Chapter 140: Signed To Him
It was happening.
It was going to happen now.
Her biggest fear was coming true. But this time, it wasn't just about a one-night stand
anymore. She would have to spend many nights, countless nights, as many nights as he
would demand.
She was his mistress at last.
The contract had been signed.
When she was done praying her namaz, she had slept, and when her eyes opened, she found
him sitting on the sofa near the bed. His eyes were staring at the floor and his legs were
wide open, supporting both his arms. His hands held a paper and a gun.
At that point, she wanted to scream. Cry. Wail.
To beg him to marry her, instead of making her sign that contract.
She wanted to shout that she wasn't involved with Hannan.
It was all happening because he thought she wasn't worthy of being his wife anymore due
to her involvement with someone else.
But that reasoning was done by only the sparks, the tiny sparks of spirit left in her mind, as
the bigger portion intended to fulfill every command leaving his lips.
Upon noticing that she had awakened, he stood up, spiking her breaths. She wanted to crawl
back out of fear but couldn't. As her anxious eyes watched him taking steps toward her,
Forwarding his hand, he indicated her to take it, and she abruptly placed her small hand in
his calloused one.
She can't defy him at any cost.
The words cursorily ran in her mind as the déjà-vu projected in her mind, reminding her of
the times when he would ask her to take his hand and she would take her sweet time,
staring at his hand and him.
She had a little liberty back then. But now that liberty had collapsed. Badly.
She was mentally restrained.
He helped her stand up and led her to the table before placing the gun and the paper on it.
"Choose," he had just said.
He had once again placed the decision of Amna's life in her hands.
She remembered him stating, once, that she herself would beg him to marry her. It was
coming true now. She wanted to beg him to marry her now.
And another line of his crossed her mind, where he claimed that she would sign the contract
with her own will. As she held the pen in her trembling fingers, her mind reeled in a storm
of emotions. The quiet rustling of the paper seemed loud, filling the stillness around her. She
could feel the weight of her choice pressing down, each unspoken word holding an edge as
sharp as the steel glint of the gun that lay ominously on the table. Her hand shook, and she
clutched the pen tightly to steady herself, her knuckles whitening as if the strength she was
losing in her spirit could somehow be contained in her grip.
Her gaze shifted to him, but his expression remained impassive, cold. The contract in front
of her felt like a binding chain waiting to clasp around her, yet her own fingers were making
the final lock click shut.
He watched her every movement, his eyes never leaving her face. She felt the heat of his
stare, as if he could see past her defenses, into the fragile, broken parts of her heart.
She felt trapped under his gaze, like prey under the watchful eye of a predator. She wanted
to speak, to find words that might make him relent—but her throat felt as if it were sealed
shut, her voice silenced by the weight of unspoken fears.
"Go on," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper yet carrying the weight of an
unbreakable command.
Sheharzaad's heart hammered in her chest. She forced herself to look at the paper, but the
words blurred together through her tears. The ink, thick and black, looked like a stain
spreading across her life, a brand she could never wash away. The terms were sharp and
cruel, each line reminding her that she was no longer her own, that her choices had been
taken from her. It wasn't just a contract—it was a cage; one she was willingly stepping into.
Her hand hovered over the line she was meant to sign, every nerve in her body protesting.
With each passing second, she felt more fragments of herself crumble. Another tear slipped
down her cheek and splattered onto the page, marking the document with a bitter trace of
her surrender.
Slowly, she scrawled her name, each letter feeling like a scratch carved into her own soul.
She could feel his eyes on her, felt his satisfaction at her compliance, and it made her
stomach twist with an unfamiliar bitterness. She had never felt so vulnerable, so hollow.
The soft scratch of the pen on the paper was final—a sound that sealed her fate.
When she was done, she didn’t dare look up at him, but she felt the weight of his presence,
like a shadow enveloping her. His hand reached out, lifting her chin, and she couldn’t stop
the small, sharp intake of breath. His fingers were cold but firm, guiding her face to meet his
eyes. The darkness in them made her blood run cold; they seemed to devour her, leaving
her exposed and raw.
His lips curved in a barely-there smirk, satisfaction flickering in his expression. She saw his
gaze drop to her lips, a dark glint of hunger flashing in his eyes, and she shivered.
Her lips quivered as she fought the urge to pull back, the instinct to escape from the
intensity of his stare rising within her. But she knew better than to resist; she couldn’t risk
angering him further.
"Be ready tomorrow night," he whispered, his voice a low rumble that left her trembling.
It wasn’t just an order—it was a promise, one that held an unspoken threat she could feel
down to her bones. The gun gleamed coldly as he picked it up, a silent reminder of what he
was capable of. And then, just as swiftly as he had shattered her remaining courage, he was
gone, leaving her in a suffocating stillness.
Sheharzaad stared blankly at the contract, the ink drying where her tear had fallen. Another
tear escaped her eye as she realized that now she was officially his mistress.
Her shivering intensified.
Sheharzaad... was now a mistress.
"Ma'am, if you will keep on crying, how will we start?" The makeup artist said, and another
sob escaped her throat, wetting her eyes more and more.
"Mujhe nahi tyaar hona," she said between her sobs, "mujh sei nahi hoga yeh sab....
baba...please come and save me," she said more to herself and suddenly placed her hands on
her lips, becoming vigilant that nobody heard her.
(I don't want to get ready. I can't do that.)
She had no will.
She can't deny him.
She can't disobey his direct order.
"Please calm down, madam," the artist said.
She shook her head, tried cleaning up tears as a new set of fresh tears came over her face.
"I don't know how I will do this," she sobbed, her whole body racking with hiccups.
"Please, madam, calm down,"
Sheharzaad shook her head again as more sobs racked her petite frame. Thinking about the
end of this night, and all those things that would be happening to her soon.
"Please ma'am, or we have to talk with sir regarding this. The time is upon us, already,"
At this, her head shot up, and she looked back at the woman with wide eyes, full of terror
and shock.