LET ME HATE YOU

The Game

Asmaira felt immense gratitude toward Feriha, who had allowed her to have dinner in her room and then personally escorted her back to Amaan's. Her respect for her mother-in-law soared when Feriha sat with them and firmly advised Amaan to improve his conduct. However, Feriha's ability to help Asmaira had its limits.

Remembering Amaan's sharp warning, Asmaira chose to sleep outside the room to ensure their paths wouldn't cross. Sharing the same room was impossible, and the couch felt equally perilous, given his threat to kill her in her sleep. She slipped out to the adjacent glass-railed balcony, deciding this vast space would be her temporary refuge. Spotting a metallic garden swing with a leg rest in one corner, she instantly knew who was responsible for designing the cozy sit-out. She sighed, deeply thankful for the sliding door that separated the room from the balcony, and the blinds that provided necessary privacy from the tyrant lurking inside.

"Must be Raina's idea," she whispered, looking at the setup.

Using extra quilts to create a makeshift, warm enough bed against the night's chill, she finally settled down. Though she was accustomed to a modest lifestyle and wasn't a pampered princess, the bedding offered little comfort for a sound night's sleep.

"It's temporary," she murmured to herself.

Yet, the central dilemma remained: how could she assume responsibility for Kabir without Amaan finding out? His recent warning was a fresh, chilling reminder that to leave this situation peacefully, she had to avoid her monstrous husband at all costs. His glaring eyes had promised her pain without a flicker of remorse.

Drowning in guilt, Asmaira realized she hadn't brought her phone. If nothing else, she could have used it to set an alarm, saving her from the dread of waking up after Amaan. The thought of him waking before her and acting while she slept made her body shiver, a reaction not to the cold breeze, but to pure fear.

Who would call you anyway?

Tears welled up as the thought struck her. A cell phone would only be a necessity if she believed someone was waiting to talk to her. Though she regretted leaving it behind, she knew it was a subconscious effort to protect her heart from further pain. If she had her phone, her vulnerable heart would constantly wait for a ring, and the silence would only intensify her misery.

This was her life now; the sooner she adapted, the better off she would be. Instead of dwelling on the past, she needed to focus on solving her current problems. Avoiding Amaan while simultaneously getting close to Kabir was non-negotiable.

"One problem at a time, Asmaira," she told herself.

"I'll ask Maya for an alarm clock. I'll only be coming to this room to sleep. By morning, he'll have forgotten all about me. Everything will be fine."

She sighed once more and looked up at the sky. "Ray, are you happy now?"

She blinked back her tears. "This is where you wanted me, wasn't it? I will be Kabir's mother, even if it means repeatedly confronting Amaan."

While Asmaira meticulously planned her next steps, Amaan was in his room, downing one bottle of alcohol after another. Forced by his father to stay in the mansion, he had no choice but to drink in this room—the very place he wanted to avoid, as it was a constant, painful reminder of his lost love.

Six years of being together, six years of falling more in love with Raina every single day—their bond was unconditional and unbreakable. Every inch of the room was thoughtfully planned and designed by her. Her heart was poured into its interior design. There wasn't a spot in the room where they hadn't made love.

A dry, bitter laugh escaped him as his blurry gaze landed on a wall filled with their pictures. Their memories, their entire life together, seemed to mock him from the frame. One particular picture captured his attention: Raina, trying to hide her flushed face, a moment he had captured. He closed his eyes, instantly recalling the moment.