𝕴 woke up in pain—feeling massive heart palpitations in my chest. No matter how many doses of anxiety medication I took, they back came harder. I brushed my hair back off my heated face, rolled over in the bed, my sleepy gaze finding my laptop five inches away from my face. Rolling over I checked the time on my phone. One in the morning and I had a message from Fariha.

She called me as soon as I replied, her face appearing tanned and relaxed. "Can you hear me?"

"I can hear you," I connected my AirPods and gave her a careful once over. "You look happy and relaxed," I said, a smile tugging at my lips.

"Riaan is a Godsend. That's all I'm going to say," a blush stained my cheeks and I coughed, remembering my own little moment. "Oh come on, we're adults now. I honestly think you've made a mistake with the no intimacy clause."

"I sent you the contract so you could look at the loopholes, not tell me about my failings."

"That is a loophole. It's a very big loophole. You have no idea what you're missing out on."

"I don't want to know."

"You never told me how this came about. It's a bit sudden."

I admitted. "We kind of um—"

"You kind of um, what?"

Telling her about the will wasn't an option so I decided to take the cowards route. "We had an understanding, that's it."

"And it has nothing to do with the fact that you're the first woman who's actually seen him in years?"

"That's not true."

"His mother and sister don't count."

"Did you know they were twins?"

"No, she always seemed so much younger than him."

"She's older, by two minutes. It's or it was," I amended thinking about their deceased older brother. "Altamash, Zeenia, Taimoor and then Azaan."

"That's a lot of kids," her laugh prompted a gentle one out of me.

"Funnily, she said the same thing. She and Mama hit it off when she came to our house on Friday."

"Did not expect that. Did she talk to you?"

"Not much. She didn't have the time. Mama kept pestering her about the details of the wedding and she had to leave to make sure everything was right on schedule," I frowned and slid under my blanket, replaying everything that had happened over the past few days. "We're going to finalize the dress on Friday."

"Ugh, I'm going to miss that, that's when I fly in."

"I'm just glad you're making it back in time. It would have been strange without you."

"I can't believe you're doing this. It's ballsy, I'll admit that. But as your lawyer, I have to ask, will it be worth it? Was it worth pissing Bibi off?"

"We'll see won't we?" she searched my face, her gaze empathetic. Anything that pissed Bibi off was worth it in my eyes. And this has made her go ballistic, to the point where she'd boycotted our family and banned her son from having any relationship with us. "Do I have your permission to sign both of the documents?"

"You've sent me the edited version of the prenup right?" I nodded. "Are you sure you don't want anything from him? Seems like he's more than willing to compromise."

"I just want this to be over."

"You're weird, but I love you. You can sign them."

"So how's Spain?"

"I thought you'd never ask!" she gushed about Madrid and Milan for over an hour, and just as she was about to tell me about how awful her tour guide was, her father called her phone.

"It's Abba, he's joining us from London," she rolled her eyes. "Gotta go."

"Love ya, say hi to Riaan for me."

"Will do. See you soon," and with a kiss, she disconnected the call.

With a sigh I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling, my sleep growing more and more fitful as his dominating presence invaded the domain of my dreams. For the third day in a row, sleep was elusive to me.

༻✺༺

The week to the wedding was surreal. The constant chatter and the eyes that followed me made me felt like I was back in my old life. In between work, I met Zeenia and her chosen wedding planner for lunches, not that my presence would have made a difference. My future sister-in-law was the CEO of my wedding. I was just middle management, executing her vision.

For better or worse, I didn't see my fiancé all week, since he'd flown off to London for an important meeting. I continued going to the office, despite vehement protests by every single female in my life, disappearing amongst all the other faceless employees . . . until I noticed the magazine the girl in the lobby in front of me was reading before the elevator arrived.

The engagement announcement had been released to the media two days before the event, with the society pages already filled with women claiming this to be a fairytale, one that everyone wanted to be a part of.

