Forced to Marry my Enemy

Episode 5: Alina is dead

Alina never drank.

Until tonight.

Heny’s dorm smelled like cheap vodka and worse decisions. “For Ria,” Heny toasted, pouring another shot. “May her uterus rest in peace.”

Alina downed it. Then another. The photo X sent wouldn’t leave her head — Zain’s jacket over Ria in that car. Girlfriend. Hospital. _You are mine_, he’d said, then left with Sarah.

Liars deserved liquid courage.

Three shots in, the room spun. Four shots, and Heny’s face doubled. “I’m gonna dance,” Alina declared, standing too fast. The floor tilted.

“You sure?” Heny caught her elbow. “You’ve never—”

“I’m _fine_,” Alina slurred. She wasn’t. But drunk was better than heartbroken.

She didn’t see the black Car outside. Didn’t notice the men watching from the parking lot. Didn’t hear Heny whisper, “Who called them?”

She did hear the music cut. Heard the door slam open.

Three men. Masks. Guns.

“Zain Zaden’s w***e,” the first one laughed. “Boss says hi.”

Alina’s stomach dropped. Sober, instantly. _Rival mafia._ The ones after her father’s research. The ones Zain had shot 3 months ago.

Heny screamed.

The man lunged for Alina. She stumbled back, vodka making her legs useless. His hand closed around her wrist—

_Bang._

The man’s head snapped back. Blood on Zara’s wall.

_Bang._

Second man dropped, gun still raised.

Zain stood in the doorway. Smoke curling from his pistol. Black shirt, sleeves rolled, scar glowing white under the dorm lights. His eyes found Alina. Murder. Panic. Something else.

“Three,” he said, voice deathly calm.

The third man bolted. Zain didn’t chase. He crossed the room in two strides, gun still hot, and hauled Alina against his chest.

“You,” he breathed into her hair. “Are so _stupid_.”

His heart was hammering. Or hers was. She couldn’t tell.

“They—they came for me,” she whispered, fingers fisting his shirt.

“I know.” He put back the gun, then carried her in his arms. "Clean this.”

He carried her out like she weighed nothing. Past the blood. Past the screaming. Into the rain.

The car was running. He dumped her in the passenger seat, buckled her in, and drove.

Alina’s head lolled. The adrenaline crash hit. So did the vodka. “Zain,” she mumbled. “Am I dying?”

“No.” His knuckles were white on the wheel. “But I might kill you myself.”

The mansion gates opened. He carried Alina inside, kicked his bedroom door open, and dropped her on the bed.

She sat up too fast. The room spun. “Your shirt,” she giggled, pointing. “So expensive.”

“Alina—”

She threw up on his shirt.

Silence.

Then a sound she’d never heard — Zain laughing. Low. Broken. Real.

He grabbed a towel, wiped her mouth, then his ruined shirt. “That’s a ten thousand dollar.”

“Worth it,” she mumbled, collapsing.

He pulled the blanket over her. Sat on the floor beside the bed. Gun on the nightstand. Guarding.

Last thing she heard before passing out:

“If they touch you again, I’ll burn this city down.”

His voice shook.

For the first time, Alina believed him.