After the storm of harsh words and uncomfortable silences, Ibrahim found a moment of peace. He leaned against the balcony railing, looking out at the twinkling lights of Zarvahn city, trying to drown out the chaos of the party behind him. His thoughts wandered to *Ayan*, his stepbrother, the one person who consistently tried to bridge the divide in the family.
Ayan approached silently, standing beside Ibrahim. His calm, reassuring presence was a balm to Ibrahim's raw nerves.
"You okay?" Ayan asked, his tone soft but laced with understanding.
Ibrahim let out a deep sigh, not looking away from the cityscape. "I'm fine... as fine as I can be in this madhouse."
Ayan chuckled lightly, though his gaze was filled with concern. "I know she was hard on you again. Mother doesn't always know how to… handle you."
Ibrahim turned his head slightly, his brows furrowing. "Handle me? Is that what you call her constant attempts to undermine me?"
Ayan winced but didn't back down. "She's not perfect, Ibrahim. I know she's been… difficult, but she cares in her own way."
Ibrahim scoffed, pushing off the railing to face Ayan directly. "Cares? Ayan, she's done everything to make me feel like I don't belong here. You see it. Don't pretend you don't."
Ayan hesitated, his kind eyes meeting Ibrahim's fiery gaze. "I see it," he admitted quietly. "But she's still my mother. I have to believe there's some good in her. Maybe she just doesn't know how to show it."
Ibrahim's expression softened slightly at Ayan's honesty. He appreciated his stepbrother's loyalty, even if it was misplaced. "You've always tried to see the best in people, Ayan. But sometimes, people don't deserve it."
Ayan sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. "I know she's been unfair to you, Ibrahim. I've seen it. But she's not entirely bad. And maybe... maybe if you gave her a chance, things could change."
Ibrahim let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "A chance? She's had plenty, Ayan. She's just good at playing the victim when it suits her."
Before Ayan could respond, the door to the balcony creaked open, and Zara stepped out. Draped in a sleek navy gown that shimmered under the faint balcony lights, she wore her signature smile—a practiced expression of warmth that masked the ice beneath.
"I thought I'd find you two here," Zara said, her voice dripping with sweetness. "What a picture—my boys, together."
Ibrahim tensed, his jaw tightening as he turned away from her, leaning back against the railing. "What do you want, Zara?"
Zara's smile didn't falter, but her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "Now, now, Ibrahim. Must you always be so hostile? I came to check on you. You seemed... upset earlier."
Ayan glanced nervously between his stepmother and Ibrahim. "Mother, maybe we should give him some space."
But Zara wasn't one to back down. She moved closer, her tone soft but pointed. "Space? That's all he ever wants, isn't it? Running away from this family, this house, his responsibilities. It's no wonder he's so... lost."
Ibrahim's fists clenched at his sides, but he kept his voice steady. "I'm not lost, Zara. I just refuse to play your games."
Zara tilted her head, her smile turning almost pitying. "Games? Oh, Ibrahim, you always think the worst of me. I've only ever wanted what's best for you. But I suppose that's hard for you to see, given how much you idolize your mother."
Ayan stepped forward, his voice firm but gentle. "Mother, that's enough. You don't need to bring her into this."
Zara's gaze flicked to Ayan, her smile softening as she placed a hand on his shoulder. "Oh, Ayan, you're always so protective. It's one of the things I love most about you. But you know I only speak the truth."
Ayan gently shrugged off her hand, his expression conflicted. "I know you care, Mother. But sometimes… the way you show it doesn't help."
Zara's eyes flickered with irritation, but she quickly masked it with a chuckle. "You're too kind, Ayan. Always trying to mediate. But some things… well, they simply can't be fixed."
Ibrahim pushed off the railing, his voice low and cutting. "You're right, Zara. Some things can't be fixed. Especially not with empty words and false smiles."
Zara's smile faltered for a fraction of a second, but she recovered quickly. "Well, I can see I'm not wanted here. I'll leave you two to your... bonding." She turned and walked back inside, her heels clicking against the marble floor.
As the door closed behind her, Ayan let out a long breath. "I'm sorry, Ibrahim. She just doesn't know when to stop."
Ibrahim shook his head, his expression hardening. "Don't apologize for her, Ayan. It's not your job to clean up her messes."
Ayan looked down, his voice quiet. "I just wish things were different."
Ibrahim placed a hand on his stepbrother's shoulder, his tone softening. "So do I. But wishing won't change anything. She's not going to change, Ayan. And neither am I."
The two stood in silence for a moment, the tension between them easing slightly. Despite their differences, there was an unspoken understanding—a bond that Zara's manipulations couldn't break.
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