Chapter 29: 25. 𝗘𝗸 𝗯𝗮𝗮𝗿 𝗱𝗲𝗸𝗵 𝗹𝗶𝗷𝗶𝘆𝗲..

❛Banaya hai jisne wo mitayenge tujhe zaroor..

Fir kaha ki teri ayyashi, Kaha ka tera guroor..? ❜

Third Person's POV:

Seyran glanced around the flat where she was confined. Initially, she had been taken to the basement to terrify her, but Altan had already decided long ago to keep her in the guards' quarters within the estate which was near the haveli, where they lived with their families. If only Mahoor and Seyran had been more observant, they would have noticed it.

Without any pinch of remorse, Altan would have gladly shoved Seyran in the basement where the cement of the walls reeked more like blood than any other paint but..

Woh Mahoor ki behen thi.

Seyran's heart pounded as she sat by the window, her thoughts racing. The fear and anxiety gnawed at her insides like a relentless beast. Altan's threats were a constant shadow over her, and she knew that he could use her to manipulate Mahoor at any moment.

The thought of being the leverage to force Mahoor into submission filled her with dread. Seyran had always imagined a different life—a peaceful one, far from the brutality she now faced. The stark contrast between her dreams and her current reality was almost too much to bear.

Her eyes drifted to the scene outside the window. People were getting down from a truck, carrying flower baskets to the porch of the haveli. Panic surged through her. Was Altan really going through with the wedding? The idea of Mahoor being forced into such a situation made her feel sick with pain and fear.

A soft knock on the door pulled her from her spiraling thoughts. She hesitated before opening it, her heart in her throat. Arya stood there, a gentle smile on his face and a tika on his forehead. He entered the room, carrying a tray of food.

“Main mandir se aa raha tha aur dekha ki Bano tumhare liye khana laa rahi hai. Toh socha kyu na mai hi le aao nashta aur tumse gappe bhi lada lu,” he said softly, placing the tray down.

He stood up straight, “Thik ho tum?”

Seyran nodded, but the weight of her emotions was too much. She was at her breaking point and her lips quivered. Arya noticed the tremble in her shoulders and without a word, he wrapped her in a bear hug.

She broke down, sobs wracking her body as she cried for everything she had endured. The fear, the helplessness, the constant worry for Mahoor—it all poured out. Arya held her tightly, whispering comforting words.

“It's okay, Seyran. It's okay,” he murmured.

Seyran clung to him, her tears soaking his shirt. She cried for the life that was stolen from her, for the pain that Mahoor was enduring, and for the uncertain future they both faced.

Arya's embrace felt like a small solace in the midst of the storm, a reminder that there was still some humanity left in their cruel world.

She fought to maintain her composure, but the strain was too much. With a small, awkward step back, she pulled away from Arya's embrace. She had always kept her emotions private, shared only with her close bonds, like Mahoor,Robin, Ayan, Vani, Zorawar and her cousins

Arya noticed her hesitation. He wrinkled his face and narrowed his eyes, “Rona toh mujhe chahiye kyu ke laat aur punch maine khayi thi tumse.”

Seyran wiped her tears and chuckled. “I am sorry but it was necessary. Mahoor kaisi hai? How's she coping with everything?”

Arya's expression turned somber. “I haven’t seen her myself, but I’m sure she’s managing. Altan aur Mahoor ka nikkah hai jummah ke din, maghrib baad. Aaj se, thik ek hafte baad.”

Seyran eyes widened in worry as she clutched her dupatta, “Kaise mumkin hai yeh nikah jab Mahoor hi razi nahi hai. Aap kuch kar sakte hai? Rokiye na unhe!”

Arya shook his head, his tone resolute.

“Altan ke aage koi kuch nahi kar sakte, na tum, na main. Jo ho raha hai, hone do usey apni kismat samjho ab. Kyu ke Altan ke khilaf jo bhi gaya hai, woh ya to 6 feet zameen ke andar so raha hai ya phir khoon mein lipat kar basement mein apni aakhri saans ka intizar kar raha hai.”

Seyran flinched after listening to this. Her heart raced and fear gripped her tighter. She wished for some miracle to whisk her and Mahoor away from this nightmare. Her eyes filled with desperation, she asked, “Main yahan guards quarters mein kab tak rahungi?”

