21| Uzair Imam

U Z A I R   I M A M

W O R D C O U N T: 3602

I am so sorry to the one's who were waiting for multiple updates. Unfortunately I'll be busy for the next two days so I will be updating once a day.  In sha Allah

Also please pray for me, I have come to another city to give my medical exam. In sha Allah when it gets cleared I will be able to go to my husband for eid♥️ please pleaseeeee just pray that it gets cleared easily.

Enjoy!

The warehouse loomed in the dim glow of the street lamps, its towering walls lined with armed guards standing in rigid formation. Each one bowed his head in respect as Humza strode past, his presence commanding obedience without the need for words. This place wasn't just a storage facility—it was his personal dungeon, the final destination for those who had dared to cross him.

The scent of rusted metal, sweat, and blood clung to the air as he walked down the narrow corridors. The occasional muffled scream echoed through the concrete walls, a haunting symphony that had long ceased to affect him. This was his world. A world where betrayal was paid for in blood.

But tonight, something different clawed at him. Something he didn't want to acknowledge.

The memory of her soft voice whispering another man's name. The way her fingers had clutched his shirt, seeking comfort, only for her breath to plead for him.

Uzair.

His jaw clenched as a familiar, unwanted heat crept into his chest—anger, frustration, something dangerously close to pain.

He needed a distraction. And tonight, that distraction came in the form of Abu Zauq.

As Humza entered the interrogation room, the men inside straightened, their murmured conversations ceasing at once. Huzaifa, standing near the captive, acknowledged his arrival with a brief nod.

"Brother, he's already given us a lot of information," Huzaifa informed him, but Humza barely acknowledged the words.

His gaze landed on the man tied to the wooden chair at the center of the room.

Abu Zauq.

Once, the man had been among Humza's most trusted soldiers. A man he had given power, protection, and loyalty. And yet, Zauq had thrown it all away for greed, betraying Humza in the worst way possible. Because of him, two of Humza's most loyal men had suffered brutal deaths.

Now, Zauq sat before him, barely recognizable. His face was a mess of bruises and blood, his once-proud posture reduced to a slumped, pathetic form. His shirt was ripped open, revealing deep gashes across his chest. The ropes binding his wrists and ankles had cut into his flesh, leaving behind raw, bleeding wounds.

Humza took a slow, deliberate step forward, his cold gaze scanning Zauq for any trace of remorse. He found none.

A muscle ticked in his jaw.

"So," he began, his voice eerily calm, "we can do this the easy way—you tell me everything, and I let you go."

He let the words hang in the air before delivering the real threat.

"Or, we do this the hard way." He paused, tilting his head slightly. "That means I bring your family here. I make you watch as I put a bullet in each of their heads—one by one."

A shudder ran through Zauq's broken body, his bloodshot eyes widening with terror.

"Humza bhai," he croaked, his voice barely above a whisper. "I swear, I had no choice. Zaid and his men— they blackmailed me! I never wanted to betray you, I swear—"

Humza remained unmoved, his gaze hard, unrelenting.

"What did you tell them?" he demanded, his tone sharp. "I want every detail."

Zauq hesitated, his mouth opening and closing as if debating what to say.

And then, just as Humza waited for an answer, her voice returned.

"I need you, Uzair."

His breath stilled, fingers curling into fists at his sides.

The name echoed in his mind, clawing at his restraint, digging into his skin like a poison.

His vision blurred with frustration, and without thinking, he lashed out. His fist connected with Zauq's jaw in a sickening crack. Blood splattered onto the floor as the man let out a strangled cry, his head snapping to the side.

Humza's chest heaved.

"You answer me the second I ask you something," he bit out, his voice laced with cold fury.

Zauq trembled, nodding frantically, but Humza barely registered it.

Because the voice came again.

"Uzair."

Another punch.

Zauq slumped forward, unconscious, his breathing ragged and uneven.

A heavy silence filled the room. The men surrounding them didn't dare to move. But Humza could feel their quiet amusement. They had seen him lose control before—but never quite like this.

"He's unconscious," Huzaifa remarked after a moment.

Humza exhaled sharply, pushing back the rage simmering beneath his skin. "Call for a doctor," he ordered. "No one touches him until I say so."

With that, he turned on his heel and strode out of the room.

As he ascended the stairs leading to the warehouse's massive hall, he sensed Huzaifa's presence close behind.

"You know," Huzaifa said carefully, "he nodded before you hit him again, right? That last punch wasn't necessary."

