His Love.

Chapter 6

Rehman Durrani
A man who wanted to be feared but never truly was. In the shadows of Meerabad's underworld, he operated with ambition larger than his reach. Cunning, bitter, and desperate to rise, Rehman once walked beside giants until Uzair Malik claimed the throne he coveted.

Where Uzair ruled cities with silent authority and a name that silenced rooms, Rehman lurked in alleyways, surviving on scraps of betrayal and borrowed power. He wasn't feared like Uzair he was tolerated, sometimes underestimated. But envy burned deep in his veins, and that made him dangerous in his own way: a villain not because of what he was, but because of what he could never be.

The city lights of Meerabad flickered in the distance, casting broken reflections on the dark water outside. Inside the office, the air was heavy with the scent of cigar smoke and cold steel.

Rehman Durrani sat behind a sleek black desk, fingers steepled, his dark eyes fixed on the two men standing before him. The overhead light cast shadows across his face, accentuating the deep scar that curved from his temple to his jaw a souvenir from a war long past. Rehman's fingers twitched slightly at the memory. The scar throbbed like it remembered too.
And it did.

Flashback- Five Years Ago
A Dilapidated Warehouse, Outskirts of Meerabad
⚠️Graphic Content⚠️
The air reeked of rust, sweat, and blood.

Rehman Durrani's breathing was shallow, ragged as he stumbled back, gripping the hilt of the dagger hidden in his coat. His men those who hadn't already fallen were nowhere in sight. The warehouse floor was littered with broken crates, shattered glass, and blood.

And in the center of it all stood Uzair Malik.

Calm. Unscathed. His black shirt clung to him, soaked slightly at the hem with someone else's blood. A faint smirk played at his lips, not amusement certainty.

"You should've known better, Rehman," Uzair said, walking toward him with slow, deliberate steps. "You don't strike from the shadows when you're not built to handle the light."

Rehman lunged, desperation guiding his hand.

But Uzair was faster deadlier. He sidestepped, caught Rehman's wrist mid-air with bone-snapping precision, and slammed him against a pillar. The dagger clattered to the floor.

Rehman barely had time to breathe before Uzair's knife was out silver gleaming in the dim light. With one smooth stroke, Uzair slashed the side of Rehman's face, from temple to jawline.

"Let this remind you," Uzair whispered into his ear, voice like ice. "Your place. And mine."

Rehman dropped to his knees, pain blinding, blood pouring down his face as Uzair turned his back and walked away slow, unbothered, victorious.

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Hamza shifted slightly, eyes scanning the room like he didn't quite trust the walls.

Asim, on the other hand, stood with practiced ease, his body language relaxed but his eyes alert.

Durrani's voice cut through the silence.
"Tell me something useful, gentlemen. I don't have the patience tonight for old news."

Asim spoke first, his tone measured. "Uzair's slipping, whether he knows it or not. He's stopped trusting people. Even the ones he should. There's unrest brewing inside his own house."

Hamza smirked, stepping forward.
"He's distracted. All it took was one quiet girl to throw him off balance. You should've seen the way he looked at her today like she was the only thing keeping him from losing his mind."

Durrani leaned forward, his eyes narrowing.
"The girl?"

Hamza nodded, lips curling. "Ayesha. My cousin. Arham's sister."