In the opulent world of modern-day Pakistan, Layla Malik, once the wild heiress to a political dynasty, has transformed herself into a formidable force of ambition and revenge. Her heart scarred by betrayal, she stands at the helm of her family's em...
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0 6 : t r u s t m e
puttin' my defences up, 'cause i don't wanna fall in love if i ever did that i'd have a heart attack
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Slipping into a black silk skirt, I bent down to adjust the long slit that ran up my side. The top was fitted with slim straps that hung over my shoulders drawing attention to my angular features and prominent clavicle. The stylist hooked up the clasp of my ruby choker around my neck, it's stunningly red stones set delicately in a gold pendant encrusted with several tiny diamonds. This was a favourite piece of mine, a family heirloom that had been passed through the generations. It looked good on me, accentuating my skin tone and the matching bracelet on my shapely arm.
The first time Zaroon's mother had lent the piece to me from our family's jewellery collection, I was overjoyed; thrilled and charmed at the compliments I had received. It was exquisitely perfect. That evening, Zaroon told me it reminded him of the love that flowed between us and the life we'd share, perfect and beautiful.
I gently slid my fingers over the necklace, carefully tracing the nearly invisible crack that ran down through the centre of the stone. Seven years later, the necklace was no longer perfect.
It was broken.
Just like me.
I still remember the night I had last worn it. That wretched horrible night that still haunts me. The cries. The agony. The pain. I hadn't forgotten the anguish Shanzae suffered that night. Fighting for her life. Struggling to keep her unborn baby alive, while praying for Aliyaar bhai to open his eyes again.
The sheer torture of having to sit through the night in the hospital, desperate and helpless, returned with a suffocating vengeance.
That night I had vowed to break away every last strand of memory and relationship that tied us together.
He stood in the gardens, drinking his favourite whisky, looking at the stars. His eyes twinkled with hope when he saw me there and he moved forward to cup my face. But the old bruises painted by his fingertips were still raw. Stinging and burning. I flinched, stepping away from him.
Broken shards of my heart trapped within them the guilt I still harbour to this date. Somewhere I was responsible for what my sister and her little family suffered. And for that I couldn't forgive myself or the man who stood in front of me, incapable of remorse or regret.
"Despite everything, I still love you, Layla."
"If you truly love me, go away. Go away from here. Away from me. Away from my sister." My words were a gentle request.