Humza didn't slow his pace.

"Just because we're cousins," he said, voice quiet but laced with warning, "doesn't mean you get to question me."

Huzaifa said nothing more.

They stepped out into the cold night, the silence between them heavy with unspoken thoughts.

But Humza's mind was elsewhere.

No matter how hard he tried to drown himself in blood and violence, she was still there.

Uzair.

The name burned.

And no amount of bloodshed could put out the fire.

Humza hadn't gone home. He went back into the warehouse, into his office.

Until the next morning, he had remained there, his mind a battlefield of thoughts he couldn't silence. The place reeked of blood, sweat, and gasoline—familiar scents that should have grounded him, but today, even this sanctuary of violence wasn't enough to keep his demons at bay.

Uzair.

That name had been clawing at his sanity all night. A haunting whisper in the back of his mind, tormenting him relentlessly.

He gripped the edge of the metal table in front of him, his fingers clenching into a tight fist until his knuckles turned white.

He wanted to erase it.

Erase him.

Drag her back to reality, force her to say his name instead—to need him instead.

He had wanted to grab her by the arms, shake the illusion out of her until she saw nothing but him. Until she realized that no one—not even Uzair—could understand her like he had begun to.

Yet, when she had looked at him with those tear-streaked eyes and told him to leave, he hadn't fought it. He had obliged like a fool, like a coward.

Because he couldn't deal with it.

He had seen the way she flinched at his presence, the disgust she barely concealed when he got too close. But what gutted him the most was knowing that her mind and heart reached for another man. That in her weakest, most vulnerable state, it wasn't his name that brought her comfort.

He had already done enough damage.

And for the first time in his life, he was afraid.

Afraid of what he'd say if he stayed. Afraid that his anger, his possessiveness, his madness would break her even further.

So he had left.

Because he couldn't bear to see it.

The hatred in her eyes.

The undeniable truth that the one thing she craved—the one person she needed—wasn't him.

Humza didn't understand it.

He had never been the kind of man who let emotions get the best of him. His entire life, he had been in control—of his actions, his thoughts, his desires. Yet, with every passing second, he felt himself being pulled deeper into something he couldn't name. Her. She was invading his mind, creeping into his thoughts, and no matter how much he tried to fight it, she was there. A constant presence he couldn't shake off. It frustrated him beyond reason. Why did she affect him this much? Why did every word she spoke, every tear she shed, every breath she took seem to consume him whole?

His grip tightened around the glass in his hand, and before he knew it, it shattered—fragments digging into his palm, sharp and unforgiving, much like the emotions he refused to acknowledge. The cut wasn't that deep so he simply washed it, savouring the little pain that he hoped would distract him from the ache in his chest.

Remembering the only life lesson etched into his mind, one pain at a time. He could endure this physical pain, it was bearable.

He shouldn't care. He didn't want to care. Yet the mere thought of her—of someone else holding her, comforting her, having her—made his blood run cold with something dangerous. He should hate her for making him feel this way, for disrupting the balance he had so carefully maintained all these years. But the truth was far more terrifying—he didn't hate it. If anything, he craved it. Craved her. And that scared him more than anything ever had.

The air inside the warehouse office was thick with tension. The dimly lit space, cluttered with stacks of papers, half-empty glasses, and the lingering scent of smoke, felt suffocating. Later that morning, Humza sat behind his desk, his fingers drumming impatiently against the wood as Huzaifa stood in front of him, arms crossed, a serious expression shadowing his face.

"They know about your deal with Ahmed," Huzaifa said, his voice low, measured.

Humza stilled, his jaw clenching. He had anticipated this, expected it even. In their world, secrecy never lasted long. But before he could react, Huzaifa's hesitation caught his attention. A flicker of unease passed over his face before he finally spoke again.

"They also know about Anaabiya."

Humza's fingers stilled mid-tap. A cold, deadly silence stretched between them, his body going unnaturally still. His grip on the armrest tightened. "How?" His voice was calm—too calm, the kind of calm that preceded a storm.

Huzaifa exhaled. "Thanks to the spectacle you made at Iqra's party. Word spread like wildfire. They know... she matters to you. They probably set the whole thing up as a bait and you fell right into it."

Humza's entire body tensed, his pulse a slow, dangerous thrum beneath his skin. She matters to you. The words echoed in his mind, relentless, unforgiving. He wasn't sure what he felt for her—if it was possession, obsession, or something else entirely—but the mere thought of his enemies using her as a pawn to get to him made his blood boil.

