Chapter one: Author's pov
Location: Pakistan
Running frantically, she had reached this dark and somewhat deserted alley where shadows consumed everything. Her delicate soft feet were sore from running, and had worn-out shoes, which had broken during the relentless run. Upon reaching this alley, she freed her feet from the tattered shoes and continued running barefoot. She had no choice but to run to protect herself.
Running so fast, her breath was ragged, but she couldn't risk stopping even for a minute to catch her breath. The predator, a man more beast than human, was coming behind her. To protect her dignity her life, she was racing through the streets, ignoring any other threats. Her beautiful pink lips, trembling with pain and fear, whispered a desperate prayer:
" ayy mere khuda, mujhpe rehm kr, mjhe is darinday se bacha lay khadaya meri izzat ab tere hatho me hai mujhe ksi mehfuz jagah phncha de..."
(Translation: "Oh Allah, please save me from this beast. Oh God, my Lord, protect me from losing my honor.")
Exhausted from the continuous running and two days of hunger and thirst, darkness began to cloud her vision, every passing second and every step made her vision more and more blur. Suddenly, her foot twisted on a stone, and she was about to fall face-first when two strong arms caught her. She lost all sense of her surroundings, drifting into unconsciousness, the last thing she felt being her body being lifted into a vehicle...
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Gazing at the sky, she seemed lost in the melodious and serene voice of the koel, resembling an ancient Chinese porcelain doll. Her milk-white skin and the thick braid cascading over her shoulders displayed an audacious charm. Her doe-like dark eyes, so deep that one could get lost in them, were shielded by long, dense lashes, which made anyone who looked at her heart skip a beat. Her face exuded an innocent beauty, indeed, she was a living masterpiece of beauty. As she sat there, she resembled a beautiful but sorrowful porcelain Chinese doll. Observers might wonder what sorrows such a delicate girl might have endured, but no one could truly understand what was going on in Irha Yusuf's mind before it was too late.
It is often said that a devilish mind with an innocent face is a rare combination, and Irha Yusuf possessed this rare combination. Everyone was charmed by her innocent appearance except for her landlord's wife and daughter in law.
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Her fingers danced rapidly across the laptop keyboard, not pausing even for a moment. As she typed, she intermittently glanced at her iPhone, absorbed in both tasks. The relaxed demeanor she exuded while typing suddenly shifted when her gray eyes sparkled with a newfound intensity, as if she had just discovered exactly what she was looking for.
In an instant, she straightened up, sitting rigidly. The room was enveloped in darkness, but the glow from the laptop and mobile phone illuminated her face, casting it in a radiant light. With every line she read on her screen, a captivating smile grew on her beautiful face—an expression of triumph. It was the smile of a winner, the kind that appears on a player's face when they've decisively outmaneuvered their opponent.
"ab tumhari asliyat sab k samne main lau gi zaryab chaudhary"
(Translation: "Now, I'll expose your true face to everyone, Zaryab Chaudhry.")
she said, her voice brimming with confidence. As she mentally mapped out her next move, the gleam in Samara Alam's eyes was so bright it could eclipse the moon itself.
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Location: New York
In the vast expanse of New York's grand stadium, an extraordinary spectacle was unfolding. The stadium, a marvel of architectural design, boasted rows upon rows of seats on one side, while a long road stretched out on the other, vanishing into the distance beyond the spectators' view. The atmosphere crackled with excitement for the bike race scheduled that day, drawing a crowd so immense it felt as though the entire city of New York had gathered in this one place.
The stadium's air was charged with a single, electrifying chant: "Sherry! Sherry! Sherry!" The fervent calls of the crowd reverberated through the stands, enhancing the stadium's vibrant energy. As the race began, a colossal LED screen at the front illuminated the scene with crystal clarity, capturing every twist and turn of the action.
Everyone present knew that this race was no ordinary event. While it featured the heirs of New York's most prestigious families, the true significance of the day lay in the presence of one man: Shehryar Sultan, son of the renowned business magnate Jahanzeb Sultan. Shehryar was a racing phenomenon, a prodigy who had never tasted defeat. His legendary status was undeniable, and the palpable excitement and anticipation surrounding him were a testament to his extraordinary prowess.
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The car jolted, causing her head to slam against the window, and a groan escaped her lips. Struggling to lift herself from the back seat, her head hit the window again, and she fell back into unconsciousness. The vehicle continued to shake, likely traveling on a rough road.
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Location: New York
In the opulent American-style master bedroom, adorned with a black wooden theme, the atmosphere was dreamy and luxurious. The room, bathed in the coolness from the air conditioning, was draped in grey velvet curtains that covered wall-sized windows.
Suddenly, a young man in his mid-twenties burst into the room with a commanding voice. He flipped the switch on the remote control, illuminating the entire room with its lights and pulling back the curtains and blinds. Once he had finished, he threw himself onto the bed, pulling the blanket off the person lying face-down on the giant bed beside him. but not before delivering a loud thud to his ass, shaking the entire room.
"abay salay tu yahan mazay se soya para hai, zayn..!!! uth bhai, dekh hamare gunaho ki saza milne ka waqt ho gaya hai.."
(Translation: "Hey, you lazy bum, are you still sleeping here, Zayn?" Get up, brother. It's time for us to face the consequences of our actions.")
Sarim's voice cut through the stillness.
Seeing Zayn pulling the blanket over his head and barely stirring, Sarim couldn't help but shout again.
"abay bc tujhe chain nhi hai kya.? kiyu subha subha apni phatay huey dhol jesi awaz se cheekh cheekh k mere kaano se khoon nikal rha hai...? jahil insan teri hmesha se timing kharab rhi hai acha bhala main date p tha katrina kaif k sth..."
(Translation: "Damn it, can't you ever have some peace? Your thunderous snores are piercing my ears. For God's sake, I was on a date with Katrina Kaif!")
As Zayn reluctantly adjusted his blanket again over himself, he replied in a sultry, half-awake voice.
"besharam, awara... shadishuda actresses ko to chor de harami... or date to beta teri grandpa arrange kren gy ab se thik adhy ghante bad yahan tere sir p khary ho k... phir hum sab live broadcast dekhen gy Zayn Shah ki date ki"
(Translation: "Shameless, careless... At least leave the married actresses, you pervert. And your dates? Grandpa will handle those. In about half an hour, he'll be standing here, and we'll all watch the live broadcast of Zayn Shah's date.")
Hearing his twin brother's alarming news, Zayn was jolted awake, as if struck by a 440-watt shock. He sat up abruptly, his black, silky hair disheveled, his nose held high, and his eyes—honey-colored and sharp—wide open with shock and fear. His sharp jawline, which usually gave him an air of both beauty and arrogance, was now etched with panic.
The sleepy look that had just moments ago been in his eyes was now replaced with a fully alert and startled expression. He stared at Sarim, his twin brother, his identical twin with just a difference of eye color and voice but whose actions and demeanor were exactly the same as Zayn. The shocking news Sarim had just delivered was enough to jolt their spirits awake.
To be continue...
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