We are going to reachhhh 2M😍 Yayyyy!

First of all a big thankyou to each one of you who has made 2M possible. I had never thought I'd see this day.

Secondly, this chapter is the prologue of this book that is soon going to be published. I figured I should give this small gift to my wattpad fam. The version that's available on wattpad is like the first draft of this story. I've been working on it. There are going to be new characters, new scenes, the old one's will be altered (made better) because I was not satisfied with a loooottt of scenes for example: the part where Humza and Anaabiya meet. I want to add sooooo much to this story. (In a good way) I also want to delete a few scenes, for example: the 7 mistress part. Well, I hope you get the gist of it. The story is currently under major editing.

This chapter is more like an insight into Humza's character.

I hope you enjoy itttt. ❤

Now after a long time...

"Bashar had a lot of enemies Rafiya, a lot more than you and I know of. Now that he is.. Dead.. They will seek revenge from his family, from you and from his only son. Humza is too young to take over. He is only seventeen. There is no other way. You have to get married again. You have to marry someone strong enough to take hold of the business, until Humza is ready." I stare at the four scars on my arms, contemplating whether I'd need an another one tonight too.

Tears stung the backs of my eyes as I listen to the commotion going on in the living room in between my relatives and my mother, my pulse throbbed in my neck, and I couldn't catch my breath as I sucked in lungfuls of air. I waited for my mother to say something, to deny everyone of their wishes. I waited for her to tell them that my father couldn't be replaced.

My expectations were met with a stern silence.

A petite hand slowly fits in mine and I try to hold on to it with every ounce of my being. I try not to look at her because I didn't want to see pity in her eyes. Shutting my eyes tightly, I rest my head back against the wall of the guest room, where I currently stood. I felt her presence beside me. For some odd reason Malika didn't hate me as much as she should have, after all I killed her father like I killed mine. It was worse for her because I was the killer of her mother too. I often wondered if she was just waiting for the right moment to strike because I had destroyed her life but I also knew that if she ever planned to avenge her parents death, I wouldn't defend myself either for I deserved it. For now she understood me and that made me feel even more guilty.

She knows what I've been doing for the past one month now. The cuts I hide under my feet. The scars on my arms and head. The slices, pricks, and burns that are covered under my boxers until they heal and then I do it all over again. I'd gotten creative in hiding the shit I did to release pain.

Malika was a few months younger to me but she had a body and desires of a woman. I'd been trying to avoid all her seductive advances usually but during times like these, it was impossible. She was always there watching me cut myself with the blade but never trying to stop me. It was why I'd grown attached to her in the first place and never asked her to leave whenever I had a breakdown. It was an unspoken law in between us to never mention the night of the accident. Ever.

She didn't judge me for what I was doing. For many days I cried to ALLAH, begging him to do something, anything to erase the pain, the guilt, the thoughts and memories that were wrecking my sanity but slowly and eventually I kept on detaching from Islam, from prayer, from everything halal to everything haram.

The guilt was soon washed away and in no time I was knee deep in a pool of sin, my sins.

"I have huge respect for my late brother and I'd do anything to protect his family, my family. If she doesn't mind it, I'd like to marry her. I will only take on the business till Humza is ready." I clench my teeth hard, to avoid the pain of betrayal that spread within.

Motherfucker

Silence befell in the hall as my father's younger brother proposed marriage to my mother. He was a few years younger to my mother but still unmarried and no matter how much Baba asked him to settle down, he didn't. Now I knew why!

"I think this would be best for everyone." Huzaifa's mother suggests.

Like hell it would be!

By the moment more people expressed their views, I was raging like a bull and all I wanted to do was forget the hurt.

I pulled back my hand from Malika's grip and walked towards the nightstand where I'd placed the blade. My breathing was rugged and all I could think of was that this was all happening because of me.

I killed my father.

I was the one to be blamed for my misery. Malika knew better than to say something but I knew she saw how restless I became.

I stared at the blade a little longer, remembering what Malika had told me a month ago.

Your body can only feel one pain at a time. It meant I could choose the kind of pain I could endure, It meant that I could distract myself with something more physically painful because honestly I could endure the physical pain but not the mental breakdown.

Trees rose above and all around me in the quiet, dark room, lit only by the moonlight pouring in through the windows overhead. I inhaled the sweet smell of the palms, orchids, lilies, violets, and hibiscus, reminding me of my father's closet and all the perfumes from his coats and shirts blending together in one space. His memories were everywhere, in everything.

The sharp edge of the blade called out to me but I opened the drawer instead, fetching a pack of cigarette.

I unwrapped the pack and stuck a cigarette in my mouth, lighting the end, offering the rest of the pack to Malika who took it happily.

I sucked on the cigarette, filling my lungs with the sweet sting and tipping my head back to blow it back out in a stream above my head.

I forced myself to feel better, usually it worked but not today.

My mother would say no.

She had to.

But she hadn't said a word, which meant she was willing to marry that sick man.

