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Third person's POV.

The grand and opulent living room of Alhaji Abbas' house felt unusually stiff as everyone gathered at Ashraf's request. The living room, grand and opulent, felt unusually stifling as everyone gathered at Ashraf's request. The ornate chandelier hanging from the high ceiling cast a soft, golden light, but it did nothing to ease the tension in the air. The polished marble floors and plush furniture reflected the wealth of the household, but today, the luxury felt overshadowed by the weight of what was about to unfold.

Ashraf stood near the entrance, his arms crossed and his face expressionless, though his eyes occasionally flickered toward Zara. She was seated on a large, cream-colored sofa between Zainab and Fatoo. The two women sat protectively on either side of her, their postures tense, as if ready to shield Zara from any potential harm. Zara's eyes were fixed on Asma, who was sitting with her parents on the opposite side of the room. Asma's voice was a continuous stream of chatter, oblivious to the icy glares being sent her way.

"I swear, I just wish I could slap the smile off her face, Shegiya kawai." Zara muttered under her breath, her voice laced with restrained anger.

Zainab turned to her, eyebrows raised. "Why?"

But before Zara could respond, Fatoo, who had been unusually quiet, leaned in slightly. "Me too, sai kace an saka mata pipe a hanci," she said, her tone firm and understanding. She knew exactly why Zara felt that way.

Just then, the large double doors of the living room swung open, and Amina and Nana entered. The room seemed to hold its breath as the two women made their way toward Asma and her family. Nana's presence was commanding, her face set in a stern expression that left no room for nonsense. Without a word, she grabbed Asma by the arm and dragged her to the center of the room. Asma, stunned, tried to speak, but before she could utter a word, Nana's hand connected with her face, the slap echoing in the suddenly silent room.

Before Asma could recover, Amina stepped forward and delivered an even harder slap to the other side of her face. Asma staggered, her hand flying to her cheek as she looked around in disbelief, her voice failing her for once.

Zainab gasped, her hand flying to her mouth as she turned to look at Zara and Fatoo, who were already exchanging knowing glances, each with a small, almost satisfied smile playing on their lips.

Asma's mother, alarmed, quickly got to her feet and rushed to her daughter's side, pulling her away from Amina and Nana. "What is wrong with you? How dare you touch my daughter? I can sue you for this!" she shouted, her voice high-pitched and furious.

Amina let out a short, sharp laugh, the lawyer in her fully awakened. "And I would gladly defend us in court. But let me tell you something," she said, stepping closer to Asma's mother. "When I'm done with all the charges I'm about to press on your mannerless daughter, you'll be the one begging me for mercy."

Asma's mother's grip on her daughter tightened, her eyes narrowing in anger and fear. "What are you talking about? What has she done?"

Nana, who had been silently watching with her arms crossed, finally spoke, her voice cold and authoritative. "Why don't you ask your criminal of a daughter what she's done? Or should we do the honors?"

Asma's father, who had been sitting quietly, his face stern, finally spoke up, his voice carrying the weight of authority. "Asma'u, what are they talking about?"

Asma remained silent, her eyes darting between her parents and Amina. She was visibly shaken, but her pride kept her from speaking.

Nana scoffed, her patience clearly wearing thin. "She's not going to speak, so let us do it for her." With that, Nana signaled toward the corner of the room where a projector screen began to descend, the whir of the machine the only sound in the tense silence.

Amina, now standing behind the projector, clicked a few buttons on a remote, and the room darkened slightly as the projector came to life. The screen flickered for a moment before it displayed CCTV footage from Zara and Ashraf's wedding day. The footage showed Asma sneaking into Zainab's room, glancing around before slipping inside. Moments later, two men entered the room, and the screen captured them dragging Zara, unconscious, out of the building through a back door. They made their way to the supply room at the far end of the mansion, following what were clearly Asma's orders.

Asma, realizing the gravity of the situation, broke free from her mother's grip and rushed toward the projector, frantically turning it off. "This doesn't mean anything!" she shouted, her voice trembling as she faced the room.

Ashraf, who had been standing by the door with Amir, Imran, and Habib, watched the scene unfold with an intensity that was almost frightening. His gaze never left Zara, who was seated, her expression a mix of anger and something along the lines of satisfaction. He studied her face, searching for any sign of how she was coping with the way everything was unfolding. but she remained outwardly calm, though her clenched fists betrayed her true emotions.

Amina, unbothered by Asma's outburst, let out a soft, mirthless laugh. "Oh, you think you can get away that easily?" She reached into her bag and pulled out her phone. With a few taps, she began playing a voice recording. The room filled with Asma's voice, clear and unmistakable, as she spoke to her friend Badra, plotting how they would deal with Zara. The conversation was laced with venomous insults, and at one point, Asma suggested dumping Zara in another country where no one knew her. The words were cruel, calculated, and left no doubt about Asma's intentions.

As the recording played, Ashraf's expression darkened, his jaw tightening. Zainab's eyes filled with tears, not just for Zara but for the realization that their own cousin was the one behind all their despair.

"Stupid, characterless girl. She keeps throwing herself at Ya Ashraf. Shegiya ce wallahi. Let's just dump her in Niger or Chad and move on with our lives." That was the last thing heard before the recording ended, and it was no doubt Badra's voice. Zainab knew the girl to be her cousin's friend.

Asma, now visibly panicking, turned to Amina, her voice shaking. "Where did you get that recording?"

Amina's response was a twisted, sinister smile. "I have my ways. And you should be very thankful that Zara stopped me from taking this matter to court. Because if it were up to me, I would've made sure you rotted in jail for the rest of your miserable life."

With that, Amina turned on her heel and left the room, her footsteps echoing down the hallway. Nana and Fatoo immediately stood up, each taking one of Zara's arms as they guided her out of the living room and toward Ashraf's side of the house. They knew she needed to be away from the toxic energy that was Asma.

The room was left in stunned silence. Asma's parents were beside themselves, her mother still by her side, trying to comprehend what had just happened, while her father shook his head in disappointment. One by one, the other family members quietly left the room, each throwing a final, disapproving glance at a speechless Asma before they disappeared through the door.

Ashraf remained where he was, his eyes following Zara as she was led away. His heart ached for her, but he knew that this was something she had to process on her own terms. Of course, he knew she orchestrated all this. It shows on her face that she planned everything with the help of her friends. There would be time to talk and to heal, but for now, he simply watched her until she was out of sight. Only then did he finally allow himself to take a deep breath, the weight of everything that had happened settling heavily on his shoulders.

"Your cousin is something else." Habib said, shaking his head.

"Wallahi, she needs therapy, or better still, take her to a rehabilitation center or even a psychiatric hospital, yeah? I think that would be better." Imran said it with a loud hiss.