Laboni's heart was still pounding violently. In one hand was Henry's phone, in the other a sharp shard of glass—revenge had almost completely consumed her. But at that very moment, her eyes fell upon Sara's wide, innocent gaze. There was fear in those eyes, confusion, and a strange, unfamiliar terror.
In an instant, Laboni understood—what she was about to do would forever shatter her child's childhood. At such a tender age, seeing her father's blood spilled by her mother's hands, or becoming a part of this dark conspiracy, would scar Sara for life. Maternal love rose above vengeance.
Laboni deleted the message from the phone and slipped it back into her bag. She walked slowly toward Sara and held her firmly by both shoulders.
Laboni (calm but resolute):
"Sara, listen to me carefully. Take your little sister and go to your room immediately. Don't say anything, don't look at anything. Go lie down on your bed and fall into a deep sleep. When you wake up tomorrow morning, everything will be fine. Go now, my child. Don't delay."
Sara looked startled, but she understood the signal in her mother's eyes. Carefully, she took her sleeping little sister from Laboni's arms and held her close to her chest. She glanced once at her sleeping father, then back at her mother, nodded silently, and left the room.
Sara locked her door from the inside. Standing outside, Laboni heard the sound of Sara lying down on the bed. After a while, everything went quiet.
Laboni returned to Henry's room. He was still in a deep, drunken sleep. She threw the broken glass shard out through the window. She realized—there would be no bloodshed tonight. Intelligence, not violence, was the only way out of this hell. She gently pulled a sheet over Henry's bare body—not out of love, but to maintain the illusion of normalcy until morning.
Laboni sat at the edge of the bed and decided to stay awake for the rest of the night. Inside her bag were Henry's secret keys and some crucial documents. Now, she was only waiting for dawn.
In the deep silence of the night, Laboni was lost in thought, planning her next move. Then, something unexpected happened.
Henry, still unconscious from alcohol, suddenly murmured something and, in his sleep, tightly wrapped his arms around Laboni.
His hot body pressed against her cold one. One arm circled her waist, his face buried near her neck. In intoxication, the subconscious often reveals its true desires—and Henry was doing just that. There was no demonic cruelty in this embrace, only a strange loneliness and a fear of loss.
Henry (murmuring in his sleep):
"Don't go, Laboni… don't leave me. I'll destroy everything… but I can't lose you…"
Laboni froze like stone. Every hair on her body stood on end in disgust. The same hands that had bruised her moments ago were now holding her as if she were the most precious thing in the world. She wanted to push him away—but restrained herself. Waking him now would only invite his savage violence again.
She lay still. A single tear slipped from her eye and fell onto Henry's hand.
She thought bitterly,
"This man's love is poison. He doesn't know how to love—nor how to let go."
Henry pulled her even closer, as if guarding a priceless possession. The keys in Laboni's bag and Henry's phone were pressed beneath the bedsheet against her body. Every breath he took pierced her like an arrow.
Outside, the storm had subsided—but the storm inside Laboni had no end in sight. She wondered if she would ever find a way out of this man's grasp.
Several days passed. After that horrific night, a heavy, oppressive silence hung over the house. Laboni had composed herself—at least on the surface. Henry's surveillance had grown even tighter.
One afternoon, Laboni walked in the backyard garden to calm her mind. The blue sky and open air reminded her repeatedly of Rehan. But she wasn't alone—just a few steps behind her stood a trusted maid, who was actually Henry's spy. Escape seemed impossible; her every move was being watched.
Inside the drawing room, Henry stood by the window, staring at Laboni. A glass of wine in his hand. Since that night, an unrest had taken hold of him. He knew Laboni had not forgiven him—and never would. The thought gnawed at him relentlessly.
He uncorked another bottle of wine. Watching Laboni in the garden, he felt as though he had imprisoned an ethereal beauty—yet could never possess her heart. Rage and frustration surged through him as he filled his glass and drained it in one gulp.
As intoxication set in, the savage look returned to his eyes. He saw Laboni standing beside a rose bush. Glass in hand, Henry stepped out onto the balcony.
Henry (shouting drunkenly):
"Laboni! Come inside! You've been out long enough. Maid—bring her in, now!"
The maid hurried over and grabbed Laboni's hand. For a brief moment, Laboni looked up at the sky, as if taking her last breath of freedom. Then she walked slowly back into the house.
Henry staggered toward her. The sharp smell of alcohol filled the air. He grabbed her chin and forced her face toward his.
Henry:
"Who were you waiting for outside? That crippled brother of yours? Or do you think someone else is coming to rescue you?"
Laboni remained silent. She knew speaking now meant danger. But Henry grew more stubborn. He threw the glass aside and pulled her toward him.
