The next morning, Zoha didn't dress in fear.
She dressed in dignity.
A black blouse tucked into a cream skirt, simple gold hoops, soft makeup, and confidence that couldn't be shaken.
If Meher wanted a fight, she'd get one.
But not in the way she expected.
The office was buzzing.
Word had spread that Meher had invited several investors—and media—to the Iqbal Group event tonight.
Everyone knew Zoha wasn't on the guest list.
Everyone also knew Zafar hadn't said a word yet.
Zoha wasn't afraid of the whispers anymore.
She walked past them with her head high, carrying Ezra's favorite soft book in one hand and her ID card in the other.
She was no one's secret anymore.
At the mansion that evening, Zafar adjusted his cufflinks, but his eyes kept scanning the hallway.
"You sure you want to come?" he asked, voice gentle but uncertain.
Zoha smiled. "Yes. This isn't about Meher. This is about standing next to the man I love. Proudly."
Zafar stepped closer, brushing a hand over her cheek.
"I'm proud of you every second," he said softly.
The event was grand.
Media cameras flashed. Investors mingled. Champagne flowed.
Meher wore blood red. Her dress screamed drama. Her smile screamed danger.
When Zoha entered beside Zafar, holding his arm with grace, the room turned silent.
And then came the whispers.
"That's the girl…"
"She used to be his assistant…"
"I heard Meher's the mother of his child…"
But Zoha didn't flinch.
Not once.
She walked with elegance and a calm pride that made even the sharpest gossipers look down.
Meher approached.
Eyes blazing. Lips curved in a fake smile.
"So," she said loudly, "this is her? Your new charity project?"
Zafar opened his mouth, but Zoha beat him to it.
She smiled sweetly and said, "No. I'm the woman he chose after you left him broken."
Meher's face twitched.
Zoha took a step closer, eyes calm.
"And I may not have your money, Meher, but I have something you never will—Zafar's respect."
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Zafar reached for Zoha's hand, proud. Firm.
But Zoha wasn't done.
"Also," she said, glancing at the press, "for anyone confused—Ezra is loved. Protected. And growing up watching what real love looks like."
The crowd broke into subtle applause.
Meher stood frozen.
Defeated not by noise.
But by grace.
Later that night, on the rooftop of Zafar's mansion, Zoha stood looking up at the stars.
Zafar came behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist.
"You didn't just win that room," he whispered. "You won me all over again."
She leaned into him, her voice soft.
"I didn't do it to win. I did it because I love you. And I won't let anyone make me feel small for it."
He turned her around, eyes burning.
And kissed her like she was the only thing he'd ever protect again.