Misunderstood Villain: Heroines Mourn My Death

Chapter 414: Thousand Misunderstandings

***

{Inside The Projection}

Malik stood before his bed, seemingly frozen.

Though it wasn’t the bed that made him pause, it was the person sitting on it.

On the dark velvet sheets, framed by the dim glow of the oil lamps, sat Layla.

The new addition to his life, the new title.

The new… responsibility.

She didn’t move when he stepped inside. She too was still, perched at the edge, hands folded neatly in her lap, posture far too composed for someone in a bedroom that wasn’t her own.

Her dress was simpler now, one sheet of white fabric falling down to her ankles.

Her hair was tied back, and yet a few strands had escaped, swaying faintly when the night breeze slipped through the open balcony doors.

Layla stared at him.

And surprisingly, it wasn’t in open hatred or any modicum of warmth; she stared as if she were still trying to decide whether to go ahead with this or not.

…They hadn’t talked.

Two sentences. That was all they’d exchanged since they first met.

Not a word more, even during the rest of the ceremony, where they stood side by side for hours.

Because really—what was there to say?

Hey, sorry I killed your father.

Ah, no, it’s fine. I’m over it.

Yes, that would go well.

Your men, too, didn’t know they were there.

Hey, it’s really fine; I was going to replace them anyway.

Really?

Of course, I don’t even care why you did it.

Thanks for being understanding.

Don’t worry about it; go burn the world.

He could try explaining why it happened.

The real reason, the truth… his truth, which once gnawed at his soul until nothing of it remained. But, again, he could already picture the look she’d give him, the disbelief, the disgust. And after the week they’d had—the melting town, her people falling alongside them—yeah, she’d believe him for sure.

Besides, it wasn’t exactly the sort of conversation that would create a… mood.

And ’mood’ was exactly what this setting was meant for.

They’d been wed.

Normally—at least in the stories—this was the part where the husband and wife found themselves unable to keep their hands off each other, swept away in passion or joy or even nervous excitement. But here?

These two might as well have been on opposite sides of a battlefield once more.

Even though there was only a bed between them, the gap felt like miles, as wide as Al-Fawra was deep.

So they stared.

She wasn’t speaking.

He wasn’t speaking.

And, unfortunately for the both of them, Malik… Malik wasn’t the type to fill silence for the sake of it. Once, many unfathomable lifetimes ago, it was a different matter, but no longer; emotions were something he’d lost, leaving many voids that could never be filled, making it so that, despite his intelligence, he’d never be good at emotional things and reading the softer parts of people.

His mind was too fractured now, too sharp at the edges, and he’d learned long ago that sometimes the best way to avoid making a wound worse was to leave it untouched.

So he stayed quiet.

Layla, given center stage, eventually shifted, her eyes lowering for the first time, realizing that if Malik took the lead, they’d stay here forever.

That new look of hers wasn’t shyness, not quite; it was more like she’d decided she would be the one to end this… stalemate, no matter how.

“Be gentle…”

When she finally spoke, saying something neither of them expected, her voice was surprisingly steady, but not all of her, as her fingers tightened around each other.

“It’s my first time.”

…Oh.

For a very long moment, Malik blinked at her, unable to process what she had just said.

She had said it without looking him in the eye, without softening the steel in her posture; there wasn’t one lick of romantic lilt to it, or even a coy smile. It was just the words themselves, dropped into the room like a stone into incredibly still water.

It seemed—even if she hated him—she still intended to fulfill her role…

To fulfill her obligations as a wife.

And Malik, in his broken, straightforward way, took it at face value.

There was no deeper reading, no attempt to unravel whether she meant it out of duty, defiance, or some strange, weary kindness.

If she wanted this… then fine.

“Alright.”

And that was it.

Clean and efficient agreement.

Neither of them knew it then, but that was how the first of a thousand misunderstandings began.

***

{Outside The Projection}

{No such scenes will be shown.}

The projection paused before anyone could see more, sparing Layla the humiliation and Malik the admiration. Whatever passed between them in that room—whether clumsy or… graceful—would remain theirs alone.

Layla couldn’t thank the projection enough, saving her from going ballistic…

Still, the taste of it lingered in the air, an awkward, almost tender quiet that spoke louder than anything they could have said… This, before the hall, was a start, though one with splintered edges—a bond beyond frayed before it could knot, it still was beautiful.

Even sweet in parts, but only because both could not bear to hurt the other.

A very fractured relationship.

One filled with both love and hate, though one-sided.

Yet not one called it out as so, too wounded to say it aloud.

What they had just watched was too private. Where everything remained unspoken between them. Something too strangely fragile, a scene that was both cute in its clashing innocence and sad in the truth behind it.

So rather than quickly speaking up, the hall’s reaction came delayed and in waves.

First was Huda’s, her laugh mindlessly slipping out, her eyes becoming soft as if she’d been waiting years to see this, her big brother being tied to someone who might anchor him, even if only a little.

Azeem, leaning back, gave a slow nod to his Lord, caring not for the awkwardness and focusing on the fact that Malik had finally done the deed. Dunya was much the same; her grin was all teeth, thrilled to see something so uncharacteristically human in Malik. Sinbad, though, still shielding her with his fluff, simply ruffled his feathers in what could almost pass for amusement.

The scene had them all look at the projection with something of a smile.

It was bittersweet, but hey, that was many Al-Fawras better than their usual tragedy.

…Not for all, however. If Safira were here, she’d have gone insane with jealousy, demanding to know every unspoken thing, lashing out at them all, but thankfully for Layla and the rest of the hall, she was too busy fighting her way down Al-Fawra right about now.

Layla chuckled at that, though, her smile widening further.

It was equal parts nostalgia and pain. Again, what she felt back then wasn’t love, but it had been something, and in a life like hers, ’something’ was rare enough to hold on to.

Indifference wasn’t something she could bear to handle.

Only her once husband could, and one could only look…

One could only see what it had done to him.