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Chapter: Shattered Silence (Extended Version)
The black luxury car came to a stop before the grand gates of the Zyphrose estate. Iron gates taller than most trees groaned open slowly, revealing the mansion ahead — a place that once felt like home but now looked more like a palace of shadows.
Marble as pale as moonlight and stone as dark as obsidian clashed together in perfect elegance, forming a mansion both beautiful and cold. Each corner screamed wealth. Every inch was perfect — but sterile.
Rayyan stepped out, his leather shoes tapping against patterned marble that stretched endlessly. The courtyard was pristine, trimmed hedges standing like soldiers. The fountain in the center still trickled soft water — the only sound other than the painful echo of his footsteps.
A place too perfect for a man who felt broken beyond repair.
As the grand mahogany doors opened, warm lights spilled out. Yet it felt like a spotlight on a stage where he no longer knew his role.
Three maids came forward, their heads bowed in rehearsed submission.
"Sir, Madam... Rayyan aur is here," one of them said, her voice cutting through the silence.
He stepped in, but the warmth inside felt suffocating — like a heat that choked, rather than comforted.
The living room burst in splendor. The chandelier above — a grand, golden structure shaped like falling stars — glittered like frozen tears caught mid-air. The marble beneath reflected every sparkle. Perfection. Untouched. Unfelt.
Margaret rushed from the hallway, her pale lavender dress flowing like a sigh.
"Finally, you're home!" she beamed, arms flinging around him like he was the sun she'd waited years to see.
Rayyan returned the hug, stiffly. His arms didn't lift much. His soul didn't either.
"You vanished again, as always," she whispered, pulling back, trying to smile.
Robert Zyphrose entered with thunder in his eyes, the storm of pride and anger always on standby. "And here I thought I had one son who wouldn't act like a goddamn fugitive. Where the hell have you been?"
"Robert, enough!" Halay Zyphrose snapped, stepping in gracefully.
Her voice calmed storms, but not the one inside Rayyan.
"You look tired... Something happened?" she asked gently, brushing a hand along his cheek.
Rayyan forced a curve of lips — a mockery of a smile. "Nothing. Just tired. I'll... go rest."
He turned before they could ask more. He didn't want to lie. But the truth felt like knives in his throat.
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He pushed open the door to his room. It clicked shut behind him, louder than it should have.
The room looked the same. But something had died inside it.
The black king-sized bed lay untouched, its silk sheets crisp like a stage set for a play that would never be performed again. The black velvet curtains, pulled shut, swallowed all light — and yet, the darkness inside him still outmatched it.
He stood there for a moment, breathing. Just breathing. Trying not to collapse.
Then he walked to the bed, his knees giving out as he sank onto the edge.
The tears didn't fall at once.
They gathered.
Gathered like rain behind heavy clouds — threatening, burning, trembling — until one drop escaped. Then another. Then they flooded.
He clutched the edge of the mattress, fists tight, body shaking.
Memories attacked him like ghosts.
Dee's laughter in this very room as she chased him around with whipped cream on her fingers.
Her messy ponytail as she flipped through his books, challenging every quote she didn't agree with.
The night she fell asleep on his chest, whispering, "I feel safest here."
Her dancing in his hoodie.
Their stupid arguments over popcorn flavors.
The way her nose scrunched when she got annoyed.
Her eyes. God — those eyes.
"Why did you leave me like this..." he whispered to the silence. "Why did it have to end this way?"
A soft knock came.
He didn't move.
Then the door creaked open.
"Ray...?"
Margaret's voice broke the dam even more.
She stepped in, saw the tears, and froze. Then she came forward slowly, her eyes wide with quiet pain.
Rayyan didn't look away. He didn't hide it.
He was tired of hiding pain behind sarcasm. Tired of acting fine.
He was a man broken. And he let her see.
Margaret knelt in front of him, wrapping her fingers gently around his trembling hands.
"I won't ask what happened if you don't want to tell me. But I'm here. Always. If you want to scream or break or burn... I'm here."
He stared at her for a moment — then broke completely.
His arms wrapped around her like he was drowning and she was the last thing keeping him from sinking. His sobs were quiet at first — then they wrecked his chest, tore through him like thunder.
"It's Dee..." he gasped out.
Margaret's hand stroked his back. "What about her...?"
He pulled back, his voice nothing but a whisper and a thousand screams hidden inside it.
"She pulled a gun on me. She asked if I was part of what happened to the King. She... she looked at me like I was a monster. Like I meant nothing."
"Rayyan..." she whispered.
"And now she's gone. She won't see me. She won't even let me explain. She thinks I used her. Betrayed her. And I didn't even get to say goodbye."
He turned his face, eyes hollow.
"I don't care that she lied. I don't care if she hid things. Even if she used me... I would've let her. I would've let her rip me apart — just to be by her side."
His voice cracked.
"But now... now she hates me. And I'll never see her again. That's what kills me. Not the betrayal. Not the lies. But knowing she'll never look at me the same way again."
Margaret's eyes filled with tears. She had never seen him like this — not even after the deaths, the wars, the blood on his hands.
He was undone.
"Rayyan... she shouldn't have hurt you like this. I'm so sorry she broke your trust. That she turned your love into ashes."
But Rayyan just stared ahead.
"It wasn't ashes. I would've lived in the fire. But now she's gone. And this room feels like a tomb."
Margaret hugged him tighter, her own tears falling into his shoulder. "You're not alone. You're not."
But he didn't believe that.
Because once, Dee made him feel alive.
And now, all he could feel — was her absence.
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