Arya sighed, his expression softening. “Mujhe maloom hai, par ye Altan ka faisla hai. Agar tum dono bhagi nahi hoti, to woh yeh nahi karta.”

Seyran heaved a sigh and she looked out the window, wishing for a miracle. She turned back to Arya, her voice trembling because of the cold, “Altan sahi mein mohabbat karte hain Mahoor se?”

Arya, deep in thought, said, “Uski aankhein kehti hain, haan. Uske actions bhi, par Altan ne har dafa ek hi baat kahi hai. Woh usey chahta hai, mohabbat ka alfaaz nahi suna maine aaj tak.”

Seyran's brows furrowed in confusion and frustration. “Toh aap ka kehna yeh hain ki unhe kashish hai?”

Arya scrunched his nose and gave her a weird look, “Nahi. Koi kashish mein apne upar  jaanbooj ke khanjar ka hamla toh nahi leta.”

He looked into her dark eyes,“Woh lafz Altan ne kaha nahi kyu ke woh khud abhi tak qubool nahi kar paya hai ki usey Mahoor se mohabbat ho gayi hai.”

•♡•

“MAINE KAHA NA MAIN TAIYAR NAHI HONGI!” Mahoor exclaimed, hurling the clothes onto the floor like a wildcat. The maids, their eyes widened with astonishment, stared at the scattered mess.

Riza picked up the clothes hurriedly, shook by Mahoor's behaviour, “Mallika Aanam, abhi ek ghante mein aapko neeche laane kaha hai, Sultan Zaeem ne, khuda ke liye aisa na kare.”

“Keh do apne Sultan se main nahi aaungi neeche, mujhe nahi karni yeh mangni! MUJHE NAHI KARNI YEH SHADI!”

Riza opened her mouth to speak, but the door connecting Mahoor's room to Altan's swung open, revealing the Sultan himself.

Altan glanced at Mahoor, her face flushed with fury, her breath coming in sharp, angry bursts. Then, he turned his attention to Riza, the maid, who had lowered her gaze in respect, her eyes fixed firmly on the floor as she awaited his judgment.

“Shor kis baat ka ho raha hai yaha?”

“Zaeem, Mallika Aanam mangni ka joda pehen ne se inkar kar rahi hai. Hum..humne kaha bhi ke aapka hukum hai, par w..woh nahi sun rahe.”

Altan's gaze hardened, his eyes flicking from Riza to Mahoor. His voice was cold and commanding, “Dafa ho jao yahan se.”

Riza quickly placed the garments on the bed and exited the room, closing the door behind her with a firm click.

Altan shoved his hands into his pockets and strolled toward Mahoor with a casual air. “Tumhe kya lagta hai?” he asked, swirling his index finger around the room. “Yahan tumhara set laga hua hai jahan tumhari nautanki chal rahi hai?”

Every trace of fury evaporated from her as Altan struck a particularly sensitive nerve. She was acutely aware that he understood the depth of her dreams, yet he continued to play the part of a callous jerk.

Seeing the tears in her eyes, Altan felt a sharp pang in his heart. Despite his internal struggle, he knew that playing the part of a harsh man would be more effective than showing gentleness. He understood how stubborn and resolute Mahoor could be, and he reluctantly believed that this approach was the only way to achieve his goal.

Altan was pained by the fact that he had to hurt Mahoor deliberately to get her to marry him. He was tormented by the thought of causing her distress, even though he knew it was necessary. He resolved that after the marriage, he would apologize for everything, even if it meant sitting on the floor, holding her feet until Judgment Day.

He huffed, “Ab zubaan nahi chalegi tumhari? Jab se chilla chilla ke is kamre ko sir pe utha rakha tha, ab tumhari andar ki sherni,” he stepped closer, “bheegi billi kyun ban gayi?”

Mahoor's jaw tightened as she glared at him. A tear trailed down her cheek, but she quickly wiped it away.

“Mujhe yeh mangni nahi karni.”

Altan's shoulders shook with a dark chuckle. “Tumhari rai kisne mangi hai?” He pulled his phone from his pocket, tapped on the screen, and held it out to Mahoor.

Mahoor's furious gaze stayed locked on Altan, not wavering for a second, which only made his smirk widen.

“Janta hu ek haseen manzar hu, magar,” he gestured to his phone as a video began to play, “Yaha dekho, tumhare bade kaam ki cheez hai.”

