Kamran's POV:

I clenched and unclenched my fists to calm myself down. It wasn't working but I had to do something to keep myself distracted from the murderous plans I was making for Wassal. I had always treated him like a brother. With respect and love. To think all this time, he was behind this. How could I be so blind? How could I not see the signs?

I gripped the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turned pale. The engine hummed beneath us as the darkness outside blurred the streetlights into streaks of gold and red. Karachi had never looked so dark. It looked like it was going to rain which wasn't common.

My mind was a storm of its own, trying to process the betrayal. My cousin. My blood. The one who sat at our table, laughed with us, planned this. He was the reason she was gone. The reason my sister—Kainaat—had vanished into thin air. She better be alive. Kainaat, I am coming for you.

"Slow down, man," Ibraheem said beside me, his voice calm but firm. His hand hovered near the dashboard, ready to grab it if I jerked the wheel again. "You're not thinking straight. Switch with me. I will drive."

"I don't want to think straight bhai." I snapped, my voice cracking. Zoya had calmed me down before but the rage was bubbling in my chest again. I felt my body heave as I tried to swallow the anger clawing at my throat. "Ibraheem, all along, it was him—he used to sit with us. He knew—all this time, he knew and did it! And I shook his hand. I hugged him. I trusted him."

"I know, so did I. We all did." Ibraheem said softly. He leaned forward, his fingers curling into his pants. "I know, bro. But you're not helping by driving like this. You want us all dead in a ditch? Then what? Who's going to fix this? Who's going to find Kainaat?"

His words were like cold water, dousing the fire just enough for me to loosen my grip on the wheel. I slowed down, the car easing into a steady rhythm as the rain started to prickle on the windshield. Karachi and rain?

"How could we not see it?" My voice was barely above a whisper now. I stared straight ahead, the rain was picking speed now and the wipers sliced across the glass clearing the view.

Fahad sighed, leaning back in his seat. "Honestly? I am at a loss of words. But we focus on the present now...you can't let this eat you alive. We'll find her. Together."

His words grounded me, though the fury still bubbled under the surface. I tightened my jaw and nodded, even if I didn't show it, I was far too grateful for their presence. The weight of Fahad and Ibraheem's calm pressed against my chaos. I didn't know if I believed them. But for now, it was enough to keep the car moving forward. We were 8 minutes away. Abbu, Uncle Zubair, Uncle Saqib and Uncle Buland were already ahead of us. With how fast Uncle Buland was driving, the car was practically half floating. I wonder what abbu was thinking. I am sure he had murder on his mind too.

We arrived faster than expected. Wassal had several private residential properties across Pakistan and globally. All of them heavily guarded. He had started to live alone in his early twenties. It made sense now. That psychopath had things to hide. Or more like people. He no idea what was coming to him. I clenched my jaw tightly to the point that it hurt me. I was fully prepared for a bloodbath but the guards opened it the moment they saw Uncle Buland in the car.

I had never really looked at Wassal's properties before, at least not closely enough to piece it all together. To me, they had always seemed like his eccentric whims. But now, everything fit together like a missing puzzle piece, and the image it formed was far more sinister than I could have imagined.

The walls were the first thing that came to my view. They stood towering and unyielding, twenty feet high, casting long shadows over the ground. Not just decorative walls meant for privacy or aesthetics—these were solidified fortresses, built to keep something, or someone, inside. My chest tightened as I thought about what those walls really meant.

The guards were another thing. He always had men stationed on the periphery, supposedly to protect his "estate," as he called it. But why would anyone need that level of protection? These weren't your average security guards, either—they were trained, disciplined, and always armed. And the dogs. Big, snarling beasts, trained to attack on command. I had seen them on leashes during family visits, pacing restlessly, their eyes darting to every shadow like they were waiting for something to slip past them. Now I knew what that something—or rather, who—was.

And then there was the barbed wire. It coiled around the top of the walls like a crown of thorns. Cameras dotted every corner of the property, positioned with obsessive precision. No blind spots. Not a single inch of land left unchecked. I had dismissed it as paranoia before, but now it was clear: this wasn't about keeping threats out. It was about keeping someone in.

