Chapter 113: Eye contact

Her heart would leap in her chest whenever the bus stopped at any checkpoint. An hour had

almost passed since she had started her journey. She had already made a call to Hannan,

apprising him of her actions. The customer had to be dealt with a steely hand as he was one

stubborn piece. He insisted on exchanging the money only when he saw the house. He

agreed to buy it, depending on its location and price, but he was yet to arrive to look at the

place.

"He was a weird, old, grumpy man," Hannan had told her.

At first, Sheharzaad delayed him due to the file she had to deliver, but as if he felt it

behooved him to vex her in return without purpose, he kept delaying her until this day. And

when this day came, she was already running away.

Khaleda had told her that when she once asked for her help to run away, she assured

Sheharzaad that once she completed the mission entitled to her, she would help her. But

Sheharzaad had been trying to contact Khaleda after sending that file and still didn't receive

a response from her side. She had been waiting for her signal as Khaleda had told her to do

so. Apart from that, she remembered the warning given to her about how her every activity

was being monitored, so she had to be very careful.

She had decided to live in that apartment in Multan, which Hannan had helped her rent,

hoping Shehryaar wouldn’t find them. She was way too anxious about what her future

would look like from now on.

She imagined her life without Shehryaar, and this imagination brought her nothing but

peace. The idea of loving freely, without being controlled and without being answerable to

anyone, filled her with an immense sense of freedom. Freedom that she had been trying to

attain after meeting Shehryaar.

It was her wretched fate. That wretched day. When she met Shehryaar. When she caught his

eyes. And when he caught her eye. She never thought he could be this brutal. The first

impression wasn’t always the last impression. She did observe a dark aura around him. An

aura that would make you go on your knees without him even trying or forcing you to. He

was dominant. Quiet. But she never knew that the man whom she considered her helper

would actually be a mafia don. Underlying that angelic face was a devil.

His eyes were enigmatic yet soulless.

He spoke softly but ruthlessly.

He was calm, but within those orbs, he held a storm that had the potential to destroy

anyone who would even entertain the thought of going against him. This was Shehryaar—

quiet, dominant, ruthless, brutal.

Shehryaar ruined her. He took a lot from her. A lot that couldn’t be put into words. That one

night, he didn’t just take her virginity but also her mental peace. She still had dreams.

Dreams of that night. Where she would witness Shehryaar's grey eyes staring at her.

Forcing her to her knees, he forced her to do the deed. The scene where he took her against

the wall. When she lost her virginity. In that room, where he took her multiple times.

Relentlessly. Breathlessly. She begged him. Begged him to stop. But he didn’t. They both

knew that she was getting paid, and she could not protest much. Her dream often depicted

the scene when she ran away from him so he would stop. But he put her back on the bed

and consumed her body again. And the scene where he took her again in the washroom.

She would wake up in the middle of the night, breathless and thirsty. She would look around

and feel immense peace upon finding herself in the shelter of her home, where she was far

away from him and his reach. It would give her peace and anxiety at the same time—peace

that she was protected and that dark night was over; anxiety due to the fear of facing him

the next day. She so wanted to escape. And now, when she put her plan in action, she

couldn’t ignore the danger bells ringing in her ears. She really wanted to ignore them, but

her paranoia was bringing the memories back.

Her breath hitched when the bus suddenly stopped. Her eyes widened as she looked out of

the window. The route was desolate, with fields and bushes on both sides of the road.

Occasionally, some cars would pass, but the area was quiet, as if a perfect spot for robbers

to attack.

Everyone in the bus began to talk when a bullet was fired through the window at the driver,

who was now taking his last breaths. Gasps and cries were heard as the passengers stood

up. Some men began to move forward while the little children ran into their mothers’ laps.

But it was Sheharzaad who had almost frozen in her spot, turning cold.

She was dead.

So dead.

Her hand tightened around Amna, whose eyes had jutted out.

Fear and panic took over the atmosphere as a group of masked men entered, holding guns,

rifles, and daggers. They were a bunch—more than five—as some were also seated in an

SUV parked at some distance. They shouted their commands for everyone to sit down, and

everyone obeyed as, with aptness, sharp eyes, taut postures, and guns in hand, they began

to walk, eyeing each and every passenger.

Sheharzaad was trying to be as cool as a cucumber. Her face was covered as she moved her

eyes left and right in panic. She remained quiet as two to three men passed by her. They

were asking the passengers for their IDs.

"We’ve other buses to check too. Be fast," one of them shouted, who was supposedly the

head, and that’s when she made the mistake of making eye contact with him.

She knew she did a mistake.

A gross mistake.

That would be costing her life.