Mahoor's gaze dropped to the phone, and dread washed over her, her hand flying to her mouth.

There was Seyran, huddled in a dimly lit room, her legs drawn up to her chest. She looked fragile, broken, and unbearably small. The grey walls of the basement were splattered with blood, a chilling testament to her torment.

Mahoor's left hand trembled, and tears blurred her vision as she watched Seyran glance around her grim surroundings, a sob escaping her lips. The sight of her sister in such a state shattered Mahoor's heart into a million pieces.

“Subah se shaam hone ko aayi hai,” Altan clicked his tongue, a mocking smile playing on his lips. “Bechari ko uski dawai nahi mili hai.” He leaned in closer to Mahoor, and raised his eyebrows. “Kya lagta hai tumhe? Ye humare nikah tak zinda reh payegi?”

With all her might, Mahoor pushed him back. The phone slipped from his hand and hit the floor, but Altan barely budged, more because he let her than from the actual force of her shove. Compared to his hulk frame, her energy was nothing.

“Kyu kar rahe hai aap ye? KYU? MERI BEHEN NE KYA KIYA HAI AAP KE SAATH JO AAP BADLA LE RAHE HAI USSEY!”

Altan raised a finger to his lips, a mockingly serene expression on his face. "Shh..." His eyes gleamed with cruel amusement as he leaned closer to Mahoor. “Usne mujhe kuch nahi kiya. Bas uski choti behen, jo usse sirf 6 mahine choti hai, apni nakhre bandh hi nahi kar rahi. Maine usey pehle hi keh diya tha,” his smile turned menacing, casting a shadow of madness over his features, “agar wo kuch bhi karegi, toh uski badi behen ko iska anjaam bhugatna padega.”

Mahoor's eyes blazed with a fury that seemed to set the very room on fire. Her hands clenched into fists, and her entire body shook with the rage coursing through her veins. She glared at Altan, the hatred in her eyes so intense it was almost palpable.

“Sau kutte mare honge jab jaa ke aap jaisa kutta paida hua hoga,” she spat out through gritted teeth, her voice quivering with a mix of anger and disgust.

No one had the audacity to even talk back to him, let alone degrade him. People hesitated, their voices trembling with fear at the thought of stepping up to challenge him. Altan's presence alone was enough to send chills down their spines, knowing that any defiance would be met with swift and brutal retribution. Those who dared to speak ill of him or stand against him quickly realized that such actions would lead them to an untimely end, either in heaven or hell. His reputation as a ruthless and powerful leader preceded him, and everyone understood that crossing Altan was a fatal mistake.

Par ye Mahoor thi aur isey haq tha Altan ko uski aukat batane ka.

Altan's posture was menacing, his large frame exuding an aura of intimidation. He stood tall and imposing, his dark eyes narrowing as he fixed his gaze on Mahoor. Yet, there was a strange softness in his voice as he spoke, the contrast between his intimidating presence and his words creating a chilling effect.

“Chalo, tumne mujhe kutta toh samjha,” he said, his tone smooth yet laced with an edge of dark amusement. “Kyu ke kutte apne malik ko dil-o-jaan se chahte hain aur unke…” His gaze lingered on Mahoor, hinting at something deeper, “Bohot wafadar hote hain.”

The darkness in his expression was palpable, a menacing contrast to the soft, almost tender way he spoke about loyalty. It was as if he was subtly implying that, despite being labeled a “dog,” his loyalty and devotion to Mahoor were boundless, transcending any limits. The implication was clear and chilling, sending shivers down anyone's spine who might be observing the exchange.

Mahoor's frustration reached a boiling point. Despite the gravity of the situation, with her sister's safety hanging in the balance, Altan's unsettling ability to intertwine his dark, intimidating presence with tender, almost cheesy declarations of devotion infuriated her.

Every time she tried to confront him or express her anger and fear, he twisted her words into something that always came back to his unyielding affection for her. It was as if, no matter how dire the circumstances, he couldn't resist turning every interaction into a stage for his relentless pursuit of her.

His attempts to mask his manipulation with a veneer of tenderness only heightened her irritation. She couldn't understand how he could so easily shift from being a threatening force to a possessive lover, all while her sister's fate hung by a thread. The stark contrast between his menacing threats and his forced affection only deepened her distress, making her feel trapped in a nightmarish dance of power and control.

