It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

She’d seen something she shouldn’t have—blood on his hands, a man on the ground, and that crooked smile on Taimoor Raza’s face as he looked straight at her.

That was the moment her life split in two.

And instead of silencing her like he’d done to men twice his size, Taimoor had done something far worse. Something permanent.

He married her.

A quiet nikkah in a dim masjid, her name tied to his with a signature and a stare. She hadn’t spoken much since. He hadn’t expected her to.

It’s late. Past midnight. The courtyard is lit only by the soft amber glow of a single lantern swinging in the breeze. The air smells like jasmine and storm.

She’s sitting there, quiet as ever, curled on the bench near the fountain, a book forgotten in her lap. Her dupatta is falling off her shoulder, and she doesn’t notice—too lost in her thoughts.

Taimoor watches from the doorway.

She hadn’t eaten at dinner. Again. Said she wasn’t hungry. Again.

She’s been walking on eggshells around him since the wedding. Smiling politely. Speaking softly. Never meeting his gaze for too long.

Like he’s a bomb she’s waiting to set off.

And for some reason, it pisses him off more than anything else.

He walks toward her—footsteps deliberate, slow, heavy.

She hears him. She stiffens.

When she finally looks up, her eyes widen slightly. Like she’s preparing for something.

And that’s what does it.

“Why do you always look at me like I’m about to hurt you?” he says, voice low but sharp.

She blinks. “I—I don’t.”

“Don’t lie.” He stops in front of her, arms folded. “I’ve seen it. Every time I walk into a room, your shoulders tense. Every time I raise my voice, you flinch.”

She swallows, visibly nervous. “I don’t mean to—”

“I know you don’t,” he cuts in, voice rougher now. “You’re not scared of the world, not really. You’re scared of me.”

She stays quiet. Her eyes shine with something she doesn’t know how to explain—fear, confusion, maybe even guilt.

Taimoor exhales, jaw clenching. Then, softer:

“I kill men who deserve it. I don’t break things that are soft just because I can.”

He crouches down, meeting her eyes level. His tone drops, quieter this time. More dangerous for how calm it is.

“So stop acting like I’m one blow away from shattering you. You’re my wife. Not a witness.”