Part 17

Hey my dear stars 🌟 here is the chapter its a little short cuz i was in hospital since yesterday but tomorrow inshallah i will write a long chapter. Please vote and comment.

Happy reading ❤️❤️

Author's pov

The afternoon sun bathed the Khan mansion in a warm glow, but inside Haniya Khan’s lavishly decorated sitting room, the atmosphere was anything but warm. Dressed in an elegant embroidered suit, her gold bangles clinking softly, she leaned back on the plush velvet sofa, a smug smirk playing on her lips as she dialed a number.

The phone rang twice before a familiar voice answered.

"Asalamualaikum  baji "kaise ho aap (how are you elder sister) walikumasalam  mai thik hu tum batao

( I am fine what about you) mai bhi thk hu baji ( i am also fine) zuhaib i called for something really important "Haan, baji? Sab theek?" (Yes, sister? Everything okay?)

Haniya let out a dramatic sigh, tilting her head back against the couch as if carrying the weight of the world.

"Sab theek kaise hoga, Zuhaib ? Tumhe toh pata hai, Inayah ki shaadi bas choudah din door hai! Itna kaam hai, bas socha, apne bhai ko khud bula lun!" (How can everything be okay, Zuhaib? You know Inayah’s wedding is just fourteen days away! So much work to do—I thought I’d personally invite my brother!)

A warm chuckle came from the other end.

"Arey, baji! Yeh bhi koi kehne ki baat hai? Main toh pehle din se aa raha hoon! Inayah meri beti jaisi hai." (Oh, sister! Do you even have to say it? I’m coming from day one! Inayah is like my daughter.)

Haniya smiled, satisfied. But she wasn't done yet.

"Pata hai na, zuhaib? Yeh sirf shaadi nahi hai, yeh Khan khandan ka naam hai. Humein kisi bhi tarah ka tamasha nahi chahiye." (You know, zuhaib, this isn’t just a wedding. This is about the Khan family's reputation. We don’t want any kind of drama.)

Her brother's tone became serious. "Tamasha? Kya matlab?" (Drama? What do you mean?)

Haniya clicked her tongue in frustration, as if speaking about it disgusted her.

"Tumhe toh pata hai… Sifna. Uska kya bharosa? Pata nahi kahan ki badnaseebi lekar paida hui thi! Inayah hi hai jo uski wajah ye sab bardasht kar rahi hu" (You already know… Sifna. Who knows what kind of misfortune she was born with! It’s only because of Inayah that we tolerate her.)

A pause. Then zuhaib cleared his throat, uncomfortable but not willing to argue.

"Acha baji, chhodo na! Shaadi ka mood bana hai, bas aap tension mat lo, main sab dekh lunga." (Alright, sister, let it go! It’s a wedding mood—don’t stress. I’ll handle everything.)

Haniya smirked. That was exactly what she wanted.

"Theek hai, tum aa rahe ho toh dil halka hua. Main baaki sab ko bhi bula leti hoon." (Alright, knowing you're coming makes me feel better. Let me invite the others too.)

Second Call: Her Sister, asiya ansari

The next call was to her sister asiya, who lived in a different city but always had a sharp tongue ready for gossip.

"Haniya! Kya baat hai? Aaj itni yaad kaise aa gayi?" (Haniya! What’s the matter? Why are you remembering me today?)

Haniya let out a fake laugh.

"Arey, kya baat karti ho, asiya? Inayah ki shaadi hai! Tumhe toh zaroor aana hi padega." (Oh, what are you saying, asiya? It’s Inayah’s wedding! You must come.)

Asiya’s voice perked up with excitement.

"Arrey wah! Yeh toh badi khushi ki baat hai! Batao, tayyariyan kaise chal rahi hain?" (Oh wow! That’s such wonderful news! Tell me, how are the preparations going?)

Haniya took a deliberate sip of her tea before speaking, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

"Sab kuch perfect hai… bas ek cheez chub rahi hai." (Everything is perfect… except for one thing that's bothering me.)