Altan's voice was cold and commanding. “Agar tum chahti ho ke Seyran tak uski medications ponche, toh ek ghante mein taiyar hojana,” he gestured dismissively towards the garments and jewellery on the bed. Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and left the room, heading back to his own.

Mahoor was left alone, her heart heavy with despair. She sank to her knees and buried her face in her hands, her body trembling as silent tears streamed down her cheeks. The crushing weight of helplessness bore down on her, knowing she had no choice but to comply with Altan's demands for the sake of her sister. The anguish of her situation was unbearable, but she had to accept it if it meant protecting Seyran.

Altan closed the door behind him and leaned his head against it, his eyes closing as he tried to steady himself. Mahoor's tear-streaked face replayed vividly in his mind, intensifying the weight of his actions. He opened his eyes abruptly, a pang of discomfort gripping his chest.

Restlessly, he rubbed his chest, trying to soothe the heaviness that settled within him, a stark contrast to the cold façade he maintained outwardly. The inner conflict was palpable as he grappled with the consequences of his choices.

“Mil gaya sukoon ussey jhoot keh ke?”Arya's voice pulled him out of the strings of his misery, “Mil gaya sukoon uski nazro mein khud ko aur gira kar?”

Altan's face remained hard and unyielding as he took a seat next to Arya, not bothering to respond to the taunt. His voice was stern as he asked, “Kya chahiye tujhe?”

Arya looked at him, unperturbed, and replied, “Jawab mere sawalon ka.”

Altan’s gaze grew colder. “Agar main usse jhoot na kehta toh woh sunti hi nahi, ziddi hai.”

Arya leaned back, his tone tinged with admiration as he said, “Par tune dimag sahi lagaya deepfake video banwane ka Zaviyar se.”

In that moment, the implications of Arya’s words became starkly clear. Seyran had been confined in the guards' quarters, a harsh reminder of her precarious situation. Altan, ever the strategist, had ordered Zaviyar to employ AI technology to create a deepfake video of Seyran in the basement. This was not just a simple deception but a calculated move to manipulate Mahoor.

The video depicted Seyran in a distressing, dimly lit basement, her surroundings bleak and unsettling. The walls, splattered with grim stains, and her vulnerable posture—curled up with her legs drawn to her chest—were all part of the ruse. Altan had intended for this video to reach Mahoor, aiming to wrench her into compliance by showcasing a fabricated, yet convincing, scenario of her sister’s torment.

Altan’s goal was clear: to make Mahoor confront the reality of Seyran’s supposed suffering, pushing her to comply with his demands out of desperation and fear for her sister’s safety. The deepfake video was designed to exploit Mahoor’s emotional vulnerability and force her into a corner, making it almost impossible for her to defy Altan’s will.

“Toh phir kya aaya anjaam tumhari preparation ka?”

Altan leaned back on the sofa, placing one hand on the headrest and crossing one leg over his knee. His presence was intimidating, an aura of danger surrounding him. His expression was menacing, eyes dark and lips twisted into a smirk.

“Maan gayi,” he said, his voice dripping with satisfaction. The room felt colder as he spoke, his victory clear in the sinister delight dancing in his eyes.

•♡•

Mahoor's POV:

As I prepared for my zabardasti ki engagement, I couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of resentment. Forced into this, I donned an exquisite traditional Sharara in a rich, muted rose hue.

The long kameez, with its wide square neckline and full-length sleeves, was adorned with intricate gold embroidery. Draping the sheer dupatta over my shoulder, I noticed its small gold motifs and detailed border, which only heightened my sense of loathing. The voluminous lehenga flowed gracefully, its layers and geometric gold embroidery creating a grand silhouette that felt like a cruel mockery. The traditional jewelry, including a statement choker necklace, large earrings, and a maang tikka in matching gold tones, added a regal touch that I found suffocating.

My hair was styled in an elegant updo, with soft, loose tendrils framing a face that struggled to mask its anger. My makeup was flawless, with radiant, dewy skin, soft smokey eyeshadow in rose and gold shades, winged eyeliner, voluminous lashes, and a nude-pink lipstick that belied my true feelings. As I looked at myself in the mirror, I felt trapped, my beautiful attire a stark contrast to the turmoil within, ready to step into a chapter of my life I loathed.

I wasn't wearing my usual spectacles. Instead, Riza had insisted I wear the lenses she found in my bag, because it was Bebe's command, leaving me with no choice but to comply.

