Chapter 94: Not Your Brother

Ahmed sat in front of her, his posture stiff, his eyes darting nervously around the room. His

hands rubbed together in a continuous, anxious rhythm. Beside him sat Amna, pale and

weak, her hands folded neatly in her lap. The air in the room felt heavy, laden with

unspoken words and unresolved tension.

"So?" Sheharzaad tried to initiate conversation. She did her best to feign ignorance and act

as if Ahmed didn't propose to her.

Ahmed opened his mouth, closed it again, and then looked at Amna as though she could

somehow rescue him from the moment.

"Ahmed, you can say it," Amna spoke gently, her voice soothing but edged with urgency.

"Blurt it out in one go."

Ahmed took a deep breath, visibly steeling himself. "Sheharzaad, actually, I... I mean... I

know that... I'm actually here to ask for Amna's hand for marriage!" The words spilled out of

him in a single breath, rushed and awkward.

Sheharzaad’s eyes widened, her body stiffening in shock. "What? But you..."

"I want to marry her," he interrupted, guilt and embarrassment flashing across his face. "I

want to take your sister away." His voice cracked, and he looked down, unable to meet her

gaze.

"Oh the tea," Amna recalled and immediately stood up before heading towards the kitchen.

Sheharzaad barely registered Amna’s sudden departure. She wasn’t sure if her sister was

simply shy or if she was deliberately avoiding the conversation. But right now, none of it

mattered. The only thing that consumed her was the anger bubbling within her as she

turned back to Ahmed, her eyes flashing.

Before she could speak, Ahmed raised his hands as if to ward off her wrath. "It was never

me," he blurted. "It was... Shehryaar."

The realization hit her like a blow, and her stomach churned. It was all a game. And she was

just a pawn. His pawn.

...

Her hands gripped the collar of his pristine white shirt, her fingers trembling with barely

contained rage. Sheharzaad’s nostrils flared, her chest heaving as she stared into his cold,

calculating eyes. At that moment, she forgot who he was.

She forgot the danger, forgot the consequences. All she saw was red.

"How dare you do that?!" she screamed, her voice echoing in the room.

"Do what?" he replied calmly, his hands still tucked casually into his pockets, as though her

anger was nothing more than an amusing outburst.

"How dare you bring Ahmed Bhai into all this?!" Her grip tightened, and her nails bit into

the fabric of his shirt.

"Oh," he drawled, raising his brows in mock surprise as he pulled his hands free from his

pockets and gently pried her hands off his collar. His touch was firm but not rough, his

movements deliberate. "Is he your brother now?"

The words struck her like a slap, leaving her tongue-tied, her mind scrambling for a

response. She had no words. She couldn’t process his audacity.

"When he was proposing to you," Shehryaar continued, his voice calm and measured,

"wasn’t he your brother then?"

Her throat tightened, and she swallowed hard. "Why... why did you do that?" she managed

to whisper, her voice trembling.

"To get my point across your head," he said, his voice dropping as he grasped her chin,

tilting her face upward. His thumb, adorned with a heavy ring, rested just below her lips.

"That everyone you call brother isn’t your brother, Sheharzaad."

Her heart pounded against her ribs as his words sank in, each syllable laced with malice.

She felt trapped under his gaze, her mind racing with the implications of what he had done.

"It was a test," he continued, his free hand brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "For

your loyalty, mentality, and obedience. You passed the first two, my dear Shehar," his grip

on her chin tightened, making her flinch slightly, "but you failed the third one. You failed to

obey me, Zaad."

Her breath hitched. She understood now. This was his twisted way of punishing her for

maintaining contact with Ahmed despite his orders.

"Why did you bring my family into this?" she demanded, her voice rising as tears threatened

to spill.

"Because I can," he said simply as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"I hate you," she hissed, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I hate you," she repeated,

her voice breaking. Her fist flew toward his chest in a weak punch. "I hate you. So much. So

much that I’d—"

"Shhh," he interrupted, his thumb sliding up to press against her lips. "Shhh." His voice was

low, almost soothing, but the undertone of danger was unmistakable.

"Continue only if you want to blame yourself for the consequences," he warned, the threat

subtle but chillingly effective. "See that ring?" He gestured to the ring on her finger. "What

does it make you? My woman. And I don’t like my woman running her tongue on me."

"Go to hell!" she spat, defiance burning in her gaze.

The response was immediate. His hand shot out, and before she could react, he backhanded

her across the face. Her head snapped to the side, and a sharp sting bloomed on her cheek.

She gasped, the impact stunning her into silence.

"You’ll be the way I want you to be," he said, his voice dangerously soft. "Get that?"

Her mind screamed No! But her body betrayed her. Her tongue faltered, and she couldn’t

bring herself to respond.

"Get that, little lady?" he repeated, his voice dropping to a whisper as his fingers traced her

neck. "Get that?"

"Yes," she muttered, her voice barely audible, her teeth clenched.

"Good," he murmured, his fingers caressing the spot where his hand had struck her. The

bruised skin felt raw under his touch, but the glint in his eyes was what truly unnerved her.

His gaze trailed over her face, lingering on her lips.

"To carve it in your head," he said, his tone laced with a chilling promise, "let’s take you

somewhere, Sheharzaad."