Nobody could ever replace my father and this decision seemed like a huge blow to his memories.

My mother and his brother, the two people my father absolutely adored and lived for couldn't wait for a month after his death to get married.

Memories flood my mind.

The image of my father's lifeless body in my arms haunted me like never before. It wouldn't have come to this if he was alive, if only I had a chance to bargain my life for his.

I shut my eyes tighter as if it would blur the memories. I pinched the cigarette butt between my three fingers, feeling my phone vibrate for the second time in my back pocket as I brought my hand up to my mouth and took another drag.

My phone wouldn't stop vibrating, so I pull it out to see Asad's name blink on the screen. My lips curl immediately into a sadist smile.

I knew why he'd call me.

Asad was my Baba's loyal bodyguard. He wasn't there with us, on the night of the accident but he'd sworn to find the driver who'd been drunk driving that night.

I'd made Asad promise me that he'd call me only when he found that bastard.

The happiness that I finally felt after days of self loathing and frustration was splendid. I could finally take it out on someone who was as responsible as me for the cursed day.

"Hello" I greet.

"Come to the old warehouse. I have a present for you kid." His gravelly voice was like a melody to my mind in that moment.

That was enough to make me race towards the door of my house. The moment I was in the hall, all conversations ceased. "Huzaifa!", I call out to my cousin brother who had been standing beside his mother and had also been hearing the entire conversation amongst the elders.

I avoided meeting my mother's gaze because then I wouldn't be able to hide the hatred that I had felt for her then.

"Humza! We need to talk." I hear my mother say. Huzaifa doesn't move, so I shout again, ignoring my mother completely. "Huzaifa! Are you coming or not?" I see him exchange a puzzled look with his mother and mine but I don't wait to see her response and immediately storm out of the door instead. My mother's voice fades behind me as I rush towards the car. I needed Huzaifa to drive for me because I wasn't ready yet. I couldn't live that day again, at least not so soon and Huzaifa even had a license.

Thankfully I hear his footsteps behind me, "Where are we going?"

"To the warehouse." I inform him.

He didn't ask me any questions, he just obliged.

An hour later, I find myself glaring at the man cowering in the corner of one of the cell in my father's old warehouse. This warehouse was strictly for dirty business stuff. My father was a civil engineer and he built buildings and hotels for the richest people in town but that was just a cover up for the mafia business he concentrated mostly on.

Asad was a man of few words but I knew he was a patient observer for he saw and noticed things that people would otherwise fail to take note of and most importantly Asad was loyal. Though he was ten years elder to me, we shared a bond that couldn't be named.

A friend, an elder brother, a father figure, I could call him anything. I knew he'd happily give away his life for my family. He'd seen me break day after day, ever since my father died. He hadn't shed a tear when Baba died, atleast not infront of me. He barely expressed how he felt.

But I knew as much as I anticipated this moment, he did too.

The man that coward infront of me kept on repeating the same thing again and again, "Please don't kill me. I have a family. Please. Their life will be destroyed."

This should have made me sympathise with him but I couldn't bring myself to feel even a tinge of empathy for him. The fucker had run for his life, soon after causing the chaos. He didn't stop to help anyone. Even the faintest memory of that dreadful night makes my hand shiver from a sudden cold.

A sarcastic laugh escaped my lips.

I stare at him and let all the emotions rip through me.

Anger.

Shame.

Fear.

Violence.

Pain.

Sadness.

Helplessness.

They float through, jumbling together until I can't identify one from the other, and it's not even me in the reflection anymore. Everything in my brain leaves, my mind turns off, and my hands stop shaking. I'm just a body.

The other four people in the cell don't say a word. All of them knew that he was the first person I wanted to hurt. I wanted to hurt him so much that I wanted him to die. He was mine to punish, to torture.

"You should have thought about my family too. The day you ran for your life, leaving behind my father to die. You should have thought." His face shuddered as realisation dawned on him.

"I am sorry."

"Please. Forgive me."

"Please. Please don't kill me." His begging only increased ten folds as I neared him. My heart was racing. I was hurt. I was in pain and I needed a distraction.

I take a hand full of his hair and pull him up so he can stand. "You destroyed my world." I shout at him as he shrieks under my grip.

I glare at him, tightening my hold on his hair and neck. He gasps, terror etched across his face.

And I let him anticipate, then I shove his head into the wall as hard as I can, and he screams.

"No! Please!" he cries out, but I couldn't stop.

A wave of euphoria washes over me, and I don't know why my cheeks are wet, but my muscles are charged, and I just want him to fucking die. I don't care about what the other people in the cell think. Nobody stops me anyway.

I growl, bringing his head down again and again, blood covering the wall, and then I haul him up, his body limp and blood pouring down his face, and I hit him, sending him flying to the floor.

He coughs and sputters, and tears stream down my face, but in that moment, I realised that indeed our body did feel one pain at a time.

But instead of hurting myself to mask pain with more pain, tonight I learned something else.

Hurting others is just as effective.