Morning sunlight slipped weakly through the faded curtains of Kiara's modest home in Karachi. The kitchen clattered with the sound of plates and utensils, filling the air with a false sense of normalcy.
"Kiara! Wake up! You're going to be late!" her mother called from the kitchen.
Nineteen-year-old Kiara stumbled out of her room in her college uniform, still fixing her messy hair. Her eyes were heavy with exhaustion, yet somewhere inside them a quiet strength burned. She walked into the kitchen, where her mother was busy packing her lunch.
The front door slammed open.
Her father stormed in, his face twisted with irritation. "Is this the time to serve breakfast?! Every day it's the same nonsense! Don't you two understand anything?"
Her mother looked down nervously. Kiara froze, watching silently.
"Just two more minutes. I was packing her tiffin—" her mother began softly.
"Excuses!" her father shouted. "I work like a dog, and you can't even keep the house in order!"
He muttered angrily and left the room. Silence lingered, heavy and sharp.
Kiara whispered, "Are you okay, Mom?"
Her mother forced a faint smile. "I'm fine, sweetheart. Take your lunch and go. You'll be late."
Kiara nodded, picked up her bag, and walked out. Her face was calm, but her heart carried a storm.
Far away, in an opulent villa in Islamabad, another morning began. The house was vast, with cold marble floors and spotless windows that let in streams of sunlight—but no warmth.
Jace, twenty-six, descended the grand staircase in a tailored black suit. His features were sharp, his presence commanding, but his eyes carried hollowness.
"Good morning, sir. Your breakfast is ready," the housekeeper said politely.
"Not hungry. Just coffee. Black," Jace replied, his voice clipped.
He stood before the massive glass windows, sipping his coffee while staring out at the skyline. The house was perfect. Too perfect. And suffocatingly empty.
On the college campus in Karachi, life was vibrant. Students gathered in groups, laughing and scrolling on their phones.
Kiara's lips curved into her first smile of the day when she spotted her friends, Mira and Ria.
"There she is!" Mira teased. "Look who finally made it."
"Miss Sleepyhead Kiara!" Ria added, giggling.
"Shut up! I was running on one hour of sleep," Kiara laughed, walking with them.
"You need a full spa day," Mira insisted.
"Or maybe a break from your house," Ria said knowingly.
Kiara's smile faltered. "I wish life gave breaks that easily…"
Before her words could settle, a sharp voice cut through the noise.
"Kiara! I want to talk to you."
Her body stiffened. It was Zac, a senior known for his obsessive behavior. His eyes burned into her as he stepped closer.
"Just one minute," he demanded. "That's all I ask."
"No," Kiara said firmly. "I don't want to talk to you. Please leave me alone."
Zac grabbed her wrist. "I said—I like you!"
"And I said I don't!" Kiara's voice shook but didn't falter. "I hate you. Get lost!"
A crowd had begun to gather. Gasps filled the air when she slapped him, hard, across the face.
Zac froze. His expression twisted with rage as Kiara stormed away.
"You'll regret this," he muttered under his breath. "You will."
Meanwhile, Jace arrived at his company headquarters. The atmosphere shifted the moment he walked in. Employees straightened up, greeting him softly, "Good morning, sir."
He didn't acknowledge them beyond a slight nod. Entering his private office, he sat behind a sleek black desk, flipping through documents.
A knock interrupted him.
"Come in," Jace said.
Mr. Dalton, his father's old friend and the Director of Operations, entered with a file. "This is the Hyderabad expansion file. Also… about your secretary—"
"I don't need a secretary," Jace cut in coldly. His jaw tightened, his mind flashing back to memories of overworked secretaries quitting one after another.
Mr. Dalton sighed. "You're taking on too much, Jace. Whether you admit it or not, it's starting to show. I'll keep looking for someone. This time, don't say no."
Jace didn't respond. His eyes returned to the file, though his thoughts were far away.
That afternoon, Kiara stepped into her house quietly, trying not to make a sound. She shut her bedroom door and sat on her bed, her breath unsteady.
Should I tell Mom and Dad? she thought. No… they'll stop me from going to college. And college is my only dream. I can't lose it now.
Her mother entered, carrying a towel. "Kiara? You look pale. What happened?"
Kiara forced a smile. "Nothing, Mom. Just a long day."
Her mother gave her a soft look but didn't press further. "Lunch is ready. Come eat."
As soon as the door closed, Kiara's smile fell again. She sat in silence, clutching her bag tightly.
Elsewhere, Zac sat in his darkened room, replaying the memory of Kiara's slap over and over. His jaw clenched with fury. He grabbed his phone and dialed a number.
"Hello? Nike, bro… I need a favor," Zac said.
At a cluttered editing studio, Nike raised an eyebrow. "What now?"
"I'll send you some pictures. Make them look real. Like a couple shoot," Zac said, his lips curling into a dangerous smile.
Scrolling through his hidden gallery, Zac selected a photo of Kiara—one taken without her knowing, her smile soft and unsuspecting.
"This one's perfect," he muttered.
As the file was sent, Zac leaned back, a dark laugh slipping out. "Let's see what you do now, Kiara. This game has just started."
To be continued in Chapter Two…