That's when I decided to stay back and hide in the house, only coming out when Zeenia came to get me for our various excursions. Unsurprisingly, she was always surrounded by a team of professionals, and we barely had a chance to talk in private.

On Friday, I met Zeenia and her personal assistant in the lobby of the dress store of the designer who'd dressed Zeenia for Fariha's engagement and for Zeenia's own wedding. It was quite the contrast from the shopping experience last week with my mother who, as I'd feared, had tried to exceed her budget.

The designer, wearing all black, stood next to a rack of her dresses and supervised her assistant as the girl steamed wrinkles out of the garments. When she saw us, Jan smiled and gestured for the assistant to stop.

"Zeenia," Jan said. "I swear you look younger every time I see you. How are you? How's the baby?" I stood awkwardly by my future sister-in-law's side while she chatted with her friend.

Minutes later, Jan pulled a silver dress down off the rack handed it to Zeenia, and sent her off toward the dressing room. There was no discussion between the women. No comments about color or any other options presented.

"I heard about your ideas and I came up with this," she turned to me and dug through the rack, using both of her matchstick thin arms to support the full dress as she pulled it out for me to see. Jan had given me elaborate, showstopping pieces to wear in her shop as my wedding dress, but none of them had clicked. So she'd designed a custom pieces. I'd given her three requirements, and she'd nailed each one. The first was that the dress was sophisticated. It was classically elegant with a simple neckline, which played into the second requirement. I wanted to wear my grandmother's wreath diamond necklace, and not have it compete with the garment. My final requirement was that it showed off my favorite place on my body. Hence, it was backless.

And it was beyond perfect.

"It's gorgeous," I breathed.

I eagerly took the hanger from her, scooped up the bottom half of the garment in an arm so it wouldn't drag on the floor, and hurried to change into it.

The silhouette was flattering, but that wasn't what made me fall in love. It was the rich red fabric with slightly different tones that gave it a texture quality. Clear beading that was carefully placed, flashed a hint of sparkle when I moved, like a scale catching the light. It was simple, fitted, and elegant.

I looked like a dragon. A Dragon Queen ready to conquer her kingdom.

Zeenia was already on the pedestal out front, scrutinizing herself in the mirrors. The off the shoulder dress draped over her like a second skin, flaunted her statuesque form. She waved a hand, dismissing the staff, and went back to admiring herself in the mirror, pulling at the waist of the dress over her swollen stomach.

"You look beautiful," I breathed out.

"Oh," Zeenia pressed her fingers to the hollow of her neck as a shy smile teased her lips. "Thank you," her gaze met mine through the mirror, and she took in the dress I wore, and for a moment she looked . . . stunned. But the emotion was closely reined in as years of training kicked in and she flashed a pleased smile and stepped off the pedestal, gesturing for me to take her place. "You look stunning."

A nervous laugh bubbled from me and I fell even more in love with the red dress when I could see it from all angles. Zeenia turned to look at Jan, who had her hands clapped above her mouth, her eyes shining with tears."We'll take it."

༻✺༺

The hairstylist tugged on my hair while the makeup artist caked my face and told me to tilt my head this way and that. I sighed and tried not to frown. I'd forbidden excess people from entering my room as I got ready, but Zeenia's extensive hair and makeup team were here, texting her pictures and making adjustments based on her feedback as she got ready at her house.

My bridal suite was covered with a hand-tied collection of bouquets of white roses, set against silvery-green sprigs of eucalyptus. It perfectly matched the silvery dresses Nazia, Zeenia and Fariha wore, along with the crystal-embellished Manolo Blahnik heels on my feet.

After the makeup artists were done, my best friend and my sister helped me into my dress, pulling the strings at the back. A quiet but persistent stream of tears leaked from my mother's eyes, her eyes following every single step. They chattered excitedly as they tied the strings, turning me towards the full-length mirror.

As the dupatta settled around me, I took in the finished project and felt my stomach lurch. This was all kinds of wrong.

