Misunderstood Villain: Heroines Mourn My Death

"..."

Malik's lips parted, but no words came.

"Where is he?"

Layla demanded, pushing herself up.

Her body ached, her head was spinning, but none of it mattered.

"Malik—where is my father?!"

His hands clenched at his sides.

"Layla, just listen—"

"Where is he?!"

A voice outside murmured something. Then another. Then another.

Whispers. Rumors. A trickle turning into a flood.

And finally, someone spoke:

"He's dead."

The world cracked.

Layla's breath caught in her throat.

"What…?"

"He killed him."

Another voice hissed.

"Ali Baba killed hundreds of them bastards and then Malik—he—he—"

"No."

Malik shook his head, taking a step toward her.

"That's not what happened. Just let me—"

She stumbled back.

"You—?"

A crowd was forming just behind Malik in the medic hall, muttering, glaring, whispering amongst themselves. Their eyes' weight pressed against her chest like a boulder.

"After Malik ran away with the body, the villagers found it in a coffin."

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Someone spat.

"He had him wrapped before we could even see him for the final time."

"Right, we can't see him anymore... at least not without disrespecting him."

"Malik took that chance away from us."

"The bastard killed him to take credit for the victory!"

"No way! He just lost control! Maybe he went mad and—"

"STOP!"

Layla shouted, silencing them all.

Her head snapped toward Malik, her breathing ragged.

"Tell me they're lying. Tell me what I saw was wrong. Tell me my father didn't die by your hands."

"I…"

Malik's throat tightened.

"Layla, it's not like that."

"Then how is it?!"

She screamed.

"How is it, Malik?! Because all I know is that I saw you stab my father before I blacked out! And you—you're standing here acting like you want me to understand something when you won't even tell me the truth!"

His jaw clenched.

"Because you won't listen!"

"Then MAKE ME LISTEN!"

"..."

"..."

"..."

Silence.

A heavy, suffocating silence.

Malik exhaled shakily, dragging a hand down his face.

"Layla. Please. Just… let's go somewhere else. Away from them. I'll tell you everything. I swear."

"Oh, so you can control the narrative?"

A man from the back sneered.

"How convenient."

"Bastard, that's not—"

"I SAID SHUT UP!"

Layla's voice cracked as she glared at them, her fury turning wild, feral.

"Every single one of you—SHUT UP!"

They went still.

Layla turned back to Malik, hands trembling.

"Just tell me. Here. Now."

He opened his mouth. Then hesitated.

The words, the truth, it was all there—burning behind his teeth, waiting to spill out.

But he knew what would happen.

If he said it now, if he told her in front of them—he'd be condemning her.

Giving them an excuse to turn on her, to blame her for their leader's... Ali Baba's death.

They were already looking for a villain, a reason to be angry, to grieve.

Malik wanted to be that villain... that reason.

So he stayed quiet.

And that silence…

It was the final nail in the coffin.

Layla exhaled, shaky, uneven, broken and wobbled past him, past the crowd, past everything.

Malik didn't stop her... his decision had already been made.

"...M-Ma..."

She hesitated.

Just for a moment.

But the hands of those around her pulled her away, whispering in hushed voices.

He didn't hear those voices, didn't want to; his back was facing them and so was his mind.

That was it.

A fucking tragedy.

If only he'd spoken faster. If only he'd found the right words before she walked away. If only she'd given him one more second—just one—to explain. To tell her the truth before the world twisted it into something ugly.

But the world didn't work on 'if onlys.'

It was done.

The chance was gone.

And now?

Now, he was a coward.

A Goddamn coward who let the moment slip through his fingers.

And she…

She was gone.

***

{Outside The Projection}

Those in the hall had yet to talk.

Not because they had nothing to say—no, that wasn't it.

The thoughts were there, burning behind their eyes, twisting through their minds like smoke from a dying fire. But no one wanted to be the first to speak.

Because now they saw it.

Plain as day.

Malik could've lied.

He could've said that it was an accident.

He could've blamed it on the bandits, on some hidden enemy, on the will of God.

Hell, he could've done what any other man would've done in his place—spun a story, shifted the weight, buried the truth so deep it would've taken a lifetime to dig it back up.

And yet he didn't.

Not because he was some noble, righteous soul.

Not because he wanted to be honest.

No.

Malik was neither of those things.

It was because deep down, in that hollowed-out, broken thing he called a heart, he wanted to take the blame.

If Ali Baba wasn't going to punish him, then Layla would do it for him.

If she wanted to hate him, fine. If she wanted to see him as a monster, good. If she wanted to rip him apart with her words, her hands, her grief—then let her. Even better.

Because grieving through her rage was easier than doing it alone.

And they saw it.

They saw how twisted that was.

How human it was.

And that made it worse.

Their Sultan wasn't just a kind devil cloaked in flames.

He was human too.

"Haaaaaaa..."

Someone finally exhaled.

A breath cut with disbelief, maybe a little pity.

"Tch… bullshit."

That word broke the dam.

"He could've said anything. Could've made it easier for her. But no, of course not."

"That's what you're worried about?"

Someone else muttered, shaking their head.

"He's practically using her anger to—what? Make it easier for him to live with himself?"

Another snorted.

"You think he even realizes that?"

"Oh, he realizes it."

A pause. Then, from somewhere in the back—

"…Does she?"

That shut them up for a second.

Because that was the real question, wasn't it?

Layla had walked away. Had let them pull her out of the hall, out of his reach, out of the moment where maybe—just maybe—things could've gone differently.

Did she know?

Does she know?

Does she now realize what that silence had really meant?

No one knew, for she hadn't said a word since her world broke.