chapter 6

DUAA

"Dua, wake up!" My aunt's voice pierced through the house like a blaring fire alarm.

"Why on earth can't they let me sleep in peace?" I groaned, dragging a pillow over my head in frustration.

"Dua! You're late! Don't you have interviews today?!" she shouted again.

Wait—interviews?

"W-wait, what?! Oh my God, YES—I do!" I shot up like a spring, eyes wide, heart thudding. "Shit, shit, shit! I'm late!"

I practically sprinted into the bathroom, threw on a black kurta and matching flappers, paired them with silver jhumkas, my rings, and black khussas. A dash of mascara, a bit of blush, highlighter, and lip gloss, and I was done. I left my hair open, cascading down my back—messy but presentable.

"Aunt! I swear I'll have breakfast on the way," I yelled, grabbing a piece of dry bread and dashing out the door.

"What should I do with this girl..." I heard her mutter behind me as I disappeared down the stairs.

I picked up a coffee on the way, still half asleep, nerves boiling in my gut. This interview had to go well. I needed this job—not just wanted, needed. I couldn't keep depending on my aunt and uncle. They'd done enough.

I reached the building, staring up at its enormous glass windows. Deep breath. Here goes.

"May I come in, sir?" I asked, peeking in through the polished glass door.

Please, let this go well.

Just as I was mentally prepping my introduction, someone walked by—blonde-haired, smirking like he owned the world.

I rolled my eyes. Not the time for creepy smirks, blondie.

I stepped inside and sat down across from the CEO's empty chair, exhaling slowly. Nerves tightened in my chest like a vice.

And then... he walked in.

Oh. My. God.

That face.

Him.

The same guy from the car incident.

I swear I felt my soul leave my body.

"You?!" I gasped, shooting to my feet.

He smirked. Again.

"Yes. It's me," he said, voice deep and filled with heat that curled down my spine. Why is he smirking like that? It was like he enjoyed watching me squirm.

                                           

             

                       

He looked like a devil in a custom three-piece suit—dark, sharp, expensive. The man dripped power.

"I—I mean, what are you doing here?" I asked, then mentally slapped myself.

Dumb question, Dua. He's clearly the boss.

"I should be asking you that, little girl," he replied, stepping forward.

My heart skipped. Why did those two words feel so twisted coming from him?

"Don't tell me this is your empire," I scoffed, trying to sound unimpressed, though the damn suit made it hard.

"What if I say yes?" he said, voice like silk laced with danger.

He moved toward me slowly, and I instinctively stepped back, until my back hit the cold wall. My breath caught.

There was something in his eyes—something hungry.

He caged me in, arms on either side of my head, his body looming over mine but not touching.

"Duaa," he whispered, low and dominant. My name on his lips felt like a claim.

"Y-yes, ?" I stammered, staring up at him with wide eyes.

He didn't look away. He just stood there, staring so deep it felt like he could see every damn thought in my head.

Then, slowly, he stepped back—his gaze never leaving mine.

He walked around the desk and sat in his chair like a king. Composed. Cold. Dangerous.

"So, Miss Duaa. What brings you here?" he asked, though I had a feeling he already knew.

Still shaken, I managed to walk over and sit across from him.

"I—I'm here for an interview," I muttered, avoiding his intense gaze.

"Please. Sit," he said, gesturing casually.

I slid over my CV. "You can check this."

He took it without a word, eyes scanning—but not really focused on the paper. No, they kept flicking up to me.

I started playing with my fingers, trying not to fidget.

"So, Miss Dua. What are your salary demands?" he asked.

"One hundred thousand dollars," I blurted, then laughed awkwardly. "Kidding! Just kidding." I whispered after looking his expression. Which were clearly unimpressed.

His gaze darkened. He wasn't amused.

"You're still studying?" he asked sharply.

"Yes, sir. I'm doing a few extra professional courses," I replied with confidence.

He nodded slowly. After a few more formal questions, he leaned back, cold and unreadable.

"We'll let you know. You may leave now."

I stood, my heart dropping a little.

As I turned, I noticed he closed his eyes and rubbed the edge of his eyebrow—like something was clawing at his mind.

He didn't look up.

I left the room silently.

ZAYAN

"She can't be my Anaya," I whispered, brokenly. Yet cold.

My chest burned. My fists clenched.

"AHHH—!" I roared, slamming the paperweight off the table, glass shattering everywhere. I threw files, cups—everything.

The rage inside me boiled over, violent and wild.

Why—why did she feel like her?

Her eyes. That voice. Her fucking presence.

No. I had to know.

I stormed out of the office like a madman and drove recklessly toward the underground.

I busted through the iron doors, fury in every step. "I told you—I NEED EVERY. SINGLE. DETAIL. ON THAT GIRL!" I screamed at my men.

Everyone froze.

"Sir! Here! Here's the report!" one of them ran forward with trembling hands.

I snatched the documents and flipped through with bloodshot eyes.

Duaa.

Parents—dead.

Adopted by Mr. and Mrs. Qureshi.

Accident. Memory loss.

Same date as mine.

Found by Mr Qureishi at burn fire.

I stopped breathing.

And then I started laughing. Mad, wild laughter echoing through the room.

"You have the same eyes... the same voice... the same fucking face. How could I not recognize you, meri jaan?"

My fingers trembled as I held her picture.

"You're mine. You've always been mine. My bird. My Anaya. No more escaping now."

He traced her photo with reverence and obsession burning in his eyes.

"With a new face. A new name. But you're still mine."

DUAA

"Hello?" I mumbled, rubbing my eyes.

"Ma'am, congratulations. You're selected. You can join starting today."

"WHAT?! Really?!" I screamed, nearly dropping my phone.

"Yes, ma'am. Please report by 9 AM. Thank you."

I hung up and ran straight to the bathroom, heart thumping with joy. I got dressed in a navy blue suit, curled my hair into soft waves, and added a touch of makeup.

"Aunt, I GOT THE JOB!" I screamed, bolting downstairs.

"Mashallah!" she said, pulling me into a tight hug.

"Come eat—"

"No, no, I'm late already! I'll eat on the way, I swear!"

I grabbed my bag and dashed out, heart soaring.

I reached the office and took a deep breath.

"May I come in, sir?" I asked nervously.

He looked up—those eyes again.

He mumbled something under his breath, which I didn't catch.

"Come in," he said, gesturing with his hand.

"Good morning, sir," I said, trying not to let my voice shake.

"Morning, Miss Duaa," he replied, his voice sending chills down my spine. There was something in the way he said my name...

It felt too familiar. Like I'd heard it a thousand times before.

Before I could process that thought, he spoke into the AirPod in his left ear.

"Calara, come to my office. Now."

"Y-yes, sir."

A woman appeared. "Ma'am, please come with me."

I stood up, but I felt his gaze on me. Not just watching—devouring.

I followed the woman, my heart racing.

Something about this man... this place... this job... felt like stepping into the eye of a storm.

And somehow, I knew—

He was the storm.

______________________

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