Zayn's POV
The morning sun spilled its golden rays through the curtains, brushing against my face until my eyes blinked open. The first sight I saw made me chuckle softly.
Sara.
My beautiful wife lay curled beside me, hugging me like a little koala, her breath warm against my chest. My hand instinctively slid to rest over the gentle curve of her baby bump. Our love, once just between us, was now blossoming into something greater—we were going to be parents.
For so long, I only had one person—my sister, my Haya. My little twin, though she often felt stronger than me. She was my iron pillar, my solace, my family. Together, we carried each other through storms no one else could understand.
And then came Sara. Haya's best friend. My blessing. She had no one but her chachi, yet she gave me everything. She confessed her love first, bold and fearless, and I was powerless to resist her warmth. A year after marriage, joy knocked again—Sara's pregnancy. Our happiness bloomed like spring.
I pressed a kiss to her forehead, then to the tiny bump beneath my palm, whispering a silent promise before slipping out of bed. I didn't want to disturb her beauty sleep.
After a quick shower, I changed into a crisp white shirt and black linen pants, rolling my sleeves up neatly. A touch of gel smoothed my hair, a hint of cologne completed me. I gave one last glance at my sleeping wife, my heart swelling, then slipped out the door.
I'll be back by evening, I texted her before starting the car.
Today wasn't like any other.
As head of my news firm, I earned enough to care not only for my family but also for the small orphanage that had become my mission. Still, money never impressed me—especially not from politicians. Their wealth was always tainted, wrung from the lifeblood of innocents. I despised them.
But.... he had seemed different. Young. Charming. A name that stirred hope in the public. Against my instincts, I accepted a massive funding from him for the orphanage.
At first, it felt like a blessing. But something gnawed at me. I dug deeper. Rechecked the source of the funds. And then I found it.
Corruption.
Behind his glittering charity was nothing more than black money, scrubbed clean through donations.
Bloody bastard.
How dare he?
So today, I had arranged a meeting with him. Not in his office, not in public, but in one of his so-called warehouses. Neutral ground. Dangerous ground. My gut told me this wouldn't end well, but I had to face him.
I wasn't going empty-handed. I had gathered every piece of proof against him—documents, recordings, evidence. I had locked them away in a place only one person knew about. My sister. My Haya.
When I pulled up to the warehouse, silence hung heavy in the air.
I stepped inside.
And then—darkness swallowed me.
A sharp blow struck my head.
And the world went black.
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