I stood up from the chair, but as I moved, the dress tugged me back down, making me sit again.. Bhai, patthar jade hue hai iske lace pe, itna HEAVY!

It hardly took forty-five minutes for the makeup artist to complete her work on my face. I gazed into the mirror as Riza smiled at me, but her happiness felt like a cruel mockery, a sting to my already festering wounds.

It should have been Seyran standing in her place, it should have been Seyran admiring me instead of her. We should have been in the Philippines together, but... I just don’t want to revisit that topic again.

“Chalein, Mallika Aanam?”

“Aur koi option hai mere paas?”

Riza’s mouth closed as I gripped the dress and carefully stood up from the seat, making my way towards the door. As Bano opened it, there stood Shaitan himself in a black three-piece suit, though the vest and tie were missing. The top buttons were undone, revealing his chest beneath.

Adivasi hai isiliye kabhi inke kapde pure bandh nahi rehte.

He looked at me with those eyes. THOSE EYES! Someone please tell this man to stop freaking staring at me or else, maine iski aakhein nikaal ke gotiya khelni unse!

Riza and Bano excused themselves as he entered, and I instinctively took a step back. The room, though massive, seemed to shrink whenever Mirza stepped inside. It felt as if the walls were closing in, suffocating and choking me with each passing moment.

He continued to stare at me with those  goo-goo eyes, which only made me more enraged. My fingers curled into fists, and my jaw clenched as the urge to hit something—anything—overwhelmed me like never before.

“Taiyyar ho?” he asked, his voice surprisingly soft. Moments earlier, he had been in full Hulk mode, his voice had been like a blade, sharp and threatening. Each word was delivered with a menacing edge, his tone heavy with danger and authority.

Now, he was behaving as if he hadn’t threatened me to comply with his twisted desires.

“Andhe hai aap? Dikh nahi raha?”

He smirked- yeh tharki aadmi, I swear.

“Keh sakti ho kyu ke tumhare alawa kuch aur dikhta bhi kaha hai?”

Jaag gaya Mirza ke andar ka Mirza Ghalib.

“Ghurna bandh karein!”

A lock of his thick curls fell on his forehead as he pushed his hands behind his back, “Thodi kam haseen laga karo, toh shayad meri nazar bhi kabu mein rahe.”

Chappal kaha hai meri?

I gritted my jaw and sighed heavily. Standing in these damn heels was torture, and the weight of the dress felt like it was pulling me straight to the ground.

I ignored his romantic remarks because this man always found a way to stretch our conversations. If I had said anything, he would have surely come back with something, keeping us locked in a never-ending exchange. I gripped the dress and moved past him, “Jaldi ye tamasha khatam karein aur meri behen ko apne changul se chutkara dein.”

I could hear his footsteps behind me, “Itni tezi se tum kaha chali?”

“Jahannum mein.”

“Par tumhari jagah toh Jannat mein hai.”

Iski maa ki chidiya!

Before I could retort, my foot twisted, making me lose my balance, and I felt myself plummeting towards the ground. Panic surged through me, but before I could hit the floor, a strong hand grasped my arm.

The grip was firm and steady, pulling me back up with an almost effortless strength, saving me from the inevitable fall. I found myself pressed against a solid chest, the scent of his cologne enveloping me as I regained my footing.

In my defense, I'm someone who is not made for wearing heels. I'm someone who wasn't meant to be born as well magar galtiya toh hoti hi hai.

“Tum sambhal ke chal nahi sakti, Mera dil kaise sambhalogi?” His voice was firm and concerned yet amusing.

I closed my eyes as I retreated my hands from his chest and stood straight, trying to ignore the Mirza Ghalib version of him. But it seemed the man had no plans of stopping tonight..

“Tumhare ek pal mein girne se mera dil girne lagta hai.”

Okay, I had enough!

My head snapped towards him as I placed my hands on my hips and tilted my head. “Toh aap apne dil ko le ke khayi mein gir jaye, hum dono ko sukoon mil jayega.”

His lips curled into a smirk, which enhanced the desire to punch him in his face, “Tum par toh pehle hi gir ke mar chuka hoon, khayi mein girne se kuch aur kya farq padega?”

The frustration of pulling my hair out was real. Before the urge to slap him turned into an actual act, I spun on my heels and headed towards the staircase.

