Chapter 4: I See Red

The sun had begun its slow descent, painting the villa garden in muted golds and long shadows. Aliyana sat cross-legged on the chair, laptop balanced on her knees, completely absorbed. Hours passed unnoticed.

Her eyes were sharp, fingers flying across the keyboard with a focus that bordered on obsession. The soft evening breeze teased her hair, but she didn’t flinch. The world around her—the scent of jasmine, the distant chirp of birds, even the fading warmth of the sun—meant nothing.

Time slipped by, silent and unmarked, except for the occasional rustle of leaves.

Then, slowly, her lips curved.

A smirk.

Deliberate. Dangerous.

She had no idea how long she had been at it, but something, somewhere, had shifted.

Before the thought could settle, her phone buzzed sharply on the table beside her. The sudden sound pierced the calm of the evening, making her pulse skip.

Her fingers froze. Her eyes flicked down.

One message.

“Hello, wife.”

Her breath caught

It had been a week. Every single day, without fail, her phone buzzed at the same time.

"You can’t escape."

"Do you miss me?"

"Hey, wife."

Aliyana tapped the phone against her forehead, a soft, frustrated thump, and ran a hand through her hair. Her mind raced, turning over every possibility, every trap, every angle. The calm evening around her—the gold light spilling across the garden, the soft rustle of leaves—felt distant, unreal, as if she existed in a world of her own making.

Then something clicked. Her eyes narrowed, sharp and sudden. She opened her contacts, fingers poised like a weapon.

“Uncle Davis, I have something urgent to discuss,” she said, her voice low but commanding.

The conversation lasted twenty minutes. Every word measured, every pause intentional. By the time she hung up, her mind was buzzing with a dangerous clarity.

Her gaze flicked to the chat with Zayd. The messages from the past week glowed on her screen, one single line each day, like clockwork reminders of the storm he’d sent into her life.

She paused, fingers hovering above the keyboard. Her eyes closed briefly, drawing in a shaky breath. Then she opened them, unwavering.

"I want to meet you."

The words were sent.

She leaned back in the chair, her head resting against the top of it, closing her eyes. The garden around her seemed calm, but inside, a tempest raged. Her heart thudded, her mind spun. She tried to steady the storm within her chest, willing herself to breathe, to plan, to control the chaos that was now her life.

The city stretched wide beneath the glass walls, but Zayd’s reflection in the window was sharper than any skyline. Smoke curled around his face as he exhaled slowly, the cigarette glowing like a single ember in the dark. His men lingered in the corners of the room, shadows bowing to the storm they served.

Behind him, the bound man screamed again, his voice ragged, desperate. Chains rattled against the cold floor, blood dripping in thin lines from the welts already carved into his skin.

“Sir…” one of the men dared to step forward, his shirt soaked crimson. His hands trembled as he spoke. “He won’t break. We’ve— we’ve tried everything.”

Zayd didn’t move. Didn’t even blink. His eyes stayed on the reflection of his own smirk in the glass. The storm inside him was patient.

“Then you’re useless,” he said flatly. “Step aside.”

He slid his coat off with a predator’s grace. Another man darted forward to catch it, bowing his head as though handling silk spun by God. Zayd rolled his sleeves up, revealing forearms veined with fire.

A click.

The press of a button.

And the room roared to life.

“Did you really think I’d just forgive and forget, no…”

The voice from the speakers slashed through the air like a blade, sultry and vengeful. The bass rattled the floor, drums pounding like war. The song was no background—it was prophecy.

His men straightened instantly, pressing their backs against the walls. They knew this ritual. When the beast fed, no one breathed.

Zayd walked forward, his footsteps drowning the man’s pleas. Smoke trailed from his lips as his hand curled around the cutter machine, the blade humming alive, shrill and merciless. His shadow fell over the prisoner, long and jagged, splitting across the blood-stained tiles.

The man thrashed, his eyes wide with horror. “No— please, don’t! I’ll talk! I swear I’ll—”

Zayd crouched, tilting his head like a curious animal, eyes burning with unholy delight. He placed the cutter’s blade inches from the man’s cheek, close enough that the heat from its vibration kissed his skin.

“A gun to your head, head, to your head…”

The music swelled. The lyrics dripped with the same venom that gleamed in Zayd’s eyes.

“You should have begged earlier,” Zayd whispered, his voice velvet and vicious. “Now all I see…” His smirk widened as the blade spun higher. “…is red.”

The scream tore from the man’s throat the instant metal met flesh. Blood sprayed hot across Zayd’s shirt, painting it in violent strokes. He didn’t flinch. He welcomed it. His smirk deepened, teeth glinting through the haze of smoke and crimson.

“Executioner style, and there won’t be no trial…”

The song thundered while the man’s agony choked the room, his wails drowned beneath the lyrics and the growl of steel cutting through bone.

Zayd’s men didn’t dare move. They stared at the floor, fighting the urge to vomit, trembling in the face of their master’s ecstasy.

Blood seeped across the floor, warm and endless. Zayd leaned closer, cigarette still smoldering at the corner of his lips, his face splattered red, his eyes alight with rapture.

“Don’t you know that you’re better off dead…”

The music crescendoed as the screams broke, falling into silence. Only the blade hummed. Only blood dripped. Only smoke lingered in the air, mixing with the copper tang of death.

Zayd finally straightened, his chest rising slow and calm as if he’d just finished a prayer. He exhaled another ribbon of smoke and glanced at his reflection once more. His smirk stretched wider, crueler.

The glass reflected not a man.

But a beast painted red.

Then his phone buzzed.

Without hesitation, he strode toward it, cigarette dangling from his lips, smoke curling around his sharp features. He picked it up, and the glow of the screen made his smirk widen.

The message was simple. Direct. Dangerous.

He read it.

And then… he laughed.

A low, devilish laugh, echoing off the walls, sharp as broken glass.

“Aliyana… ALIYANA!” he growled, voice thick with both delight and possessive hunger.

The echo of his name reverberated around the room, mixing with the music, the smoke, the blood — a declaration, a warning, a claim.

The song pulsed through the speakers, heavy and unrelenting, its words like a predator circling its prey. Run. Hide. You’re done. Sleep with one eye open tonight. The room seemed to breathe with it, every beat of the drum matching the blood rushing in Zayd’s veins.

I see red, red, oh red… All I see is red…

The storm outside could not match the one he carried within him. Every note, every word of the song became a pulse, a heartbeat, a vow — and at its center, one name burned brighter than anything else.

Aliyana.

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