Asiya  was instantly hooked.

"Kya? Kya?" (What? What?)

Haniya sighed dramatically.

"Wahi jo hamesha se masla hai… Sifna." (The same problem as always… Sifna.)

Asiya scoffed.

"Ab kya kiya usne?" (What has she done now?)

Haniya’s voice turned sharper, her irritation seeping through every word.

"Subah ka ek scene suno toh tum bhi gusse se pagal ho jaogi! Maine socha nashta sifna banayegi lekin maine inayah ko jaate dekhliya   socha Sifna karegi—kam se kam ek kaam toh karle . Lekin Inayah uski lawyer ban gayi! Ulta mujhe sunane lagi!" (Listen to what happened this morning—you'll be furious! I thought sifna will make breakfast and i saw inayah going to kitchen i thought Sifna would do it, at least she can do the house work . But Inayah became her lawyer and started arguing with me instead!)

Asiya  clicked her tongue in frustration.

"Bas yehi din dekhne baaki the, Haniya! Inayah toh waise bhi zyada mooh chalane lagi hai. Pata nahi kahan se itni akal aa gayi hai use." (This is all that was left to see, Haniya! Inayah has started talking back too much. I don’t know where she suddenly got so much sense from.)

Haniya’s grip tightened around her phone, her eyes narrowing.

"Mujhe pata hai. Lekin koi baat nahi, abhi shaadi hone do, phir mai dekh lungi dono behno ko." (I know. But never mind, let this wedding happen, then I’ll deal with both sisters.)

Asiya  laughter rang through the phone.

"Haan haan, ek baar Inayah chali gayi, phir dekhna kaise Sifna ko sambhalte hain!" (Yes, yes, once Inayah is gone, just watch how we handle Sifna!)

Haniya smirked, satisfied with the conversation.

"Toh samjho tumhare liye special invitation ho gayi! Kal hi tum ajana." (Consider this your special invitation! Come  tomorrow.)

"Bilkul! Intezaar rahega!" (Absolutely! I’ll be waiting!)

As Haniya ended the call, she leaned back on her sofa, a victorious glint in her eyes. The pieces were falling into place. She had personally invited her family, secured their support, and ensured that everyone saw Sifna as a burden.

Now, all she had to do was wait.

Because once Inayah was married, Sifna would have nowhere left to hide.

After securing zuhaib and asiya’s presence at the wedding—and subtly ensuring their disdain for Sifna—Haniya Khan tapped her long, manicured nails against her phone screen. There was one more person left to call.

Her elder sister, nafisa abbasi.

Unlike asiya, nafisa wasn’t easily swayed by gossip. She was calm, sharp, and had a way of seeing through Haniya’s tactics. If Haniya wasn’t careful, she’d risk nafisa taking Sifna’s side instead of hers.

With a deep breath, she dialed the number.

The call connected almost immediately.

"Asalamualaikum baji" walikumasalam haniya "Haan, Haniya?" (Yes, Haniya?)

Ruqaiya’s voice was composed, lacking the excitement that Nafisa had shown.

Haniya forced a smile into her tone.

"Arey, bas aapse  baat karni thi! Inayah ki shaadi hai, socha apko khud bula lun." (Oh, I just wanted to talk! It’s Inayah’s wedding, so I thought I’d invite you personally.)

A brief silence. Then nafisa responded, her voice steady.

"Shaadi ki tayariyaan kaise chal rahi hain?" (How are the wedding preparations going?)

Haniya sighed dramatically, making sure her exhaustion was evident.

"Sab theek hai, bas aap toh jaanti hai… ghar ka mahaul samajhna padta hai. Bahut kuch manage karna padta hai." (Everything is fine, but you know… handling the household environment is a challenge. There’s so much to manage.)

Nafisa  wasn’t easily fooled.

"Kis baat ki tension hai?" (What exactly is stressing you?)

Haniya lowered her voice, adding just the right touch of helplessness.