The makeup artist was so skilled that there was no trace of fear on my face. The cold sweat had been powdered away, and the soft blush on my cheeks gave the impression that I was joyful and excited rather than panicked and ready to lose my shit. The beautiful dupatta fell around me in soft waves over my sleek and shiny hair, left unbound. With my dark hair unbound and my long length embellished fabric, none of the guests would be able to catch a glimpse of my bareback, obscured only by a thin layer of cloth.

It was my rebellion against society. My little secret.

Fariha flapped a hand in front of her face.

"I never thought I'd see this day," she brushed away a tear and pulled out a handkerchief embroidered with her initials and I glared at her. "It's still a wedding," she muttered sullenly, her voice dropping into a low octave at my quiet admonishment.

I had all of the traditions satisfied, my dress on, and my half of the bridal party at the ready. And while I didn't have cold feet, I had nerves in spades. I was quaking inside the bodice of my dress. The mood in the room was light and festive while I sat there, paralyzed with shock.

Hysteria spread with every second that ticked past. I felt completely detached from everything that was taking place around me.

The world was spinning too fast.

A short set of knocks came from the door, causing our conversation and my heart to stop.

Was it time already?

When the door opened, I expected it to be one of the wedding coordinators, dressed elegantly in black and wearing an earpiece, but it wasn't. It was Zeenia, looking as she'd just descended from Olympus. Her silver dress had beads cascaded down the front like someone had tossed handfuls of glitter at her and they scattered over the fabric. With her hair coifed in an elegant chignon, she looked like a human version of Aphrodite. All soft waves and cold beauty. Untouchable. Unachievable.

"I need a minute alone with the bride," she said.

Her voice had an edge of strain like she'd held back the desire to demand everyone leave the room immediately. They got the message loud and clear, though. My mother exchanged a furtive glance with me, unsure if she should go, but I nodded. There was no point in fighting this.

"How are you feeling?" she asked as soon as the door clicked shut.

I gave her a soft smile, grateful for her concern. "I'm holding on."

"You've been remarkably serene about this. I must admit, I'm impressed," and to her credit, she did look impressed.

"There's no going back," I said, taking a huge gulp of air, counting on the two anxiety pills I'd taken to do their job.

"No there isn't," she said, her voice emotionless, cool. Back to being the aloof Olympian. "Do you need anything?"

My fiancé? A time machine? "No."

"Then let's go."

When we stepped out of the room, a flash went off in my face. As my vision cleared, I saw a woman in a white pantsuit holding a camera. "It's for the magazine."

The photographer circling me made me feel like my performance had already begun, and I pulled my lips back into a bright, nervous smile. For the next five hours or so, I'd be on stage, playing my role of Daania Mansoor Khan Mughal the brand, not the person. I picked up my dress and floated towards the living room, gazing at the setup outside.

Baba came to greet me, looking handsome but uncomfortable in his tuxedo, although I wondered if it were his surroundings that really bothered him. Did he feel like he was losing his little girl to the Mughals?

"Your mother and I love you very much," Baba said. "We're happy you're happy."

When his chin began to quiver, my eyes went wide. "Oh, God, Baba. Please. If you start, I'll start."

He nodded, blew out a long breath that seemed to even him out, and then we were off. Once the photographer was satisfied, my father began to speak, his voice carrying easily in the hushed quiet. My nerves began to fray as Baba's words began to penetrate my haze. The ceremony was a blur, and it was small mercy for our guests.

"Daania," Baba prompted. I blinked and saw Uncle H holding a pen out to me. I signed the Nikkah nama with a flourish, registering the crush of the stares aimed my way.

"Pictures, quickly! The sky is perfect!" the photographer shouted as soon as we were told that Taimoor had signed and the dua was done, leading the wedding party outside. A shiver crawled up my spine, slow and uncertain. My gaze dragged slowly along the shadows searching for the man who I could not see, but who I could still feel watching me, just as the sun began to set, streaking the sky with color.

