Chapter 147: Wife or mistress?

Flashback

They at last reached the room when he put her down on her feet gently. Her position

dwindled slightly, her balance unsteady, when he grasped her arm to support her.

He turned her head towards him, looking at her face. His eyes were fixed on her face, as if he

never wanted to look away.

"I need an answer next time when I ask you," he told her, holding her gaze longer than

necessary. He opened the door of the room, guiding her inside as they both entered before

he closed it. He could hear her short, rapid breaths, shallow and quick, echoing through the

enclosed space. He then carried her bridal style, guiding her to the bed. The rhythm of her

heartbeat was audible to his sinful ears. Her soft, black locks could be felt through his satin

kameez. Her eyes were stuck on the buttons of his cotton kameez while his gaze was set on

her. Her scent, that of white praline, soothed his olfactory senses.

He sucked in a sharp breath and guided her to the bed, holding her arm with a firm but

gentle grip as he helped her to sit down. Then, he drew a chair close and sat down directly

in front of her. The screeching of the chair against the tiled floor seemed to startle her.

Her head was bowed down, with both her hands resting on her lap. Her chest heaved up

and down, and the way her neck shrank as she inhaled indicated how deep her breaths

were. Each inhale shrank her shoulders with the tension she tried to hide.

Her eyes slightly rose from staring at her lap and fell on his white kameez-clad chest, barely

skimming it. They widened as she immediately retreated her eyes back to her hands, small

shivers rocking her body. She didn't realize when a tear appeared on the surface of her eye

and fell on her hands, leaving a faint, cold sensation.

"Rou kiu rahi ho?" His voice was low as his thumb got busy stroking her cheek, brushing

away the tear, leaving a warm trail behind.

(Why are you crying?)

"I'm sorry," she whispered shakily, her voice barely audible.

"Kis liye?"

(For what?)

"Apki... apki shirt kharab kar di," she replied, her voice trembling as her eyes flitted up to his

chest, where a subtle dust stain marred the fabric.

(I dirtied your shirt.)

He shifted his gaze from his kameez back to her face, a flicker of something unspoken

flashing through his eyes as he looked at her. The quiet in the room thickened, and her heart

pounded, each beat sounding in her ears.

"Saaf nahi karogi kya?" he said, voice barely a whisper as his hands covered hers, pressing

them to his chest. The warmth of his skin, the way his heartbeat pulsed suddenly under her

palm, made her skin tingle.

(Won’t you clean it?)

Though he was playful, she took it as a pessimistic sign, causing utter panic. She quickly

bobbed her head up and down and stood to grasp the tissue placed at the dressing table. But

his hand shot out, grabbing the cleaning equipment and halting her.

"Kharay hone ke liye kis ne kaha?" His voice held a quiet command, and she realized her

mistake, sitting down immediately, uttering words of apology in quick succession.

(Who asked you to stand up?)

Her face turned hot and red out of fear as her heart began to drum in her ears. She looked at

him as if a criminal waiting for the judge to announce a verdict.

"I'm so sorry," she said again as he didn’t say anything but kept staring at her.

Her body began to shiver as the thought of crawling away from him crossed her mind, but

she resisted the urge, thinking it would set him off.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Will you accept the contract, Sheharzaad?" His tone was measured, yet it cut through the

air like a blade, taking her by surprise.

And she subtly shook her head in negation, which didn’t go unnoticed by him.

"I-I d-don't k-k-k-know," she stuttered badly.

"But you know you have to, or as I said, I will kill Amna." He brushed a strand of hair away

from her face that she purposely threw in front of her face to cover it from him.

She swallowed hard.

"I have no will... it will all happen as you-you desire."

"The will that is hidden, that you have suppressed, I’m asking about that will. What strategy

do you have to avoid signing this contract?" he asked, and she looked at him suspiciously,

trying to gauge whether she could state what her mind had been thinking to avoid it.

"M-m-marry me," she responded. "I don't want to... I don't... can't go through... again and

again... what I went through in... in that single night."

He smiled, clearing a crystal tear that fell from her eye. "Marriage is not an option anymore."

"I can't... be a mistress," she whispered in the lowest possible voice.

"I’ll bring the contract tonight," he announced and stood up with a smooth, deliberate

motion, looking down at her as she quickly averted her face.

His fingers stroked her cheek for the last time, and she felt a strange, bittersweet ache in her

chest.

Flashback ends

He took the paper lying on the table where her signature was highlighted as he neatly

folded it and pocketed it.

The door to his office opened as the maid entered after seeking his permission.

"Sir, ma'am is in the room."

He gave a nod of acknowledgment and flicked his finger, ordering her to leave.

She was waiting for him...

But... did he have her consent?

The consent.

Which was one of the reasons for what he made her go through that hell of an ordeal in the

first place.

Did he still have it?

Was she willing?

Something told him he still did not hae that consent that he had been seeking.