"Aap  jaanti ho na, didi… ghar mein ek ajeeb sa masla chal raha hai. Inayah toh shaadi ki khushi mein busy hai, lekin ek ladki hai jo hamesha mahaul bigaadti hai." (You know, sister… there’s an issue in the house. Inayah is happy about her wedding, but there’s one girl who always ruins the atmosphere.)

Nafisa’s tone sharpened.

"Tum Sifna ki baat kar rahi ho?" (You’re talking about Sifna?)

Haniya sighed again, acting as if the very name gave her a headache.

"Aur kaun? Pata nahi, didi, iss ladki ko problem kya hai! Zindagi bhar sirf ek ehsaan par jeeti rahi hai. Ab jab waqt hai thoda badalne ka, seekhne ka, toh na koi tameez hai na shukar guzaari!" (Who else? I don’t know what this girl’s problem is! She has lived her whole life on our favors. Now when it’s time for her to change, to learn something, she has no manners, no gratitude!)

Nafisa didn’t respond immediately, and that silence made Haniya uneasy. She needed to treat carefully.

"Bas isiliye socha aapse baat karun. Tum toh hamesha samajhdari se kaam leti ho, mujhe batao, kya karun?" (That’s why I thought I’d talk to you. You’re always the wise one, tell me, what should I do?)

Nafisa finally spoke, her tone unreadable.

"Haniya, ek baat batao… kya kabhi tumne Sifna ki jagah khud ko rakha hai?" (Haniya, tell me something… have you ever put yourself in Sifna’s place?)

Haniya’s lips pressed into a thin line. This was not the response she wanted.

Didi, ab yeh sab…" (didi, now this—)

But Ruqaiya interrupted, her voice firm.

"Main sirf ek sawaal kar rahi hoon. Tum kehti ho woh ehsaano par jeeti hai, lekin kya usne kabhi yeh ehsaan maanga tha? Tum sabne usse bas apni sharton par jeena sikhaya, usse kabhi ek apne ki tarah accept nahi kiya. Toh phir woh tameez aur shukar guzaari kaha se seekhe?" And i know how much innocent sifna is  (I’m just asking one question. You say she lives on favors, but did she ever ask for those favors? You all just taught her to live on your terms, never truly accepted her as your own. So where was she supposed to learn gratitude and manners from?)

Haniya’s jaw clenched.

"Aap yeh keh rahi ho ki hum galat hain?" (Are you saying we are wrong?)

"Main sirf yeh keh rahi hoon ki har kahani ke do pehlu hote hain. Tum sirf ek dekh rahi ho." I know you wanted a son but that doesnt mean you will treat her like a shit. You will realise one day how precious this child is  (I’m just saying that every story has two sides. You are only looking at one.)

Haniya forced out a dry laugh, though irritation burned beneath her skin.

"Toh iska matlab aap shaadi mein nahi aa rahi?" (So does that mean you’re not coming to the wedding?)

Nafisa exhaled, sounding slightly exhausted.

"Main aa rahi hoon, Haniya. Lekin ek behen hone ke naate, sirf itna kehna chahungi—Inayah apni shaadi ki tayyari kare, aur tum sirf uski khushi ka socho. Kisi aur se badla lene ki soch apne dil se nikal do." (I’m coming, Haniya. But as your sister, I just want to say one thing—let Inayah enjoy her wedding, and you focus only on her happiness. Remove the thought of taking revenge on someone else from your heart.)

Haniya’s fingers tightened around the phone. She forced a smile into her voice.

"Aap tension mat lo, didi. Main sirf Inayah ki khushi chah rahi hoon." (Don’t worry, didi. I only want Inayah’s happiness.)

The call ended.

Haniya placed her phone on the table, her expression cold.

"Sifna ki tarafdari kar rahi hai… (She’s taking Sifna’s side…)

A bitter laugh escaped her lips.

"Dekhna, didi… tumhe bhi ek din samajh aa jayega ke yeh ladki sirf ek bojh hai." (Just wait, nafisa… one day, even you will understand that this girl is just a burden.)