Zeenia's wedding planner had done an excellent job with the catering and the cake, which was decorated with sugar flowers that matched the overall theme. Elegant white folding chairs were set around the tables, over a land covered in flawless white, and at the back of it rose an arbor, draped in gauzy curtains and decadent flower arrangements.

Affandi greeted us at the back, his gaze flitting over my face, trying to check if I was okay. I gave him a brief nod just as my family flanked me on either side.

As soon as it was their turn, Zeenia wore a perfectly manufactured smile as they took their places on either side of me. Affandi wasn't smiling; his expression was fixed. To others, he might look mildly irritated or bored, but I saw the worry aching to bow on his lips and the concern locked in his eyes.

"Where's the groom?" Riaan asked, his gaze wandering across the lawn. Fariha placed a careful hand on his arm, her mouth molded into a casual smile.

"We've already got his pictures," Zeenia interjected smoothly, throwing a warning look my way. Of course, he wouldn't be in the pictures. It was comical that I'd forgotten about his scars and his anti social attitude. For me, both of those things had ceased to exist. I didn't notice it. Because for me, he was just him, just Taimoor.

After the pictures, the small wedding party sat in the gardens as the food was served but eventually migrated back to the house as the weather became a little chillier.

I'd expected the day to be long, but nowhere near as tiring as it had been. I'd put on a show and completed all the tasks required of me, cutting the cake, the endless mingling, and did my best to greet each guest and thank them for coming. Thankfully, at the third hour, I was allowed to go up to my room.

Walking up the stairs, my heartbeat went into double-time, and trepidation inched up my spine. I sensed it before it happened. When he materialized in the shadow of the hallway, I didn't pause and continued walking to my room. I knew he was going to find me. I'd felt it in my bones.

I stopped and we stared at each other through my open doorway. Would he come in? Or would he turn and go back? Even with the approaching darkness, the glint of his eyes shone like beacons. His expression was unreadable as he took a few hesitant steps in my direction, stopping when he stood at the threshold.

There wasn't a wrinkle or speck of anything marring his black suit, and his black shirt was as pristine as his eyes. Everything was perfectly in place, from his dark hair to the white square peeking out of his pocket, and the white rose pinned to his lapel.

His gaze began at the hem of my dress, trimmed delicately with lace and beading, and ever so slowly climbed upward. Eyes that had never ventured farther south than the tip of my nose now drifted reluctantly up to my chest and I watched his look deepen. And the way his bruised stare dragged back up to mine was like a lion marking his prey. His intense stare was like the sun. Too hard to look at for more than a moment at a time. 

"What is it?" I asked.

"We're supposed to have a moment," his tone was hesitant, conflicted, and uncharacteristically unsure. As if he did not know what to do next.

I swallowed painfully, struggling to get out my response. "I know."

"We're planning for the reception for next month, then you'll be able to move in with me," as if a thought had just occurred to him, he reached inside his jacket and strode toward me, closing the door behind him. "I have something to give you."

My heart lurched up into my throat. I was trembling. I wasn't sure whether it was from the low temperature or the fact that I was now legally bound to him. Whatever it was, I didn't want it. Gifts from Taimoor meant that the game had begun. He ignored me as I stepped back and produced a tiny black box, only big enough to hold something outrageously expensive. I shook my head, making my dupatta swish and drop down my back, spread wayward on the floor.

When I refused to accept the box, he opened it and thrust it forward. The oval emerald at the center of the ring was massive, and diamonds flanked it on either side. It was so beautiful it stole my breath. My gaze fluttered from the ring up to his in disbelief. This ring was too much. That size of it alone made me nervous, but for him to give me a ring—one that could have stood in as an engagement ring—seemed too much for my nerves.

"It's beautiful, but I can't," I took another step back, retreating. He pulled the ring from the box, and his face was full of determination.