Henry:
"The more you try to run away, the tighter I'll pull you back. Tonight will be even longer than the last."
That was it.
The humiliation and hatred that had built up for days erupted like a volcano. As Henry clutched her chin and threatened her, Laboni gathered all her strength and slapped him hard across the face.
The sound echoed across the balcony. Everything froze.
Henry stood stunned, holding his cheek. He never imagined this captive woman would dare raise her hand against him.
Without waiting another second, Laboni glared at him with hatred and rushed back toward the garden. She could no longer tolerate his toxic presence.
The maids watching from a distance began whispering and suppressing their laughter. They had always feared Henry's power—seeing him slapped by a woman filled them with a twisted satisfaction.
Henry's ears burned. Drunkenness and humiliation fused into something far more dangerous.
Henry (roaring):
"What are you laughing at, you demons? I'll rip your eyes out! Get out of my sight!"
The maids scattered in terror. Henry glared toward the garden, his cheek blazing red.
Henry (through clenched teeth):
"Laboni… you'll pay dearly for that slap. You humiliated me in front of everyone."
He reached for the bottle again—fueling his rage with alcohol.
When Henry noticed that the maids were still nearby, some sneaking glances and stifling laughter, the beast inside him fully awakened. Laboni's slap hurt his ego far more than his face.
He smashed the wine bottle onto the floor. Glass shattered, red wine spilled everywhere like pools of blood.
Henry (howling):
"How dare you laugh at me in my own house?!"
He lunged forward, grabbing the chief maid by her hair. She screamed.
Henry:
"Tell me! Who was laughing? I'll whip every one of you! Do you think Laboni will save you? She's nothing but my slave!"
He grabbed a decorative wooden stick and began striking—backs, spines, anywhere he could reach. The balcony filled with screams and sobs.
Henry:
"Nothing moves in this house without my command! From today, no food for any of you! Kneel here all night—move even an inch, and you die!"
Hearing the screams, Laboni stopped in the garden. She realized her slap had turned into a curse for these innocent girls. Guilt consumed her.
Henry laughed madly and shouted toward her:
Henry:
"See, Laboni? Every ounce of your defiance turns this house into hell. Hurt me—and I'll make them bleed. Will you stop me now?"
Laboni could not remain still.
She ran back, standing boldly in front of Henry. As he raised the stick again, she grabbed him and shielded the maids behind her.
Her eyes burned with fury.
Laboni (razor-sharp voice):
"Don't you dare, Henry. Touch them again, and remember—I'm a doctor. I know exactly where to strike to cripple a man for life. Try again, and I'll cut off your hand."
She slapped him again—hard.
Henry froze. Two slaps. The drunken haze and humiliation left him speechless. The maids clutched Laboni's sari in terror, stunned by their new protector.
Henry (seething):
"You… you dared raise your hand at me—for these worthless servants?"
Laboni:
"They are not worthless. They are human beings. Unlike you. Leave now—or I won't hesitate to permanently injure you."
Henry threw the stick aside and staggered toward the drawing room, laughing like a madman.
Henry:
"I'll make you pay for this, Laboni. Very soon, you'll understand who you messed with."
As Laboni tended to the maids' wounds, she knew—the drums of war had begun. Henry would now weave a far more dangerous conspiracy.
Though the maids survived because of Laboni's courage, their fear remained. The youngest maid—a mere teenager—broke down crying and clung to Laboni.
Young maid (sobbing):
"Sister, why did you hit him? He'll kill us all. That man has no mercy!"
Laboni held her tightly, her own eyes filling with tears.
Laboni (softly):
"Don't cry, my child. As long as I'm here, no one will touch you. Fear only feeds beasts like him. Go inside, tend to your wounds."
From the window, Henry watched. Laboni's motherhood and leadership stirred a deep inferiority within him.
"Everyone loves her… respects her. And me? I rule only through fear," he muttered.
Then he saw Sara watching from the doorway—hatred in her eyes too.
That was when Henry decided: to punish Laboni, he would destroy Rehan.
But Henry didn't know—Rehan was already beyond his reach.
Months ago, Rehan had secretly left the country. He was now safe, married, living a peaceful life. His heart still ached for Laboni—but it was she who had told him to run.
Henry called his man, Jack.
Henry:
"Bring Rehan to me tonight. I'll gift Laboni her brother's blood."
Jack (hesitant):
"Sir… Rehan is gone. The house is locked. We can't trace him."
Henry screamed in rage, unaware that the chain he once used to threaten Laboni had already been broken.
In the garden, Laboni wiped the young maid's tears. Hearing Henry's screams, she smiled faintly.
She knew—Henry was losing control.
And that meant…
he had no winning card left.