “Do you hear yourself? You bring women into our home to humiliate me, Shoaib.”

“I never touched them!” he yelled. “I couldn’t! Because every time I tried, I saw you on that bed, and it burned me alive!”

Taniya’s eyes brimmed with tears. “Then why torture me? Why make me feel like I’m nothing?” She didn’t know why she was complaining, but the frustration and pain came together like an arrow piercing through her.

He took a step closer. Then another. His voice dropped. “Because I needed you to feel what I felt… when I thought you were no longer mine.”

“You lost me the day you chose revenge over my trust,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

He suddenly grabbed her by the arms—tight, possessive, desperate. “You are still mine, Taniya. You’ll always be mine.”

She tried to push him back. “Let go of me—”

But his lips crashed onto hers, rough and urgent, driven by rage and longing. She resisted, but then something inside her broke too—months of silence, pain, abandonment, carrying his child alone.

His touch was both burning and comforting.

She tried to resist him with the same intensity—with fury, with tears, with a desperate ache to make it stop.

It was madness. It wasn’t love—it was grief colliding with obsession, rage tangled with hunger, pain disguised as passion.

They stumbled into the bedroom, tearing down walls between them—only to build higher ones with every word left unsaid, every wound ignored.

“Shoaib, no…” she pleaded.

Pain in her abdomen increased.

“You are mine, Taniya,” he said desperately, unzipping her kurti.

She closed her eyes in pain and disgust as she felt his lips on her neck.

He was not kissing her; he was punishing her for something she hadn’t done.

“Shoaib, please,” she pleaded, feeling his teeth on her sensitive buds.

Due to her pregnancy, they had become swollen and more sensitive than before.