"You need a ring. We're married now. And you agreed to accept everything handed to you without any objections," maybe it was the different inflection. Maybe it was the low rumble of his voice but I froze, allowing the meaning to sink in.

It came from me in a rush. "Fine."

When I took it from him, our fingers brushed and a frisson of awareness zipped through me. It was ridiculous and completely asinine how affected I was from that brief, innocent touch. I slipped the ring onto the ring finger of my left hand, where it fit perfectly, although it was much heavier than I had expected. We admired it together for a long, quiet moment until I found the courage to speak.

"You're here," I whispered, my gaze whipping up to his. While I had been studying my hands, he'd been watching me. His dark eyes deepening into black-and-grey pits at my question.

"It is my wedding," his gaze locked onto me, and refused to let go."It was expected."

His head tipped down so he could peer into my eyes, searching them like a missing figure was hidden inside and he just had to look hard enough.

"Did you think I wouldn't show up?" his critical stare narrowed, and my mouth dried up. Could he measure the uneven pace of my heart, the frantic beats that wanted him to leave me in peace but didn't want him to leave me?

"It's just a sign on a piece of paper. You're not required to be present."

"Just another contract," he muttered, his eyes following the expressions on my face. His focus dropped down to my lips and my heart lurched. "Not unlike the others we've signed," he rasped, his face still frustratingly blank.

"Right," I said turning away and facing the mirror, unable to bear the intensity of his gaze. He responded by stepping forward, ghosting a finger between my back and my hair which were now tossed to one side, cascading over one of my shoulders, and when his fingertips lightly skimmed across my bare skin, lightning sparked.

"Taimoor," I whined in a breathy, low voice so no one in the hall would overhear and come in. "We can't-"

"I'm not touching you," he answered, his thumb sweeping over the ridge of my spine, caressing the air above it, causing me to tremble. His eyes clouded with dangerous, reckless desire, the hand above my back a tool of torture. His lips hovered so close, it'd take no effort for him to close the space and press them to my temple. Or to my cheek. Or even my collarbone. He loomed behind me, like an angry shadow, a dark presence, like the devil. One finger traced the outline of my neck, the curve of my shoulder, his breath causing goosebumps to erupt over my heated skin. He leaned over, and although he wasn't touching me, his desire to do so was so fierce, I felt him anyway. His gaze traced my shoulders, caressed my spine. It wandered and explored and relished, causing my mouth to go dry.

It was so exceptionally cruel, I couldn't breathe. If I tried to move away, it would force me closer to him, putting us chest to chest. The turmoil in his stormy eyes suggested he expected me to flee at any moment—like the sight of him alone was too repulsive for me to be able to stand. He was clueless. If he looked closer, he'd see my greatest struggle was to not pull him closer—to not satisfy my dreamt desires and darkest needs.

"I don't want this to be a part of your game," I finally said, finding my strength and moving away, tripping over my long lehenga and nearly falling over. It was subtle, the way he flinched and began his retreat. I caught the twitch of his jaw, especially the way it rippled over the skin that was unnaturally smooth and yet laced with seams of his injury. The momentary battle of our wills could have restarted the war I was trying to end.

"Understood."

"I just-"

"It won't happen again. I'll see you on Monday," he gave me a final look, the scars on his face making it look like a scowl, noting how I was shaking with adrenaline and a wide range of emotions, the strongest one being desire, and tipped his head to me in farewell.

I stood like a statue as he opened the door, walked out, and pulled it close behind him.

What had I gotten myself into?

༻✺༺

Guys you have got to give me a break after this. I've given you 4100+ words. Let me take a breather. As always, comments, thoughts, feedback?

What did you think? Was it intense? Was it worth it? Are you satisfied? Let me know! The more you comment or vote or engage with the story, the more I write 🤷🏻‍♀️ Next chapter probably comes out on Tuesday or Wednesday.

Shaadi Mubarak 🥳

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