Chapter 153: Wife

"I... I... I... I," no word left her lips as she struggled to formulate a sentence. She wanted to

apologize to him for her misconduct last night. But she was fearful—what if he did not

forgive her? Or worse, what if he sent her back to the cell?

The latter thought brought tears to her eyes as her head tilted, and she looked up at the sky,

hoping God would diminish her plight.

She didn't want to go back to the cell.

But for that, she would have to listen to his every command, and she had disobeyed him last

night.

How would she get saved now?

He read her eyes, and all he saw was utter helplessness. For a moment, he felt the

restlessness of her heart.

While his sister was lying in the hospital, he too was dependent on The One on whom she

was depending now. The One she was praying to.

He tilted her head back to face him and raised his brows in a questioning manner, "You

what?"

Gathering all the courage she had, she stammered, "I c-c-c-an't be your... your... mis—" Her

sentence was cut short as he placed his thumb above her lips.

"You won't," he replied and placed his lips above his thumb, which was resting on her lips.

He had burnt that paper last night.

He couldn't get what he wanted.

So there was no use keeping it, anyway.

Or maybe... he knew she wouldn't be able to sustain that humiliation every day.

He tried to shut down the thoughts that were convincing him that he had a soft corner for

her.

Women weren't trustworthy.

A few moments elapsed, but no words were exchanged. Only her quiet breathing could be

heard as he moved his head up to stare at her again.

"I wonder how you will tell our children the story of their father proposing to their mother

for marriage," he uttered, and she frowned, her brain trying to decipher his sentence.

"With you lying underneath me, staring at my lips every other second, waiting for

confirmation as your chest heaved up and down, and all that could be heard were your

rapid breaths," he said in a whisper and slowly advanced his lips toward her, placing a

chaste kiss on her lips.

"What would be the story you'd be telling them years later?" he asked while continuing to

rub her brow as she innocently stared at him. "Hmm, Zaad?"

"I-I don't... d-don't understand."

"You're going to be my wife. I will shift you to the haveli today."

Shehryaar had left after announcing the news of their marriage to her. She lay there on the

bed for a while, staring at the ceiling. Lifelessly.

Trying to process his words. Trying to perceive if he had ulterior motives behind those

words.

Marriage?

Wife?

And not just anyone's wife. Wife to Shehryaar Haider Syed. The feared mafia don of the

country. The immaculate businessman. And one of the most influential personalities in the

country.

The man who was dark. The man who killed her spark. Who killed the will to live in her. The

man who took everything from her. Even the right to breathe.

The man who was a demon himself.

Was she going to get married to him?

How?

How would she live with him?

Because every moment, his presence would remind her of the atrocities he committed

against her. Every moment in his presence, her mind would be occupied by the memories

she created in that cell. Every second would remind her of the instructions that had been

fed into her brain about him.

Respect him.

Obey him.

You're his property.

He is your owner.

He can do whatever he desires with you.

If you dare to defy him, the punishment you'll face will be worse than death itself.

And what not.

These instructions played with her mind, day and night. And now, since the moment he had

left, she could recall the rules she had to follow.

How would she live with such a man?

The anxiety of her future slowly overtook her.

She knew she could not deny him. She could not defy him. She had to follow his word. For

her, his word was law. And if he told her he was going to marry her, then it meant no matter

her opinion, she had to marry him.

Slowly, tears cascaded down her eyes and disappeared into the bedsheet.

She was content that he did not make her his mistress and chose to make her his wife. But

either way, she was his woman.

And she did not want that.

She did not want to be anywhere near him. She wanted to hide in a place where he could

never find her. Where there would be peace. And no fear. Where she would be happy.

Had she asked a lot from God?

Was it too much for God to give her some happiness?

Some freedom?

Because she felt stripped of all the rights a human should have.

She took in a deep breath, looking at the bright side. At least she was not becoming his

mistress. If he had made her his mistress, then each night, she would have to be available to

him.

One of the maids had introduced her to a lady before she was sent to Shehryaar's room.

That lady told her about certain rules the mistress of a mafia don should follow.

And one of the prime rules was to be available for him at all times. Be it day, night, any

second of the day, if he asked for you, you had to be at his service. And pleasure him in the

ways he desired. Denying him was not even an option, nor was escaping his touch.

She had to give in completely. She had to hand her body over to him in all ways. And she

could not have a say in how he would use her body.

Those words had sent shivers down her body. And the thought filled her with content that

she got saved from becoming his mistress.