The first time she threw the flowers out of her window, he smiled.
The hundredth time, he still smiled.
Because loving Ajar Sial was never about being loved back.
It was about surviving her hatred.
Morning arrived quietly over the hills, painting the sky in pale gold. The Maheel estate stood tall and distant from the city, surrounded by silence and guarded gates. It looked peaceful from the outside.
Inside, it was anything but.
Basil Maheel stood in the garden below the east wing balcony, a bouquet of red roses resting in his hands. He had cut them himself at dawn. He always did.
He preferred choosing them himself.
Perfect ones.
Unbroken ones.
The kind that lasted long enough to be thrown away.
He walked toward the servant waiting near the entrance.
"Place them in her room," he said calmly.
The servant hesitated. "Sir… she—"
"I know," Basil replied gently.
The servant nodded and disappeared inside.
Basil didn't follow.
He never entered her room without permission.
Even if she was legally his wife.
Even if the world called her Mrs. Maheel.
Upstairs, Ajar Sial stirred awake.
For a brief moment, she didn't remember where she was. The soft sheets, the quiet room, the heavy curtains blocking the light.
Then the scent reached her.
Roses.
Her eyes snapped open.
Her expression turned cold instantly.
"Again," she muttered.
She sat up slowly, her long dark hair falling around her shoulders. The air felt suffocating.
Her gaze moved to the small table beside her bed.
A crystal vase.
Red roses.
Fresh drops of water still clinging to the petals.
Her fingers tightened around the blanket.
"He never stops."
She swung her legs off the bed and stood. The marble floor felt cold beneath her feet, but not as cold as the anger inside her chest.
She walked toward the vase.
For a second, she simply stared at the flowers.
They were beautiful.
Painfully beautiful.
She used to love roses once.
Before cliffs.
Before screams.
Before blood.
Her jaw hardened.
She grabbed the vase and marched toward the balcony window. She pushed it open, the morning breeze rushing inside.
Without hesitation—
She threw it.
The vase crashed against the stone pathway below.
Glass shattered.
Water spilled.
Petals scattered like drops of red across the ground.
Basil didn't move.
A shard of glass slid near his shoe.
He slowly looked up.
Their eyes met.
Her gaze burned with open hatred.
His remained steady.
"You enjoy humiliating yourself?" she called down, her voice sharp.
"I enjoy knowing you're awake," he answered calmly.
Her lips curled in disgust.
"You look ridiculous."
"That's alright."
"In front of the staff? In front of the guards? Does your pride mean nothing?"
He tilted his head slightly. "Not when it comes to you."
She laughed bitterly.
"Don't act like this is romantic."
"I'm not."
"Then what is it?"
"Routine."
She blinked.
"Routine?"
"Yes."
"Throwing away flowers?"
"Bringing them."
She shook her head in disbelief.
"You're insane."
"Possibly."
Her hands gripped the balcony railing.
"Stop this childish behavior."
"I will," he said.
"Good."
"When you stop hating me."
Her breath caught.
"That will never happen."
"I know."
Silence stretched between them.
The wind moved her hair across her face. She didn't brush it away.
"Why are you still pretending?" she demanded.
"About what?"
"That you didn't kill him."
The words dropped heavily.
Basil's shoulders stiffened slightly.
"I didn't."
"You were there."
"Yes."
"You were the last person with my brother."
"Yes."
"And he fell."
"Yes."
"And you survived."
He didn't answer immediately.
"Yes."
"That is enough."
He lowered his gaze briefly, then looked back at her.
"It was an accident."
"You expect me to believe that?" she snapped.
"I expect nothing from you."
Her anger sharpened.
"I saw you."
"You saw me reaching for him."
"I saw him fall!"
"I saw him slip."
"You pushed him!"
The accusation echoed against the estate walls.
For a moment, Basil closed his eyes.
"I would rather push myself off that cliff than harm him," he said quietly.
"Liar!"
Her voice cracked now—not weak, but wounded.
The memory burned inside her mind.
That day.
The mountain air had been cold.
Her brother laughing.
Basil walking beside him.
A sudden argument.
A misstep.
A scream.
She had arrived too late.
All she saw was her brother falling.
And Basil standing too close.
Too close.
"I heard him shout," she whispered. "I heard him call your name."
"He called my name because I was trying to grab him."
"You failed."
"Yes."
The word came out like a confession.
"And you lived," she added.
His jaw tightened.
"Yes."
She leaned forward slightly.
"One day, I will destroy you."
"If that gives you peace, I will not stop you."
"You think this is noble?"
"No."
"Then what?"
"Deserved."