The doors were another story altogether—massive wooden slabs that looked like they weighed a ton or more. Reinforced from the inside, they creaked ominously when they opened, like they were groaning under the weight of secrets they held. The windows, too, had extra barricades, thick metal bars that seemed overkill for a private residence.

No one had ever called him out on it. Why would they? Wassal was a man of means, eccentric and untouchable, and no one questioned the fortress he built for himself.

And his properties—they were always isolated, tucked far away from the main roads, hidden in places where no one would wander by accident. They weren't just homes. They were prisons, every last one of them.

And then it hit me, cold and sharp like a dagger to the gut: Kainaat was alive. She had to be. And he had her confined. For a decade and more. My breath caught as the weight of the realization crashed over me. All this time, while we grieved, while we searched, while we unsuccessfully pieced our lives back together, she had been trapped behind those walls.

The idea of Kainaat being confined for so long—fourteen years of stolen freedom—infuriated me beyond words. My hands trembled against the steering wheel as the images formed in my mind. Kainaat, pacing behind those monstrous walls. Kainaat, staring through those barred windows, wondering if we'd ever come for her. My blood boiled, and the air in the car felt suffocating.

Wassal hadn't just betrayed us—he had taken her life and twisted it into something unrecognizable. The walls, the guards, the cameras—they weren't signs of wealth or power. They were shackles, and my sister was the one chained behind them. And I'd be damned if I didn't tear them all down.

When my eyes had met with Ibraheem, he looked like he had come to the exact same realisation. Fahad was silent, his eyes were observing every inch and crevice of the estate. His eyes stayed on the walls more than other things. He knew as well. At this point in time, all of us, without a word, knew we had come to the same conclusion. This was a prison for Kainaat. Our sister.

Our eyes landed on him at the same time. Wassal stood at the massive wooden doors of his fortress. His figure was framed by the towering structure behind him, a house that looked less like a home and more like the dark heart of some tyrant's kingdom. The rain dripped off the edges of the doorframe, but he stood there, untouched, as though the storm dared not touch him.

He looked exactly how I expected him to—smug, polished, and completely unrepentant. His black tailored suit clung to him like armor, the faintest trace of a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. That smile. It wasn't one of welcome or remorse; it was a taunt, a silent declaration that he was ready for this. Ready for me.

The man had no shame. Not a flicker of regret in his dark, calculating eyes. He didn't flinch, didn't falter. If anything, he seemed amused, like this was just another game to him. His posture was relaxed, one hand resting casually in his pocket while the other held the door open slightly, as if inviting us in—into his web, his den.

Everything about him screamed control. The slight tilt of his head, the sharpness of his gaze, the way he stood with his shoulders squared as though daring me to make the first move. He didn't see me as a threat. Not even after everything he'd done. Not even after what I knew. He was confident, too confident, like he'd already won before I'd even stepped foot on his cursed property.

My hands clenched into fists at my sides. All I could think about was Kainaat—her years of suffering, her stolen freedom—and this man, this monster, had orchestrated it all. He had watched it happen, ensured it happened, and now stood there as if none of it mattered. He looked down at me like I was the intruder in his world, like I was the one who had to answer to him.

Wassal's smirk deepened, his eyes narrowing just slightly. "Well," he said, his voice smooth and dripping with false charm, "I was wondering when you'd show up."

That was it. That was all it took. The fire in my chest exploded into a full-blown inferno. Every fiber of my being screamed to wipe that smug expression off his face, to tear down every wall of his so-called house, to make him feel even an ounce of the pain he had inflicted. But he just stood there, unmoved, like a villain at the end of a story who believed his sins would never catch up to him.

Not anymore.

Author's Note:

Hello and Asalam o Alaikum lovelies!

I hope everyone is well. I am outright exhausted with how much is going on in my life but I felt like you all deserved this chapter and I know I am making you all wait but I honestly don't know how to handle everything at my end. Just know I am trying for you all okay? Also I am way more active on my instagram handle so you should follow me there for updates: Asfarnoor