If they even thought about laying a finger on her, he would dismantle their entire existence. Brick by brick. Blood for blood. He would give them a death their seven generations would remember him for.

His eyes darkened as he looked up at Huzaifa. "Find out everything," he ordered, his voice cold as steel. "Who's talking, who's watching, and if even one of them so much as breathes in her direction—"

"They won't live to regret it," Huzaifa finished for him, nodding. He knew better than to ask unnecessary questions when Humza was like this.

Humza leaned back in his chair, but there was nothing relaxed about him. His mind was already spinning, calculating his next move. Because if there was one thing certain in this ruthless game, it was that Anaabiya was now in the center of it. And he would rather burn the entire city down than let anyone use her against him.

The shrill ring of Huzaifa's phone cut through the tense air like a blade. Humza watched as his friend's expression shifted from mildly alert to something bordering on alarm. Huzaifa pressed the phone tighter to his ear, listening intently.

And then, his face distorted with something close to fear.

"Just try to hold him down, don't shoot him. He could be valuable. We'll be there." His voice was sharp, urgent.

He didn't waste another second. Snatching the car keys from the table, he gestured for Humza to follow.

Humza didn't move immediately. He eyed Huzaifa with a piercing gaze. "What the hell was that about?"

Huzaifa didn't look at him as he shoved his phone back into his pocket. "There's an intruder. Hamid called. We need to get there before anybody gets hurt. If he's Zaid's man, he might try to get to Anaabiya."

Humza didn't hear the rest. His world had already narrowed down to one thing.

Anaabiya.

The pen in his hand that he had been toying with, snapped in two before he even realized it. A sharp crack echoed through the office as ink seeped into his palm, but he didn't care. His jaw locked, his vision burned red, and something dark and murderous clawed at his chest.

He had broken too things in the same day and none of it hurt him more than thinking about her in any kind of danger because of him.

Dropping the broken pieces onto the desk, he stormed out of the office, Huzaifa on his heels. They reached the car within seconds, and the drive back home was a blur of screeching tires and a fury that refused to be contained.

By the time they arrived, Humza was already out of the car before it fully stopped. His long strides carried him straight to the guards stationed at the entrance. Hamid, one of his men, stood there, his expression filled with poorly masked shame.

"He went inside, Humza bhai," Hamid admitted hesitantly.

Humza's glare was enough to make him flinch. "And you let him?" His voice was ice-cold, laced with venom.

Hamid dropped his gaze to the ground.

"He said he was a relative."

The sheer stupidity of that statement made Humza see red.

"Don't tell me you believed him. So many of you couldn't stop one man?" His tone was deadly calm, but the underlying rage was unmistakable. "Am I raising goons like you? Are you a fool?"

Before anyone could react, Humza had Hamid by the collar, dragging him close enough for their faces to nearly touch.

"Mark my words," Humza growled, voice dangerously low, "if anything happens to my wife or my family, I will kill you with my bare fucking hands."

Huzaifa was already pulling at his shoulder, trying to break his grip. "Humza, let him go. We don't have time for this."

Reluctantly, Humza shoved Hamid away, his rage unquenched.

"Humza Bhai, we need to go in. Anaabiya could be in danger."

That was all he needed to hear.

He was already moving, sprinting towards the entrance.

If that bastard so much as breathed in Anaabiya's direction, Humza wouldn't hesitate to put a bullet through his skull.

The moment Humza stepped inside the house, an eerie stillness settled over him. His sharp ears picked up the faint sound of footsteps behind him, but his attention was already elsewhere. As he entered the foyer, his gaze landed on the sight that made his world tilt off its axis.

His wife.

In another man's arms.

It felt as if an unseen force had driven a jagged blade through his chest, twisting and tearing at something he hadn't even realized was vulnerable. His entire body locked up, and for a moment, he couldn't move, couldn't think—only feel.

A storm of emotions surged through him. Betrayal. Fury. An unexplainable pain that clawed at his insides. The blood running through his veins turned ice-cold, his muscles coiled with tension. He had never been a man who let emotions consume him, but this—this was something else entirely.

His fingers twitched, instinctively reaching for the pistol tucked at his waistband.

He didn't understand why he felt this way, why this particular sight sent an unbearable rage coursing through his body. He had never claimed to be a good man, had never denied his hypocrisy, but her standing there, pressed against another man, her face buried in his chest as if she were safe in his arms—was enough to make something inside him snap.