Her chest tightened.
"You deserve prison."
"Perhaps."
"You deserve to suffer."
"I already do."
She froze.
His tone wasn't defensive.
It wasn't angry.
It was honest.
She hated that.
"You think guilt makes you innocent?"
"No."
"Then what are you trying to prove with these flowers?"
He looked down at the scattered petals around his feet.
"They remind me that something beautiful can exist near me."
Her brows furrowed.
"You're pathetic."
"Only with you."
"Don't call me your wife."
"You are."
"I was sold."
His eyes darkened slightly.
"You were protected."
"I was traded."
"You were secured."
"Stop twisting words!"
He inhaled slowly.
"I didn't ask for the marriage."
"You didn't refuse it either."
He had no answer for that.
Her voice lowered.
"My father died believing you would protect me."
"I have."
"From what? Happiness?"
"From worse."
She laughed hollowly.
"You are the worst thing that happened to me."
He absorbed the words silently.
"You took my brother."
"I lost him too."
"You lost nothing!"
He looked up sharply.
"I lost everything that day."
Her breath trembled.
"Don't compare your pain to mine."
"I'm not."
"Then stop acting like a victim."
"I'm not a victim," he said quietly. "I'm the one who survived."
The weight of that sentence lingered.
She didn't understand why it unsettled her.
"If you're innocent," she challenged suddenly, "why was the case closed so quickly?"
His expression shifted—barely.
"It was ruled an accident."
"By whose order?"
"The court."
"Your court."
"My name wasn't that powerful then."
"But it is now."
He didn't deny it.
"So reopen it," she said.
His eyes met hers.
"I will."
She blinked.
"What?"
"I will reopen the case."
Her heart skipped unexpectedly.
"You're bluffing."
"I'm not."
"Why would you?"
"Because if I'm guilty, you deserve the truth."
"And if you're not?"
"Then someone else is."
The idea disturbed her.
A third possibility.
A shadow she never considered.
She crushed it immediately.
"You're trying to confuse me."
"I'm trying to give you what you want."
"I want justice."
"You'll have it."
She stepped back from the railing.
"And if justice proves you innocent?"
He was quiet for a long moment.
"Then you will have to find another reason to hate me."
The words stung more than they should have.
"You think I need a reason?"
"No," he said softly. "I think you need someone to blame."
Her breath hitched.
"Leave."
"I will."
"And stop bringing flowers."
"I can't."
"Why?"
"Because even if you throw them away, for a moment they're in your hands."
Her fingers trembled slightly.
"You're obsessed."
"No."
"Then what is this?"
He held her gaze steadily.
"Love."
The word felt dangerous.
She wanted to laugh.
She wanted to scream.
Instead, she whispered, "Don't you dare."
"I never asked you to love me back."
"I never will."
"That's alright."
"It's not alright!"
"For me, it is."
Her anger rose again.
"You think suffering makes you admirable?"
"No."
"Then what do you want from me?"
He answered without hesitation.
"Nothing."
She stared at him.
"Nothing?"
"I don't want forgiveness. I don't want affection. I don't want understanding."
"Then why stay?"
"Because leaving would mean losing you completely."
"You never had me."
He nodded once.
"I know."
Silence fell between them again.
Birds moved across the sky.
Guards stood far enough not to hear.
It was always like this.
Private war.
Public peace.
"You're everywhere," she said finally. "Even when you're silent."
"I try not to be."
"You fail."
"Yes."
Her voice lowered.
"If I find proof—real proof—that you killed him… I won't hesitate."
"I expect nothing less."
"And if I ruin you?"
"I won't resist."
She stared at him, searching for weakness.
She found none.
That frightened her more than anger would have.
He bent down and picked up one unbroken rose from the ground.
He placed it carefully on the stone bench nearby.
"For tomorrow," he said quietly.
"There won't be a tomorrow like this," she replied coldly.
"There always is."
She stepped back into her room.
"Stay away from me, Basil."
"I always do."
"That's a lie."
"Yes," he admitted softly.
She closed the window hard.
The sound echoed.
Basil remained standing in the garden for a long time.
Looking at the closed balcony.
Looking at the broken glass.
Looking at the scattered petals.
Loving her quietly.
Above him, Ajar leaned against the wall beside the window, her breathing uneven.
She pressed her hand against her chest.
Why did his words disturb her?
Why did doubt feel like betrayal?
No.
She wouldn't weaken.
He was her brother's killer.
And one day—
She would make him pay.
But neither of them knew…
That the truth buried fifteen years ago was beginning to shift.
And when it surfaced—
It would burn them both.