However, my steps faltered as I glanced down from the third floor. At least eighty to a hundred people filled the space below, all gathered for this forced engagement. The sheer scale of the crowd only added to my bewilderment and frustration. Why such a spectacle for zabardasti ki mangni and shadi, bruh?

My eyes frantically scanned the crowd, desperately hoping to catch a glimpse of Seyran. Maybe, just maybe, she would be here among the sea of unfamiliar faces. But all I was met with was a crushing sense of disappointment. There was no sign of her, and the absence only deepened my sense of despair.

I gulped as the weight in my chest grew heavier with each step. As we descended the stairs in silence, with Mirza trailing behind me, I couldn't shake the overwhelming realization: I didn't want to get married. Not now, not like this, not with someone like him. This was supposed to be a time of joy and celebration, a moment to cherish with Seyran by my side as my rock. I envisioned Vani, Robin, and Ayan dancing like maniacs and filling the air with laughter, taking my groom’s mind off the stress. But instead, here I was, facing a cold and isolating reality that felt nothing like the dream a bride had.

My mum was beaten black and blue by my father three times a week, or maybe even more. At times, he was a good father, but he was a terrible husband. He turned my mother into his personal puppet, never allowing her to work or have any independence. The abuse wasn't limited to physical violence; his verbal assaults were relentless, tearing her down day after day. Even the slightest mistake would set him off, and his punishments were severe—punches, kicks, and shouts that left bruises both visible and invisible. I still remember the nights when the sound of his rage would echo through the house, leaving me trembling under my covers, wishing it would all stop. The violence wasn’t just physical; it was a constant threat hanging over us, a reminder of our powerlessness.

Witnessing my mother’s suffering and degradation, I saw marriage as a prison. It was not a sanctuary or a partnership but a battleground of control and torment. The thought of being trapped in a life like that—subjected to such brutality and control—was terrifying. This reality made me realize that marriage was not for me. My mother’s helplessness and poverty drove me to strive for my own career and avoid marriage altogether.

I have my own issues with my father; he had his share of faults with me as well. But that's a story for another day.

As I reached the final step, I lifted my head and was met with a deadly silence. Despite being an extrovert, the sudden quiet sent my insides into a churn of anxiety. The men in the grand living room were anything but ordinary; they resembled hulks. Their sheer presence was intimidating, and every one of them radiated an aura that screamed danger.

I think they all learnt it personally from their Guru Ji, because Mirza tops them all.

Mirza stood by my side, and as I glanced around, I saw everyone in the grand room, including Arya, Zaviyar and the blond woman, bowing their heads in reverence. The atmosphere was heavy with respect and awe. In unison, the crowd chanted, their voices resonating through the room, “Sultan, Raaj-e-Kaamil, Ikhlaaq aur Shujaat ka Aalam!” Their words echoed off the walls, creating a powerful symphony of admiration and submission, emphasizing Mirza's supreme authority and the profound respect he commanded.

(Altan, The Perfect Ruler, Embodiment of Virtue and Bravery!)

Ben stokes! Chal kya raha hai yaha pe? Mughal-e-Azam??

My confused eyes flickered to Mirza and his response was a chilling display of arrogance and dominance. His lips curled into a smirk, one that was both cruel and self-satisfied. He relished the power of the moment, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure. The intensity of his gaze was a cold, intimidating force, as if he took delight in the fear and submission before him. His posture was unyielding, a sinister reminder of the control he wielded. He surveyed the room with an air of menacing authority, each movement and glance underscoring his ruthless supremacy. The sense of menace that surrounded him was palpable, a dark cloud of power and intimidation that left no room for doubt about his absolute dominance.

A few minutes ago, in the bedroom, Mirza had been unsettlingly sweet, his demeanor softened by an almost disarming charm. His words were laced with a disturbingly gentle affection, a twisted contrast to his menacing aura.

But the man who stood before me now was a stark contrast. The warmth of his earlier demeanor was replaced by a chilling arrogance and an intimidating presence. His eyes, once softened with mock tenderness, now glinted with sadistic pleasure and sinister resolve.This was the man who had kidnapped me, the man who had aimed his gun at Seyran, the man who had cruelly burned an old man's skin with his cigarette. This was the man who had confined me to that dark, suffocating room. The same man who had locked Seyran in the basement, leaving her at his mercy. This was the man I feared.