With that, she picked up her phone again and dialed another number.

The next invitation had to be sent.

But this time, it wasn’t for family.

It was for someone far more dangerous.

Someone who could make sure that Sifna never became a problem again.

On the other hand

The air inside Casa de la Muerte—the House of Death—was thick with the scent of blood and Cuban cigars. The underground chamber was bathed in dim, golden light, its shadows stretching eerily across the cold stone walls. The silence was deafening, suffocating, but it was not the kind of silence that brought peace.

It was the silence before a storm.

And at the heart of it stood a man who ruled this empire of crime with an iron fist.

Emiliano Valdez.

A name that sent shivers down spines. A name whispered in the darkest corners of Mexico, feared by both his enemies and his own men.

Dressed in a custom-tailored Zegna suit, his presence was both commanding and lethal. The dim light flickered over his sharp features—his strong jawline shadowed with stubble, his lips curled into a smirk that never quite reached his cold, obsidian-like eyes. He exuded raw, unshakable dominance.

Between his fingers rested a half-burned Cuban cigar, the smoke curling lazily in the air. Behind him stood his most trusted man, Rafael Ortega—his right-hand, his executioner, a man whose name was just as feared as his own.

At their feet lay a lifeless body, its face swollen beyond recognition. The stench of death clung to the room, thick and unshakable.

The man had been one of Emiliano’s own—captured by Hamad Malik in Russia, tortured brutally, yet taking his secrets to the grave.

Even in death, he had refused to betray his king.

A slow, cruel smirk tugged at Emiliano’s lips as he crouched down, his leather-gloved fingers gripping the dead man's jaw with brutal force, tilting his lifeless face upward.

"Se negó a hablar hasta la muerte... ¿lo ves, Rafael?" (He refused to talk until death… do you see, Rafael?) His deep, velvety voice echoed in the chamber, amusement dripping from every word.

Rafael, standing tall with his silver-plated revolver resting against his hip, gave a curt nod. "Sí, jefe. Pero ahora Malik lo tiene… ¿qué haremos?" (Yes, boss. But now Malik has him… what will we do?)

Emiliano chuckled darkly, rising to his full height, towering over the corpse as if even in death, the man was beneath him.

"El problema con los hombres como Hamad Malik..." he paused, letting the name roll off his tongue slowly, deliberately. The cold-blooded Indian mafia king. His greatest rival. His greatest annoyance.

"...es que piensan que no pueden ser tocados." (The problem with men like Hamad Malik is that they think they cannot be touched.)

He took another slow drag of his cigar, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke before flicking the ash onto the dead man's face, disgust flickering in his eyes.

"Pero vamos a demostrarle lo contrario, ¿verdad?" (But we’re going to prove him wrong, aren't we?) His voice was a mere whisper, but the danger in it was unmistakable.

Rafael’s lips curled into a smirk, his fingers twitching around the grip of his gun. "¿Ordenes, jefe?" (Orders, boss?)

Emiliano stepped back, rolling his shoulders, his dark eyes glinting with deadly intent.

"Prepárate, Rafael. Vamos a India." (Prepare yourself, Rafael. We’re going to India.)

He turned on his heel, his coat swaying behind him as he walked out, leaving behind nothing but the stench of blood and smoke.

And just like that, Emiliano Valdez—the King of the Mexican Cartel—declared war.

On the other side

If Hamad Malik was the undisputed king, then Haroon Qureshi was the blade that struck from the shadows.

Cold. Unforgiving. A ghost in the underworld.

Unlike Hamad, who ruled with an iron grip, Haroon preferred to hunt. He was the kind of man who never left loose ends—who could walk into a room filled with enemies and leave without a single bullet wasted.

His past was a mystery even to those closest to him. A man born in war, shaped by violence, and driven by an obsession for justice—his kind of justice.

A predator. A tracker. A man who lived in the darkness so no one else had to.

While Hamad sat on his throne, Haroon was the one silently eliminating every threat before it reached the kingdom.

