Chapter 4
---
Flashback
"I'll deal with this later," Reyhan muttered, teeth clenched so tight his jaw ached. His fury hung in the silence like a blade poised at his throat.
Rafi Rachman lay crumpled on the marble floor of the private chamber, blood bubbling at his lips, wrists trembling beneath the ropes binding him to the ornate chair. But Reyhan didn't glance back. His rage had outgrown the man at his feet.
His rage was reserved for someone else.
Alya.
He strode forward and barked a curt order:
"Take him to the warehouse. Leave three men here. Not a single move without my word."
The guards obeyed with mechanical precision, hauling Rafi away. His ragged groans faded down the corridor. Reyhan's eyes never softened. They burned colder.
---
The Warehouse
The rusted door protested as Reyhan pushed it open. Inside, Rafi hung slumped on a metal chair, wrists bound and head lolling. Blood crusted at his temple. The only sound was the drip of water echoing off concrete walls.
Reyhan said nothing. He nodded to a guard. The guard dumped a bucket of freezing water over Rafi's face. The man screamed, muscles convulsing with shock.
Reyhan stepped forward, hair gripped in one hand, and forced Rafi's head up until their eyes met.
> "You betrayed me," he whispered, voice low and deadly. "And now I'll settle that debt—through your daughter."
Rafi's eyes widened in panic. He tried to speak, but Reyhan turned away, the sentence unfinished and hanging like a curse in the dank air.
He exited without looking back. The punishment was set. The price decided.
---
Zaki's Warning
Outside the Nikah room, Zaki paced like a storm contained. He burst through the door to find Reyhan standing before a large mirror, buttoning his black sherwani with measured calm.
"Reyhan, you can't—" Zaki began, voice cracking.
Reyhan turned, expression unreadable.
Zaki stepped closer, desperation in his eyes. "Alya is just seventeen. She has done nothing to you. This is brutal revenge, not justice."
Reyhan's silence was absolute. His gaze returned to his reflection—cold, immovable.
Zaki swallowed. "Please… think of her. Think of yourself."
Still, Reyhan said nothing. Revenge had already claimed him.
---
Nikah Room – Present
Soft chandeliers cast a pale glow over the marble floor. Rows of relatives sat in tense silence. At the front, Alya Rachman knelt on a velvet cushion, wrapped in ivory bridal finery that shimmered like moonlight. Her dupatta veiled her face, but tears had broken through the fabric in silent rivulets.
Her fingers clenched the edges of her lehenga, knuckles white. She dared not lift her eyes. The only sound was her ragged breathing.
Beside her, Rafi Rachman—bruised, defeated—sat under a heavy shroud of shame. The Moulvi Sahib adjusted his glasses, voice steady:
> "Alya binti Rafi Rachman, do you accept Reyhan Pratama as your husband, for a mahr of one lakh rupees?"
Alya's breath caught. She searched the ceiling, pleading for mercy that would not come. Sari Rachman leaned forward, lips pressed to her ear:
> "Answer. Say yes."
Her heart pounded. She shut her eyes, summoned every fragment of courage, and nodded once. Twice. Three times.
The Moulvi turned to Reyhan:
> "Reyhan bin Andika Pratama, do you accept Alya Rachman as your wife?"
Reyhan's chest rose and fell with a single, measured breath. His voice was firm:
> "Qubool hai."
"Qubool hai."
"Qubool hai."
Ink scraped paper as the Moulvi lifted his pen. Reyhan signed first, then Alya—her hand shaking so violently the pen stuttered across the page.
Fate sealed in ink.
There were no cheers. No sweets. Only the echo of silence.
Alya remained on her cushion, veil still over her face, tears pooling at her feet. Across the curtain, Reyhan stood motionless, the weight of what he'd done settling over him like a shroud.
He was her husband now—the man who had beaten her father, who had stolen her future for revenge. And in his silence, both of them felt the first tremors of a darker journey yet to come.