The Detective's Ruthless Husband

The shrill sound of my phone alarm dragged me out of sleep at exactly six in the morning. I groaned and reached for my phone on the nightstand. The screen lit up with a message from the station. **Crime scene. Downtown Karachi. Immediate response required.** I sat up instantly. Any trace of sleep disappeared. This was the third major case assigned to me since I joined the Criminal Investigation Department a year ago, and I wasn't about to be late. Twenty minutes later, I stepped out of a taxi and stopped in front of the Grand Meridian Hotel. Police vehicles lined the street. Yellow tape blocked the entrance. Reporters crowded the sidewalk, shoving microphones into officers' faces while cameras flashed nonstop. My stomach tightened. This was bigger than I expected. I slipped under the police tape and made my way toward the lobby. The moment I entered, the familiar scent of coffee and expensive perfume was overwhelmed by something else. Blood. The victim lay near the marble staircase. A white sheet covered most of the body. Several officers moved around collecting evidence while photographers documented every angle. "Detective Malik." I turned. Inspector Bilal Ahmed was walking toward me with a file tucked under his arm. "Morning, sir." His eyes swept over me briefly. "Glad you made it." I nodded. "What do we have?" "Male. Fifty-two years old. Wealthy businessman. Found dead around five this morning." "Murder?" "Looks like it." I crouched near the body. The victim's expensive watch was still on his wrist. His wallet hadn't been touched. Robbery wasn't the motive. Interesting. "Cause of death?" "We're waiting for confirmation, but preliminary examination suggests he was pushed from the second floor." I lifted my gaze toward the balcony above. The railing looked damaged. A section of it hung loose. The fall alone was enough to kill someone. But something felt wrong. Very wrong. I stood and headed toward the staircase. Behind me, I heard two officers talking. "She's too young for cases like this." I pretended not to hear. "Her father was a legend." "Exactly. If she wasn't Hamid Malik's daughter, she wouldn't be here." My jaw tightened. I had heard those comments for years. Ever since joining the force. To some people, I wasn't Detective Sofia Malik. I was simply Inspector Hamid Malik's daughter. Nothing more. Nothing less. I climbed the stairs and stepped onto the second-floor balcony. The damaged railing immediately caught my attention. Several investigators were already examining it. I walked closer. Then something small snagged my attention. A piece of black fabric. Tiny. Barely noticeable. Caught on the sharp edge of the broken railing. I carefully pulled on a pair of gloves and examined it. Expensive material. Definitely not from the victim's clothing. "Inspector Bilal." He looked up. "What is it?" I held up the fabric. His eyes narrowed. "Good catch." One of the senior detectives nearby glanced over. His expression shifted slightly. For the first time all morning, everybody looked at me like I didn't belong there. I placed the evidence into a bag. Then my attention moved to another item. A gold ring still attached to the victim's finger. There was a symbol engraved into it. A symbol I recognized. My pulse slowed. I had seen it before. In old case files. In reports connected to some of the most powerful people in Karachi. The Khan family. "What is it?" Bilal asked. I pointed at the ring. His expression darkened immediately. "Well," he muttered, "that complicates things." Before I could respond, a sudden commotion erupted downstairs. Voices. Movement. Then silence. An unnatural silence. Every officer around me stopped talking. Even the reporters outside seemed quieter. I exchanged a confused look with Bilal. "What happened?" He moved toward the balcony railing and looked outside. The moment he did, his face changed. Several black SUVs had just pulled up in front of the hotel. Luxury vehicles. Tinted windows. Expensive enough to attract attention. Dangerous enough to command it. The rear door of the first SUV opened. A tall man stepped out. Black suit. Dark hair. Cold expression. He didn't look around nervously like most people arriving at a murder scene. He walked as if the entire city belonged to him. Confidence radiated from every step. The officers below instinctively moved aside. Nobody ordered them to. They simply did. I frowned. "Who is that?" No one answered immediately. The man adjusted the cuff of his sleeve and continued toward the entrance. The atmosphere around him felt different. Heavy. Intimidating. Powerful. I looked at Bilal. "Who is he?" His gaze remained fixed on the man. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than usual. "That's Zayan Khan."