The lavish celebration was winding down, and the grandeur of the Siddiqui mansion began to settle into an uneasy silence. Ibrahim didn't linger—he never did. The sooner he could distance himself from this house, the better.
He slipped through the side door to the driveway, ignoring the lingering partygoers and their hollow pleasantries. His car, sleek and understated compared to the family's usual showy vehicles, hummed quietly to life. As he pulled out of the estate, a shadow lingered near the gates, eyes watching his every move.
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Inside the mansion, Zara stood in her private lounge, the delicate navy silk of her gown pooling around her as she dialed a number on her phone. Her voice was low and steady as she issued instructions.
"Follow him. Don't lose sight of him for a second. I want to know where he goes, who he meets, and what he does. Report directly to me."
There was a pause as the person on the other end confirmed her orders. Zara ended the call and allowed herself a small, satisfied smile.
But her satisfaction was short-lived. The sound of a throat clearing behind her made her whirl around, startled. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw Salim Siddiqui standing in the doorway, his towering figure partially silhouetted by the dim light.
"Salim," she said, her voice slipping into a practiced tone of vulnerability. "I didn't hear you come in."
He raised an eyebrow, stepping further into the room. "What are you doing in here, Zara? And who were you talking to?"
Her mind raced for an explanation, but she softened her expression, letting a tear glisten in the corner of her eye. "I… I was checking on Ibrahim."
"Checking on him?" Salim's voice held a note of skepticism.
"Yes," Zara said, her voice trembling just enough to sound genuine. "He's always so cold, so distant. I try so hard to reach out to him, to show him I care, but he pushes me away. He doesn't understand how much I love him."
Salim's expression softened, the sharpness in his eyes giving way to guilt. He stepped closer, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Zara, you've done your best. Ibrahim's behavior is not your fault."
Zara leaned into him, her head resting against his chest. "But it feels like my fault. He hates me, Salim. I've tried everything to bring us together, but he refuses to respect me. He sees me as the enemy."
Salim wrapped his arms around her, his voice heavy with determination. "He'll learn. I'll make sure of it. He's my son, and he'll respect his elders—whether he likes it or not."
Zara closed her eyes, hiding the smirk that played on her lips. "Thank you, Salim," she murmured, her voice soft and affectionate. "I don't know what I'd do without you."
As Salim held her, his resolve firm, Zara allowed herself a moment of triumph. She had him exactly where she wanted him. Ibrahim might be a challenge, but Zara knew how to play her cards—and Salim was the most important one in her hand.
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