And tonight— he was hunting monsters.

The warehouse reeked of blood, sweat, and fear. It was the kind of place where light refused to touch, where nightmares weren’t imagined—they were lived.

Haroon Qureshi stood in the center of it all.

Tall, imposing, dressed in black, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms—arms stained with the blood of the men he had already killed. His sharp eyes held no mercy, no hesitation. Only cold, calculated rage.

Around him, bodies lay lifeless, the echoes of their screams still lingering in the cold air.

But one still breathed. The last survivor. The key to unraveling the filth of this human trafficking ring.

The man, mid-forties, one of the masterminds, sat slumped in a rusted chair. His hands bound, his face swollen from the beating Haroon had already given him. Blood dripped from his split lip onto the concrete floor. His chest heaved—half in pain, half in fear.

Haroon took slow, deliberate steps toward him.

"You should start talking," he said, his voice calm, almost friendly. Too friendly.

The man didn’t respond.

A slow smirk curved Haroon’s lips. "No? You sure?"

He reached forward, gripping the man’s hair and yanking his head back. Terror flashed in his eyes.

"Listen to me carefully." Haroon’s voice was barely above a whisper. "I don’t ask twice. But… for you?" He tilted his head, considering. "I’ll make an exception."

The man shuddered, his breath ragged. "I d-don’t know anything."

A slow exhale.

Haroon pulled out a hunting knife, twirling it between his fingers lazily before pressing it against the man’s hand.

"You see," Haroon mused, "Ibrahim once told me—pain makes the tongue loosen. I think I agree."

The man struggled, panic setting in. "P-please—"

Haroon sliced off his pinky.

A blood-curdling scream tore through the silence.

Haroon tilted his head, amused. "Hmm. That wasn’t even deep."

He crouched, watching the man convulse, sweat pouring down his face.

"Talk." His voice dropped, patience slipping from his tone.

But the bastard gritted his teeth, shaking his head.

Haroon sighed. "Brave."

Then he slammed the knife through the man’s thigh.

A scream. A sob. The sound of bones shattering.

Yet, still— silence.

Haroon’s jaw tightened.

This wasn’t a man.

This was a pawn.

Which meant… there was someone bigger behind this.

He pulled his knife out, wiping the blood on the man’s shirt.

"You’re loyal," Haroon murmured, almost impressed. "Too bad you chose the wrong side."

A gunshot.

The man slumped forward.

Haroon slipped his gun back into its holster, his face unreadable.

Then, he pulled out his phone.

"Ibrahim," he muttered as soon as the call connected.

A deep sigh from the other end. "He didn’t talk."

Haroon ran a hand through his hair. "No. But someone bigger is behind this."

A pause.

Then Ibrahim’s voice dropped.

"Looks like we have a hunt on our hands."

Haroon’s smirk returned.

"Good. I was getting bored."

And just like that— the real war had begun.

Hope you all enjoyed today’s chapter! I know it was a short one, but trust me, the next two chapters will be an absolute blast.

But here’s the deal—I will only upload both chapters tomorrow if we hit the target of 250+ likes and 80+ comments on the Instagram reel that I’ll be posting at 9 PM tonight. Otherwise, only one chapter will be uploaded, and you’ll have to wait for the second one!

And guess what? The next chapter starts with Mehendi, followed by the wedding! You definitely don’t want to miss it.

Your one like and comment means the world to me and motivates me to keep writing for you all! Also, I was in the hospital yesterday, which is why I couldn’t upload anything. But I’m back now, and I can’t wait to share these exciting chapters with you all.

So, my sweet stars, make sure to engage with tonight’s reel and let’s hit the target together! See you tomorrow at 5 PM! ✨💫

This war between Hamad Malik and Emiliano Valdez has begun—who do you think will win, and what will be the ultimate price?

Haniya Khan believes she can manipulate Inayah after the wedding—do you think she will succeed, or will Inayah destroy her instead?

Do you think Inayah’s warning to her parents was enough, or should she have done more to protect Sifna?