Chapter Seventeen: Cold Vengeance

The morning light crept across the blinds, slicing the room into gold and shadow. Ayan stirred awake, his body aching from the marathon of the night before. But the empty half of the bed quickly alerted him — Saba wasn’t there.

He padded barefoot into the living room, only to find her standing near the doorway, her posture elegant, her hair tumbling over her robe. Opposite her, Alizeh sat stiffly, her eyes red but strangely calm. The tension between the two women was thick, like smoke curling around them.

Saba’s voice cut through the silence, soft but edged with steel. “Alizeh… you need to hear this. You weren’t the victim in your marriage, nor in your time with Ayan. You were selfish. You were careless. And you broke something beautiful without even realizing its worth.”

Alizeh’s lips trembled. “I… I never meant—”

“But you did.” Saba didn’t raise her voice; she didn’t have to. Her words were measured, hypnotic, each one threading into Alizeh’s mind like silk rope. “The truth is simple: you were the bitch in the story. And if you carry that guilt, maybe it will make you better. Maybe, when you go back to Lahore, you’ll learn to live fairly, honestly. Not as the woman who ruined him, but as the woman who chose to grow from her ruin.”

Alizeh swallowed hard. Tears welled up, but she didn’t argue. It was as though Saba’s words carried the weight of inevitability. Slowly, she nodded, like a woman accepting a sentence she secretly knew she deserved. Without another word, she rose, clutching her bag, and walked out the door.

The silence that followed was heavy, almost surreal. Ayan blinked, still processing what had just happened. Finally, he turned to Saba, his voice low. “What the hell was that?”

Saba’s lips curved into the faintest smile, though her eyes gleamed darkly. “Vengeance, Ayan. Served cold, as it should be. That… was my gift to you. The perfect reply to a woman who once shattered you. She’ll carry that sting with her, long after today.”

Ayan leaned back against the arm of the sofa, studying her with a mix of awe and disbelief. “You’re… unbelievable. Ruthless, but brilliant.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “I almost feel sorry for her.”

“Don’t,” Saba replied sharply. “She deserved every word. She’ll feel shit about herself for a long time. And that’s justice.”

Ayan let out a slow breath, realizing just how far she had gone for him. His chest tightened with something deeper than lust. “You amaze me, Saba.”

But then curiosity struck, his brow furrowing. “Why did you even initiate last night? The threesome… why?”

The mask slipped. Saba’s poise crumbled, her voice breaking as tears suddenly spilled down her cheeks. “Because I hated her. I hated every single second of her touching you. I wanted to prove to her — to you — that she couldn’t win. And yet…” She shook her head, sobbing softly. “It killed me, Ayan. I hated every moment of it.”

The rawness of her confession hit him like a punch. Without hesitation, Ayan crossed the room, pulling her into his arms. She trembled against him, her tears wetting his bare chest. He stroked her hair, whispering, “Shh, enough. You don’t have to explain. You’re here, with me. That’s all that matters.”

Saba clung tighter, her sobs easing into shallow breaths. And then, almost without thinking, Ayan tilted her chin upward, brushing his thumb across her lips. His eyes softened, but his voice was low and husky. “Let me remind you what’s real between us. No games. No rivals. Just you and me.”

She shivered, her tears still fresh, but there was no mistaking the heat in her gaze now. Vulnerability blended with desire. “Ayan…” she whispered, a plea and a warning all at once.

He kissed her then — slow, coaxing, deliberate. The kind of kiss that tasted of salt and fire, grief and hunger. His hands traced the outline of her waist, lingering at the knot of her robe, tugging it loose with patience that was almost unbearable.

By the time the fabric slid open, her sobs had melted into soft sighs. She let herself be led, step by step, back toward the bedroom. And though her face still glistened with the remnants of tears, her body arched to meet his touch, ready for the solace only he could give.

This time, there was no audience, no rivalry, no orchestration. Just raw need, two bodies tangling to erase the ache of everything that had passed.