Allah, mujhe yaha se nikale!

It was freezing, but sweat trickled down my spine as Mirza's gaze bore into me. The level of fear I felt for him surged; he looked menacing, his presence commanding a terrifying authority. He extended his hand, a silent command for me to step forward. I shook my head vigorously, and the dark glint in his eyes seemed to deepen, a chilling satisfaction evident as he relished in my hesitation and fear.

He held the dupatta of my dress, tipping his head towards the sofa. His voice, rough and laced with dominance, sent a shiver down my spine. “Chalein, Mallika. Kitna intizar karayengi aakhir aap, apne Sultan ko?”

I nodded timidly. Given everything that has happened, it became clear to me that Mirza wasn't just any man. He was the leader, the Sultan of the mafia, commanding respect and fear from everyone around him. I walked towards the seating area with him. The men parted to clear a path, standing at attention on either side, their postures rigid and respectful.

To distract myself, I focused on the enchanting decor that had completely transformed the appearance of this haveli’s living room.

Twinkling lights draped the ceiling like stars, with golden chandeliers casting a warm glow. Vibrant floral arrangements adorned every corner, adding bursts of color.The stage ahead was framed by elegant arches and lush flowers, creating a fairy tale setting. Bubbling fountains added a soothing sound, enhancing the tranquil ambiance. Plush seating areas with luxurious cushions were meticulously arranged around the room.The pristine marble floors reflected the shimmering lights, creating a surreal and breathtaking atmosphere, perfectly showcasing the grandeur of the occasion.

My gaze landed on Bebe, standing next to Mirza's mother. The old woman’s eyes were fixed with a fierce glare on something near me. I followed her intense stare and noticed she was directing her daggers at Mirza’s hand, which was holding the dupatta.

The man had a peculiar obsession with my dupattas. This particular one had a long trail and was incredibly heavy. Perhaps this “Nariyal ka jhaad” noticed my discomfort and decided to offer his so-called assistance.

Par woh bhi yeh budhiya se dekha nahi jaa raha.

We approached the stage, and without any assistance or unwelcome touch from him, I settled straight onto the couch in the far corner, away from Mirza.

Arya, Zaviyar and the blondie came to us with huge smiling faces. Barbadi meri ho rahi hai, hasi inki nikal rahi hai.

I zoned out from the conversation around me. My only concern was Seyran, and it grew more intense with each passing second. My mind raced with anxiety and fear for her well-being. Every minute that ticked by felt like an eternity, amplifying my dread.

The room's opulence and the grandeur of the occasion felt meaningless compared to the gnawing worry for my sister.

“Bohot pyari lag rahi ho tum.” Mirza's mother said, lifting my chin gently. Her green eyes, soft yet glittering, locked onto mine.

I only blinked at her. Maybe if it were any other occasion, I would have flashed an ear-to-ear grin, but with everything happening around me and my mind consumed by worry for Seyran, I couldn't muster the energy for any semblance of joy but loathness.

The blondie approached me with a warm smile and extended her hand for a handshake. “Main, Jannat,” she introduced herself. I reluctantly took her hand, shaking it lightly, I introduced myself, “Mahoor Durrani.”

“Soon to be Mrs. Mahoor Altan Mirza.”

My head snapped at him, my jaw clenched. I swear, I saw pride and arrogance dancing in his eyes as if he had achieved the greatest conquest of his life.

I felt a caress on the side of my cheek; it was Jannat, the blond woman. She seemed genuinely sweet, at least for now.

“You’re looking very pretty, and I know you’ll be the most beautiful bride ever.” Her grey eyes shone with sincere admiration and sorrow, but each compliment only drove me further into madness.

Bebe approached with a tray holding two ring cases, and my heartbeat quickened. As she set it on the table, my palms grew clammy. The engagement was imminent. I was about to be engaged to a man I barely knew, my kidnapper, and the Sultan of Mafia.

The reality of the situation was sinking in, and tears pricked at the back of my eyes as I stared at the rings.

Gopi bhen ban gayi hu baat baat pe ro deti hu.

Arya took one of the cases and stood beside Mirza, while the other was held by his mother, who came around my side.

As Arya handed the ring to Mirza, a wave of nausea crashed over me. My head spun, and bile rose in my throat, threatening to spill over. The reality of the situation pressed down on me, suffocating and unbearable. I didn’t want this. I didn’t want to be here, trapped in a moment that felt more like a nightmare than a celebration.

