Uzair Baloch leaned against the hood of his cruiser, massive arms crossed over his chest, dark eyes fixed on the university gates like a predator waiting for the right moment to strike. The engines of the five vehicles behind him idled low, his men scattered around—Donga, Hamza, and the rest—while Rehman Baloch sat inside the front cruiser, watching with an amused smirk.

Then she appeared.

Storming out of the gates, hair flying behind her, ranting to her friend, cheeks puffed in anger. Uzair straightened, something shifting in his expression—less don, more man seeing something he couldn’t look away from.

He stepped forward, towering over her small frame. “Arrey… I just wanted to say—”

Slap.

The sound cracked through the air like a gunshot.

Silence.

Every guard froze. Donga’s cigarette nearly fell from his lips. Hamza blinked like he’d just seen a ghost. Inside the cruiser, Rehman slowly leaned forward, eyes wide.

Uzair’s head had barely moved from the impact, but his eyes… they weren’t angry. If anything, they were darker, more intrigued.

He slowly turned his face back toward her, a faint, dangerous smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“No one’s ever done that to me,” he said quietly, voice rough with something unreadable. “Not in Lyari. Not in Karachi.”

His men shifted uneasily, waiting for the explosion that never came.

Instead, Uzair chuckled under his breath. “Lagta hai, aaj meri kismat khul gayi… finally met someone with a spine.”

He took a small step closer, lowering his voice. “Next time, jaan… at least let me finish the compliment before you attack.”

Behind him, Rehman muttered just loud enough for the others to hear, “Bas… ho gaya. Yehi hai bhabhi.”

A few of the men exchanged stunned looks, silently agreeing—because the only woman who could slap Uzair Baloch and still be standing… was already family.