Mishaal’s POV

It was already evening, the sky melting into shades of gray. I grabbed my bag and hunted for my car keys.I couldn't find keys in the morning so l left her school in the cab. Of course, Laiba had hidden them again—my little mischief-maker couldn’t resist playing with everything she saw. After minutes of frustration, I finally spotted the keys near the shoe rack.

I started the engine and drove through the thinning traffic toward Laiba’s playschool. Parking just outside the wide-open gates, I noticed children rushing into their parents’ arms, their tiny hands clutching paper flowers, faces glowing with unshakable smiles.

But Laiba wasn’t there.

My chest tightened. I was only ten minutes late. Ten minutes. She always waited for me near the gate, standing with her little group of friends, scanning the crowd for my face. I stepped through the gate, scanning the grounds.

Her teacher, Rania, walked up with a polite smile.
“Mrs. Hussain, you’re here? Is Laiba alright? She didn’t attend school today.”

The words struck like a slap.
“What? That’s impossible. I—I dropped her at the gate this morning. I saw her walk inside!” My voice cracked as panic clawed its way up my throat.

Rania frowned, concern settling on her features. “Let me check the attendance sheet.”

She returned with the register, flipping it open. “See here, Mrs. Hussain—no entry for Laiba today.”

My breath caught. The world blurred around me. If she wasn’t inside the school… where was she?

“Check the CCTV,” I whispered, the words tumbling out in desperation.

We rushed toward the security room. The guard’s face fell when Rania asked.
“Madam, the main gate camera has been broken for a week now.”

I felt the air leave my lungs. My shaking hands fumbled for my phone. I thrust Laiba’s picture at the guard.
“Please—have you seen this child? Did she walk through the gate this morning?”

He hesitated. “So many children come in every day, ma’am. I… I can’t be sure.”

I staggered back, my head pounding. No, no, no… I left her at the gate. I saw her. I left her there.

The drive home was a blur. I stopped strangers along the way, holding up Laiba’s photo, my voice breaking as I asked if anyone had seen her. Every answer was the same—shaken heads, murmurs of pity.

Tears burned my eyes as I pulled into the driveway. My trembling fingers fumbled with the car key at the lock. Vision swimming, I tried again, until finally the door clicked open.

Inside, silence swallowed me whole. The weight of my failure pressed down.

What kind of mother loses her child at the school gate?

I sank against the door, clutching the photo on my phone like it was her hand.

“I already lost too many people,” I whispered to the empty room. “Not her. Please, not my Laiba…”

Tears slid down my face, heavy and endless. She was my only reason to breathe, my only reason to live—and now she was gone.

By the time I reached Zahid’s office, I could barely breathe. My chest heaved, my throat raw from crying. His guards moved aside without a word, as if they had been expecting me.

I pushed open the heavy glass door. He was there, as always — calm, composed, unreadable behind his polished desk.The moment his eyes lifted to mine, my walls cracked. “Zahid… she’s gone. Laiba—she’s gone.”For the first time, his mask shifted. His gaze softened, a flicker of something human flashing across the steel. He rose from his chair and crossed the room with measured steps.His hands brushed my trembling shoulders, steadying me. “Breathe, Mishaal,” he murmured. “We’ll find her.”Tears blurred my vision. “You don’t understand, no one saw her, the cameras are dead, she just—vanished.” My voice broke, shaking with the weight of my guilt.“I do understand.” His tone was low, firm, the kind of certainty that made the room feel less hostile. “But to help you… I need something first.” My stomach dropped. “What do you mean?”His eyes locked on mine — unwavering, sharp. “Come to my house. Live with me. Under my roof, where I can protect you.”I staggered back, shaking my head. “Zahid—this isn’t the time—”“It’s the only time.” His hand caught mine, not harshly, but with unrelenting strength. “You’re not safe on your own. Neither is she. With me, nothing can touch you.”My lips trembled. “Why? Why do you care so much?”He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper that burned. “Because you are my wife, Mishaal. Mine. I made vows you seem to have forgotten.” His thumb brushed a tear from my cheek, his touch devastatingly gentle. “I will tear the city apart to find her, but only if you let me keep you close.”I wanted to resist, to scream at his arrogance. But when his other hand cupped the back of my head, drawing me against the steadiness of his chest, the fight drained out of me.“You are a good mother,” he murmured into my hair. “Don’t let grief tell you otherwise. You are stronger than you think, but even strength needs a shield. Let me be that shield.”

The warmth in his voice, the certainty in his touch, unraveled me. For a fleeting second, it didn’t feel like a bargain — it felt like safety. And that was exactly how he trapped me again.

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