Mirza took the ring from Arya and fixed his gaze on me. The intimidating aura that had surrounded him seemed to dissipate, replaced by an unexpected gentleness in his eyes. Despite the earlier menace, his stare now was almost tender.

He waited for me to lift my hand, but I remained frozen, terror gripping me as my insides churned. Just as the moment grew unbearably tense, Mirza’s mother gently lifted my left hand. Her grip was firm yet reassuring, and she squeezed my hand to steady its trembling. The warmth of her touch didn't provide any comfort however it felt nice to have a motherly affection.

She released my hand, and Mirza's eyes locked onto my trembling fingers. Despite the evident anxiety in my stance, he leaned in close, his gaze unwavering. Without any physical contact, he deftly slid the ring onto my ring finger, his movements deliberate and precise, further intensifying the gravity of the moment.

I immediately drew my hand back, and the room erupted in a thunderous applause, the clapping echoing off the walls.

Now it was my turn to slip the ring onto his finger, but I nervously turned it over in my palm, unable to move. The room fell into a heavy silence as everyone watched, waiting for me to lift my hand. But I was frozen, caught in the overwhelming fear and despair of the moment.

“Kinna intizaar karaye gi mere pote nu? Chal hun paa vi de anghooti!”

(Kitna intizar karayegi mere pote ko? Chal, pehna bhi dein angoothi)

They all laughed except Mirza, who kept his gaze fixed on me with an unwavering intensity. His patience was evident, but somehow, it only made me feel even more powerless and stripped of any remaining courage.

Nahi matlab, kya yeh love marriage ho rahi jo sab khi-khi kar rahe hai?

Bhendi, meri yaha chauhattar ho gayi hai aur ye log function enjoy kar rahe hai!

I needed Seyran. I wanted Seyran. If she were at my side, I’d have done it without any hesitation. Her presence alone would have been enough to steady my nerves. It felt so deeply unfair that Mirza was surrounded by his people while mine, the one who meant everything to me, was locked away in the basement, suffering and enduring for no reason.

I looked at him through my lashes, his gaze unyielding. He spoke calmly, “Bebe, onu lain do time. Ainj di Hoor layi sabr karna koi ukha kaam nayi..”

(Bebe, usko time lene do.  Aise Hoor ke liye sabe karna mushkil kaam nahi hai.)

I saw Bebe’s face fall, but it didn’t bring me any satisfaction; I wasn’t fully present at the moment. My gaze fixed on the ring, and I gulped, realizing I couldn’t delay this forever.

‘Ya Allah! Ek baar dekh lijiye. Murda bana dijiye, dafan hone ko hai taiyar hum, humari maiyyat uthwa dijiye.’

‘KYU KE YE MERE SE NAHI HOGA!’

As if the Lord heard my silent plea, the devastating image of Seyran in the basement flashed before my eyes. I had to do it for Seyran, no matter the cost. To get her out of that hell, I had no choice but to go through with this.

I slipped the ring onto his finger, his eyes followed the movement with a mixture of relief and gentle admiration. It was a look that conveyed both satisfaction and a budding warmth, starkly contrasting his earlier intimidating demeanor.

Bebe, observing the change, raised an eyebrow, clearly noting the softer side of Mirza that had emerged in this moment. I withdrew my hand immediately, the room erupted into loud cheers and applause. The celebration for them had begun, but for me, the real ordeal was only just starting.

Bebe, with a scowl on her face, circled us with a thick stack of notes, muttering something under her breath. We both ignored her; I was preoccupied with thoughts of rescuing Seyran, while Mirza was busy staring at me.

Main kasam keh rahi hu iski aakhon mein ungli maar deni hai maine.

I tried to rein in my frustration as each person filed off the stage.Their departure was a small relief, giving me a chance to approach Mirza. Although I dreaded talking to him, the urgency of rescuing Seyran drove me. The stage finally cleared, I prepared myself to confront Mirza and address the urgent need to ensure my sister's safety.

I turned my face towards him, and he was already staring intently. His posture was relaxed, with one leg draped casually over the other, exuding an air of effortless dominance.

I cleared my throat, “Seyran ko please..”

“Parso, itwar ko hamara nikkah hai.”

Inna Lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji'un..

(Indeed, we belong to Allah, and indeed, to Him we return.)

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