His breathing turned sharp and uneven as his grip tightened around the pistol. He shook his head, trying to force away the onslaught of emotions, but it only made his rage stronger.

Just like his mother—a cheat.

The thought struck him like a blade to the chest, sharp and unrelenting.

Deep down, he knew he had no right to call her that. This marriage wasn't real. He had never been a husband to her in the way that mattered. He had kept his distance, drawn his own lines, made it clear that this was nothing but a contract.

And yet—yet—the betrayal clawed at him, just as raw and gut-wrenching as the day his mother had done the same.

Marrying that bastard so soon after his father's death.

Erasing his father's existence as if he had meant nothing.

And now, Anaabiya stood before him, tangled in another man's embrace, just as his mother had been.

His blood boiled. His fists clenched.

He told himself he didn't care.

But the hollow ache in his chest told a different story.

His nostrils flared, his vision darkening as he took a step forward.

And then he noticed it.

Her eyes were shut, her expression peaceful—savoring the moment.

She was enjoying this.

A bitter, sadistic smile curled his lips as he lifted his pistol and pressed it against the back of the man's head.

"Hands off my wife, right now."

The words came out low, dripping with venom.

The moment the cold steel made contact, the man stiffened, but instead of backing away, he did something that only fueled Humza's fury—he pulled Anaabiya behind him, shielding her.

That was all it took for Humza to lose whatever sliver of restraint he had left.

His wife. Behind another man. Protected by another man.

This wasn't just an insult. It was war.

Anaabiya's eyes shot open, a look of pure horror flashing across her face. The moment she saw him, her lips parted in panic. "Hum...Humza..." she stuttered, her voice shaky.

The audacity.

She actually thought there was an explanation.

He let out a sharp, mirthless chuckle, his head tilting slightly as he regarded her with cold, calculating eyes. His gaze flickered between her and the man standing protectively in front of her, and his stomach churned.

He didn't know what disgusted him more—the fact that she had hidden this from him, or the way she was looking at the man now, as if he meant something to her.

A sharp pang of something dangerously close to hurt shot through his chest. But he buried it beneath layers of fury.

"Shhhh, not a word." he hissed, cutting her off. His voice was deadly quiet, but it carried the weight of a storm brewing beneath the surface. "It will only make things worse for you.."

The man took a threatening step forward, his stance unwavering. "Don't you dare talk to her like that," he warned, his voice steady. "I swear if you lay a finger on her, I won't hesitate to kill you."

A slow smirk tugged at his lips as he tilted his head, as if genuinely amused by the sheer stupidity of the threat.

Didn't he know who he was dealing with?

He ignored him and turned to Anaabiya instead. The way her gaze softened when she looked at the man sent another violent wave of fury crashing through him.

"Get away from him!" he ordered, his pistol tilting ever so slightly, signaling her to move.

Anaabiya had obeyed, had stepped back.

He chuckled darkly. At least she still remembers who the boss is here.

"Good," he mused. "I'll deal with you later."

There was a twisted pleasure in the way her breath hitched, in the way fear flickered across her face. She had crossed a line tonight. And she was going to learn exactly what it meant to defy him.

His attention shifted back to the man—his new prey. He circled him like a predator, his pistol still aimed steadily, his eyes never leaving him.

"So," he drawled, voice laced with mockery, "tell me, who the hell are you?"

The man didn't flinch. Didn't waver.

That only made Humza more interested.

He needed to know.

If this man was connected to Zaid, then Anaabiya was in far greater danger than he had imagined.

The man didn't hesitate.

"Uzair Imam."

Silence.

Cold. Deadly. Deafening.

Humza's entire body went rigid.

For a moment, all he could hear was the sound of his own heartbeat, thundering in his ears.

Then, slowly, his gaze flickered to Anaabiya.

She flinched.

She knew.

A sharp, bitter taste filled his mouth as he clenched his jaw, his fingers curling into a tight fist.

He had heard the name before.

On her lips. In her sleep. In the quiet whispers that had haunted him.

But hearing it from him—seeing the man in the flesh—was something else entirely.

His lips parted, but no words came out.

Because for the first time in his life, Humza felt something that he couldn't name.

And it burned.

"Uzair Imam," he repeated slowly, as if rolling the name over his tongue, tasting every syllable—

And it was pure poison.

E D I T E D on 20.2.2025