Taming the Ice Queen

It had been three days. Three days since her uncle was executed. Three days since I watched Roohani order a man's death without hesitation. Three days since I realized just how deeply vengeance had shaped her. And for three days, I had been avoiding her-not entirely, but enough that she noticed.

I still did my job. Still brought her coffee, still organized her meetings, still kissed her goodnight before we slept. But she felt the distance, and I could see it in the way she would pause before speaking, the way she hesitated before touching me, the way she studied me with that sharp gaze, waiting for me to say something. But I didn't. Not until that night.

It was late when she finally confronted me. We were in the penthouse, sitting in silence after dinner, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on us. She leaned against the counter, arms crossed, her jaw tight. "You're upset," she stated, not asked.

I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. "I don't like violence, Roohani."

She exhaled sharply, her expression unreadable. "You think I do?"

"I don't know," I admitted, my voice quieter. "But I know you don't hesitate to use it."

She scoffed, shaking her head. "Mahir, this world isn't as simple as you want it to be. Some people-" she took a step closer, eyes flashing-"don't deserve a second chance."

I met her gaze. "And you think you get to decide that?"

Silence.

She turned away, and for a second, I thought she would walk out. But instead, she stopped, her hands resting on the edge of the counter, knuckles white. "You don't know what I've seen," she murmured, her voice so soft I barely heard it.

I pushed off the couch, stepping behind her. "Then tell me," I whispered.

She didn't look at me, but she started speaking.

And with every word, my heart shattered.

"I was under the bed," she said, staring at nothing. "I remember my mother's voice first. The way she screamed. The way she begged. I was six years old. My father was yelling, arguing with someone. I didn't understand what was happening. I was just... hiding."

She swallowed, her fingers digging into the counter. "Then I heard the first hit. A loud crack-like something breaking. I peeked out, and I saw him. A man I had never seen before. He was standing over my father, kicking him, punching him, while my father tried to fight back. But there were two of them. And then... they grabbed my mother."

My hands curled into fists, but I didn't interrupt.

"They tore her saree," she whispered, her voice hollow. "She was crying, screaming, and my father was bleeding on the floor, trying to reach for her. One of them laughed. I remember that laugh. And then-" she exhaled shakily, as if forcing the memory to surface, "-I saw him pull out a knife. I don't know what I was thinking, but I crawled out from under the bed, grabbed the nearest thing I could find-a lamp-and smashed it on his head."

I felt my breath hitch.

She let out a humorless laugh. "You should have seen their faces. A six-year-old girl attacking a grown man."

Her hands trembled slightly. "But it wasn't enough. One of them grabbed me, and I remember struggling, kicking, screaming. My mother tried to reach me, but then-" she swallowed, her voice tightening, " and then everything —

She finally turned, her eyes unreadable, dark with old memories. "They threw me on the floor and left. Just like that. And I sat there. Sat between my parents , waiting. I don't even know how long. Hours? Maybe."

She exhaled, shaking her head. "Eventually, the police came. And I thought someone would take me home. But home didn't exist anymore. We had left my dadi's house after a fight. My father was trying to build a life separate from them. But without him... without my mother... I had nothing. And a day after they died in a car crash ."

I swallowed, my throat burning.

"And then," she said softly, "Dadi came."

She let out a slow breath, her fingers loosening from the counter. "She found me. Sitting there. With my parents dead bodies . Silent. And she took me home."

She laughed bitterly. "You know what the funny part is? She used to hate my mother. Hated that my father married someone outside the business world. But after that night, she became the only person who ever truly cared about me."

She looked up at me then, her eyes tired. "That's why I did what I did, Mahir. That's why I had my uncle killed. Because I saw my mother die. I saw my father die. And I know that if I didn't do anything, the same men who took them would come for me. And one day, for you too."

I stared at her, my heart pounding.

This wasn't just revenge for her.

This was survival.

I took a step forward, reaching for her, but she flinched slightly, as if expecting something else. And that broke me more than anything.

So I did the only thing I could.

I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her into me.

For a moment, she didn't move.

Then, slowly, she melted against me.

Her body trembled slightly, but she didn't cry. She had spent years locking those tears away, burying them so deep that she had forgotten how to let them fall.

But I felt everything.

The weight of her past. The pain, the anger, the exhaustion of carrying it alone.

And I wasn't going to let her carry it alone anymore.

I pressed a kiss against her hair, holding her tighter. "You're safe now, roohi , " I murmured.

She let out a shaky breath. "I don't know how to stop fighting, Mahir."

I smiled softly, pulling back just enough to look into her eyes. "Then fight. I'm not asking you to stop. I'm just asking you to let me fight with you."

She searched my face for a long moment. Then, finally, she kissed me.

It wasn't rough, or desperate.

It was soft, slow, deep.

A kiss that spoke of understanding, of surrender, of something neither of us had the courage to name yet.

When she pulled away, I rested my forehead against hers, my fingers tracing slow circles against her waist.

"Promise me one thing," I whispered.

She hummed. "What?"

"No matter what happens next, you won't shut me out."

She exhaled, then nodded. "I promise."

And for the first time in days, she looked... lighter.

As if the storm inside her had settled, even if just for a moment.

And I swore to myself-whatever came next, I would be right beside her.