LET ME HATE YOU

Changed Amaan

"Where is Ma?" Mehwish enquired at the dinner table.

"She had urgent work at her NGO," Salar announced, looking around.

He didn't miss Amaan and Asmaira's conspicuous absence at the table.

"What happened?" When Mehwish asked, Hania replied, "One of our employees had been physically assaulted by her husband. Ma went to take care of her and also to file a case against her husband."

"Low-class people. What can you expect from them," Mehwish scoffed, a sneer twisting her lips.

"Where are Amaan and Asmaira?" Salar asked, pointedly ignoring his callous daughter.

"I saw his car leaving the mansion some time ago," Mehwish replied, a sly glint in her eyes.

She smirked inwardly, recollecting how Amaan had violently dragged Asmaira and locked the room's door before leaving. But that was something she would rather keep to herself and let things unfold. She had successfully ignited the spark and would gradually fan it into a devastating fire. She always played her cards in the shadows and let someone else do the dirty deed for her, and that someone was Amaan.

"Hania, Ishaal, did we not inform Asmaira that dinner is mandatory?"

When Salar asked, Hania and Ishaal shared a bewildered look. It was Hania who finally spoke, "Strange, she's here on time without fail. Maybe... she is unwell or something."

"Let me che—"

"Looks like her husband's uncivil traits are rubbing off on her. She didn't bother to inform anyone or Maya. If she is hungry, she will come down herself. You continue," Salar said, cutting Hania off with a wave of his hand.

Unaware of Asmaira being locked in the room, Salar frowned and decided to talk with Feriha about her behavior. One Amaan was enough in the family; he didn't want another rebellious example to follow.

Amaan stood facing the panoramic glass wall of his penthouse, a burning cigarette dangling precariously between his long fingers. After locking Asmaira in the room, he had come straight to his penthouse, intending to douse his unhinged and chaotic emotions with alcohol. However, a strange revulsion surged through him just looking at the bottles.

Instead, he lit a cigarette and was submerged in his dark thoughts. The clock was yet to strike the final third bell when he heard a beep, and the door to his penthouse opened. Irked at being followed into his haven, he took a long, calming drag to rein himself in.

"What you are doing is called trespassing, Ma?"

Feriha coughed, overwhelmed by the dense smoke filling the room.

"And what you did is called an assault, Amaan."

Amaan chuckled coldly and faced his mother, who stood at a distance from him, "Assault?"

"Did my dear wife complain that I assaulted her?" he asked, squashing the cigarette savagely under his foot.

"I wish she did, but no," Feriha replied, staring at the unfamiliar, hardened silhouette her son had become.

"Ah, then, do you have a witness to prove it?" He walked up to the bar, deliberately trying to irritate his mother.

Feriha gradually walked towards the bar, sat on the chair near the counter, and placed an empty glass, gesturing for her son to pour her a drink too. "Let's not underestimate my hold on the mansion, Amaan. I have my eyes and ears everywhere, and I will go straight to the point. Why did you lock Asmaira?"

"Why do you care so much about her?" Amaan glared at the wall cabinet, his jaw tight.

"You might have forgotten, but Feriha Hashmi runs an NGO for assaulted women and will never stand by and watch any assault on them. Do you think I will let my sons do the same to their wives right under my nose?"