The week had passed uneventfully, or at least, that's what Zehra kept telling herself. She had thrown herself into work at Zehra Essentials, spending hours at the office reviewing campaigns, finalizing shoots, and trying to ignore the storm of emotions Abbas's constant presence stirred within her.

It was easier to keep moving, to avoid stillness, where memories could creep in.

But as she stepped out of the elevator into her apartment building's lobby that evening, she noticed something unusual. A figure loitered near the entrance, partially obscured by shadows. Her heart skipped a beat, her chest tightening with unease.

She clutched her bag tighter and quickened her pace, glancing back over her shoulder. The man shifted slightly, and the fluorescent lights illuminated a face she hadn't seen in years.

Ameer.

The name sent a wave of nausea crashing over her. The boy she had rejected. The monster who had thrown acid on her.

He looked different-older, more worn, but the malice in his eyes hadn't faded. He smirked, his gaze sweeping over her like she was prey.

"Zehra," he said, his voice dripping with mock sweetness. "Long time, no see."

Her blood ran cold. "What are you doing here?"

"I heard you'd become a big deal," he said, stepping closer. "Thought I'd see for myself if the rumors were true."

Zehra took a step back, her pulse racing. "Stay away from me."

"Oh, don't be like that," he sneered. "You owe me a conversation at least. After all, if it weren't for me, you wouldn't be so famous."

Her stomach churned at the venom in his words. "I don't owe you anything. Leave, or I'll call the police."

Ameer's smile widened, his eyes narrowing. "Still so feisty. But don't worry, Zehra. We'll talk soon. You can't hide forever."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving her standing frozen in the lobby.

By the time she reached her apartment, her hands were shaking so badly she could barely unlock the door. She stumbled inside, slamming it shut behind her. The room felt too small, the air too heavy, and her chest ached with the familiar weight of panic.

She sank onto the floor, clutching her knees to her chest as her breaths came in short gasps. Memories flooded her mind-the searing pain of the acid, the screams, the betrayal.

A knock at the door made her flinch, and she scrambled to her feet, her heart pounding.

"Zehra?" Abbas's voice called out, calm but firm.

She hesitated, wiping at her face before opening the door. Abbas's expression shifted the moment he saw her, his mismatched eyes narrowing with concern.

"What happened?" he asked, stepping inside without waiting for an answer.

Zehra shook her head, unable to speak. Her throat felt tight, and her hands wouldn't stop trembling.

Abbas gently guided her to the couch, his movements careful and deliberate. He crouched in front of her, his gaze steady. "Zehra, talk to me."

She took a shaky breath, her voice barely audible. "Ameer. He was... in the lobby."

Abbas's jaw tightened, his hands clenching into fists. "What did he do?"

"Nothing," she whispered, her voice trembling. "But he said he'd... come back."

Abbas's eyes darkened, a storm brewing in their depths. "He won't get near you. I'll make sure of it."

Zehra shook her head, her emotions spiraling. "He shouldn't even know where I live. How-how did he find me?"

"We'll figure it out," Abbas said firmly, his voice grounding. "But right now, you need to breathe."

She nodded, focusing on his voice as he guided her through the breathing exercises he'd used before. Slowly, the tension in her chest began to ease, and her breaths evened out.

The next morning, Abbas insisted on driving her to work and stayed close throughout the day, his presence a constant reminder of his promise to protect her.

But the encounter with Ameer had shaken something loose inside Zehra, and by the time she returned home that evening, another storm was waiting.

Her phone buzzed with a call from an unknown number. She hesitated before answering, her voice cautious. "Hello?"

"Zehra, my dear," came her mother's voice, saccharine sweet but laced with an edge of bitterness.

Zehra's grip tightened on the phone. "Ammi," she said flatly.

"You've become quite the celebrity," her mother continued, ignoring the coldness in her tone. "Modeling, owning businesses... I suppose you're too good for your family now?"

Zehra clenched her jaw, her chest tightening with familiar anger. "You haven't cared about me in years. Why are you calling now?"

Her mother let out a bitter laugh. "We raised you, Zehra. Everything you have is because of us, and this is how you repay us? By abandoning us?"

"You didn't raise me," Zehra snapped, her voice trembling with fury. "You tolerated me because you had no choice. Don't pretend otherwise."

"Watch your tone," her mother hissed. "Or have you forgotten who you are? You think the world respects you now, but they'll remember the truth soon enough. A disgrace to your family. A girl who brought nothing but shame."

The words cut deep, reopening wounds Zehra had thought she'd buried. She ended the call without another word, her hands trembling as she threw the phone onto the couch.

Moments later, Abbas stepped into the room, his expression darkening when he saw her face. "What happened?"

"Nothing," she muttered, brushing past him.

"Zehra," he said, his voice firm but gentle. "Talk to me."

She stopped, her shoulders sagging. "My family," she admitted, her voice tight. "They called. To remind me how much of a failure I am to them."

Abbas's expression hardened, and he crossed the room to stand in front of her. "You're not a failure, Zehra. Don't let them make you believe that."

She looked away, tears threatening to spill. "Why does it still hurt?" she whispered. "After everything they've done, why does it still get to me?"

"Because they're supposed to love you," Abbas said softly. "And they failed you."

Her breath hitched, and she met his gaze, the sincerity in his mismatched eyes making her chest ache.

"But you're not alone anymore," Abbas continued, his voice steady. "You have me. And you have my family. We'll face whatever comes together."

Zehra swallowed hard, nodding as she fought to keep the tears at bay. For the first time in years, she felt the faintest flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, she could face her past without being consumed by it.