107.

Murad leaned back in his chair, his gaze locked on Faraz, who still held the glass of whiskey in one hand. The earlier tension between them had begun to settle, giving way to something far darker—a shared, bitter history filled with memories neither could erase.

Faraz’s hand tightened around his glass, his eyes turning distant as if he were looking far beyond the room, into a past he could never escape. Murad noticed the shift, the way Faraz’s jaw clenched, and a flicker of understanding sparked between them. They might despise each other, but the scars left by their father connected them in ways neither of them could deny.

“He destroyed her,” Faraz said, his voice so low Murad almost missed it. His eyes burned with a fierce, uncontained anger, each word laced with years of rage and grief. “My mother… She stood up to him, fought for what she believed was her right. And he—he silenced her.”

Murad felt a shiver run down his spine, his own memories of that night hazy but haunting. He was too young to understand back then, but he remembered the shouting, the coldness in his father’s eyes, and the eerie silence that followed. He swallowed, feeling a mixture of anger and sympathy as he listened to Faraz.

“He made sure no one would ever question him,” Faraz continued, his voice thick with venom. “Not his wife, not his sons, no one. I watched him do it, Murad. I watched him strip her of her dignity, her strength, until there was nothing left. And when she fought back… he finished her.”

Murad could see the pain etched in every line of Faraz’s face. He’d never spoken about his mother before, and it struck Murad just how deeply that memory had scarred him. For all of Faraz’s cruelty, his twisted schemes, there was a part of him that was still that young boy, haunted by the murder of his mother, fueled by an insatiable need for revenge.

Faraz looked at him then, his gaze piercing. “You think you can just walk away from it all, Murad. But our father’s shadow… it reaches further than you know. He doesn’t just let people go. He’ll drag you down the moment you show any weakness.”

Murad held Faraz’s gaze, his jaw tight. “I know what he’s capable of. But that doesn’t mean I’ll become him, Faraz. I’ve made my own life. I’ve done everything I can to be free of him.”

Faraz let out a hollow laugh, shaking his head. “And yet, here you are, tangled up in his mess. You can try to escape, but in the end, you’re still his son, Murad. Whether you want to admit it or not, he owns us both.”

Murad’s fists clenched at his sides, anger simmering in his veins. “I am nothing like him.”

Faraz leaned forward, his eyes narrowing with a twisted smirk. “If that’s true, then why do you care so much about that girl—Taliya, was it?” He watched Murad’s reaction carefully, noting the brief flash of defensiveness in his eyes.

“What does she have to do with this?” Murad asked, his voice cold.

“Oh, don’t play coy with me, Murad,” Faraz replied, his tone mocking. “I wanted to see if you’d come running. And you did, right on cue.” He chuckled darkly. “Perhaps I should have made a grander entrance, but it served its purpose. I wanted to remind you that you’re still in this game, whether you want to be or not.”

Murad’s jaw tightened, his anger flaring. “You kidnapped her for that? To make a point?”

Faraz shrugged, an infuriatingly casual gesture. “I needed you to see that you can’t simply ignore me. Our father’s enemies, my enemies, they’ll keep coming, Murad. And one day, you’ll have to choose a side.”

Murad looked at his brother, his voice barely above a whisper. “Why go after her, Faraz? If you hate him so much, why hurt innocent people?”

Faraz’s eyes darkened, the fire in them returning. “Because I wanted to hurt you, Murad. I wanted you to feel a fraction of the pain he’s caused me. But…” he hesitated, his gaze shifting away as if he were waging an internal battle. “I’m not like him either. Not yet.”

There was a strange silence between them, an unspoken understanding. Faraz was as conflicted as Murad, caught between his desire for revenge and a reluctant recognition of their shared enemy. He turned back to Murad, his expression softer but no less intense.

“For now,” he said, his voice measured, “I’m letting you go. I could destroy you, Murad. But not like this, not when we share the same enemy.”

Murad frowned, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. “So, what now? You’re just going to back off?”

Faraz chuckled, but there was no humor in it. “Not exactly. I’ll be watching, Murad. And when the time comes, we’ll both have a choice to make. Until then…” He rose from his seat, leaving the glass on the table. “Enjoy your little illusion of freedom.”

As Faraz turned to leave, Murad’s voice stopped him. “One day, Faraz, you’ll have to choose too. Either destroy everything in your path or find a way out. But you can’t keep doing both.”

Faraz paused, glancing back over his shoulder with a smirk. “We’ll see, little brother. Just remember—you’re in this whether you want to be or not.”

With that, he walked out, leaving Murad alone in the dimly lit room, his thoughts a tangled mess of resentment, confusion, and a strange, reluctant bond to the brother he both despised and understood all too well.