Misunderstood Villain Heroines Mourn My Death Chapter 430

[ … words ]

***

{Outside The Projection}

…What?

The hall couldn’t understand.

The world couldn’t understand.

And Layla… Layla least of all.

Pregnant? She had gotten pregnant?

The words hung obvious in their minds, unwilling to leave.

Heads turned toward the once pregnant lady in unison with a kind of stunned searching, as though if they stared long enough, the truth would slip from her lips.

Since when?

Since when had she been pregnant?

Was this some secret buried so deep that even time itself had forgotten it? Or was it another thing Malik had somehow managed to hide, weaving it away in the folds of his shadowed life?

But her face said everything.

That stunned, horrified stillness—her eyes wide but empty, her lips moving without sound, trying to piece together something that simply wasn’t there.

’I… I don’t remember this…’

And that was the worst part.

Layla didn’t remember any of this.

She was just as lost as the crowd, as Sinbad, as Azeem, as everyone who thought they knew her story… Malik’s life.

Yes, even Sinbad—the one who so smugly claimed to know Malik better than anyone alive—looked like someone had just reached into his chest and stolen the air from his lungs.

For all his pride, he’d been thrown into the same pit as the rest of them.

Malik had kept a secret from him.

A child.

MALIK HAD A GODDAMNED SECRET CHILD!

And somehow…

Somehow, even the mother herself didn’t know.

Under the gaze of a shocked Huda, a stiff and silent Azeem, a trembling Sinbad, and Dunya, who had suddenly smiled in realization, like she’d just understood words that deluded her for so long, Layla stood frozen.

Her thoughts felt like a caravan stampede in her skull, rushing in every direction, trampling one another before they could take shape.

She was a mother.

The thought lifted her for a heartbeat.

Yes… she had given Malik a child.

Her chest swelled with something like pride and joy, making her feel both strange and dizzy.

Layla had fulfilled her duties as a wife.

She was wrong, she hadn’t completely failed her once husband.

Her body created something that will live on long after her death.

Already, she could picture them—tiny fingers, Malik’s eyes, maybe her hair.

The image she saw was warm and beautiful, but the warmth tangled quickly with sadness.

Had she been there for them?

Had she held them when they cried, taught them how to stand, and told them the stories of their father’s endless fire?

Or had she been absent, somewhere else, watching from the edge like she had done too many times before?

Questions became heavier, almost self-accusing, dragging through her mind.

Why didn’t she remember?

How could a mother forget the single most important thing in her life?

This warmth and sadness churned, mixing with a darker taste until everything boiled into a single, undeniable truth:

Fear.

It crawled up her spine, making her tremble.

What if she didn’t remember because there was nothing left to remember?

What if the child was gone? What if Malik’s long streak of death and loss had touched them too?

Did that finally break her?

Another tragedy.

Another body left to bury alone.

Her throat tightened so much she could barely breathe.

Oh, how envy circles… minutes earlier, she had envied her past self, and now, she did the same to the one who didn’t know what was coming… her fear had completely taken over.

Layla didn’t dare ask.

She didn’t dare breathe the question into the Hall, afraid that hearing the answer out loud would be the same as watching her own heart burn.

If her child had truly died…

Layla felt certain she’d die alongside them.

***

{Inside The Projection}

Layla sat on the edge of a mat, eyes darting between the healer’s trembling hands and Malik’s expressionless face.

Earlier, the healer had spoken carefully, avoiding eye contact with Malik, but now, seeing no response, she repeated the undeniable truth while looking directly at him:

“She’s eight months along.”

Malik’s head tilted slightly.

“…Eight months.”

His gaze dropped to Layla’s stomach.

It was smooth and flat, barely a curve.

“How?”

His tone was a simple demand for facts.

Welcoming that with hidden surprise, the healer quickly answered:

“It’s common… in Magi. Sometimes… the body hides it until the last stretch. It… happens. Yes.”

Malik shook his head, still unable to believe it.

“Don’t they… kick, or something? How could she not feel that?”

The healer saw obvious concern on his face, making her show something of a reassuring smile, realizing that while this man before her was an “evil tyrant,” he was now a father, and fathers did what fathers always do: worry for their family.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure it’s nothing. Your baby’s just a quiet one, it’ll all be fine.”

Silence stretched for a few moments before a murmur left him:

“…Nothing is fine.”

He looked away as the corner of his mouth lifted.

This was relief.

Genuine, unguarded relief.

Despite his attempts at hiding it, Layla had caught it, and quite easily at that, as for the last minute, her eyes never once left him.

Her breath couldn’t help but pause.

In all the years since they’d met—in all the quiet stretches between them—she had never seen that look on him, something bright enough to be dared called happiness.

Never.

It made her feel… happy.

Happy that she was finally capable of breaking through his shell.

But once it settled in her mind, the whole truth pressed down, incredibly bitter.

Her throat tightened, her hands went to her face, and the tears came fast.

Malik, without saying anything, turned away from her tears, stepped toward the healer, gripped her arm, and before she knew it, they were gone.

The room seemed emptier for that second.

And then, before her sobs could even be given the time to slow, he was there again.

Layla’s tears blurred her sight, but she knew that it was him, the anger easily burning through, cracking her voice:

“I’m pregnant with the child of my father’s killer!”

Malik didn’t react to her incredible hatred… her self-hatred.

His eyes just stayed on her, recording her every word and action.

“Say something!”

Her fists hit the mat.

“Anything!”

Raw was her emotion.

“You—”

But he had already left her.

“Where are you going?!”

Steady steps heading towards the door.

“Come back here!”

Her voice chased him… too desperate.

“Malik!”

Yet he didn’t stop or look back.

“Please, just—”

Thud!

The door closed behind him, and her screams had no one left to reach.

A cruel action, yes… but it was for her own good.

Malik genuinely believed that.