Taimoor.

𝓢ome things you don't realize—can't realize—until you're in the moment. They're too big, too deep. They surround you before you even realize it.

"What was that?" I barked at my sister. She glared at me with the same expression that she'd had since the day we had had that climactic dinner a month ago. Confusion. Frustration. Concern.

"I should be the one asking you this question."

"You didn't tell me Daania was working for the company," Affandi complained, obviously forgetting that his wife was in the room.

"She's working for me."

"Wait, you knew about her and you didn't tell me?" she threw an angry look at her husband, waiting for an explanation.

"I thought it was a one-time thing!" and of course he could not keep his mouth shut. I pinched the bridge of my nose. "I didn't know he was going to hire Daania Mansoor Khan. Honestly, when she barged into this room, I thought he'd kill her."

"You hired the daughter of the man who stole from you? She barged into your office? Why wasn't I notified of this?"

"It was that one time," lie. "None of the board members are aware of this Zeenia. As far as they know, the project will be completed by the set deadline."

"I'm not just a board member, I'm the COO of Mughal Co,. I'm also your sister,"she huffed, almost losing her balance causing Affandi to leap from his chair, his arms wrapping around her.

"Sit down Zeenia. And I was going to tell you once I had the details sorted out," I stared at her, not knowing where this petulant attitude of hers was coming from. "Where did you find her?"

"She's not a thing Taimoor. I did not 'find' her," she said, rubbing her temples. "Besides, she was perfect for you, but-"

"What do you mean was?"

"Will you let my wife sit down?" said wife immediately sat on the edge of the armchair, calves pressed together and angled to the side, her hand on her husband's arm.

"Think about it, she could be the answer to our problems," as if I needed any encouragement, my eyes squeezed shut, she was there. Right in front of me, ready to be taken in the elevator. "She could save you," I hated when she did this. There were certain things I'd tolerate her demanding of me. Certain things I'd let her step over the line to insist on or be critical of. Just because I let her mold certain boundaries didn't mean she could continue to push me... to pull me out of the shell I'd created around myself. Especially about this.

"What are you saying?"

Zeenia and Affandi glanced at one another. They were so in sync with each other that talking wasn't necessary.

"Marry her," Zeenia blurted out and then recoiled from her words like they were kickbacks from firing a gun. I froze.

Ice crystals could have grown in the trail of my stare as it led to her.

"She's a child."

"She's twenty-five years old. Hardly a child."

"She hates me."

"I doubt that," Zeenia looked uncharacteristically weary.

"We're a bad match."

"It's a paper marriage, it doesn't have to match at all. If you don't act now, she'll be married to Ghazafar Khan Bilour by the end of winter."

"She'll be what?"

Affandi's gaze sharpened on his wife, as genuine delight flashed through him. Of course he was happy. He'd finally seen her get a reaction out of me.

"And guess what? He'll pay off their debts and finance her father. Who knows, he might do all of that before the wedding actually takes place as a gesture of goodwill. Where will you be then? Her father already owns the IP. He could just create a newer better version of the White Rose," it was clear the pregnancy affected her. Normally stoic, decisive, and straightforward Zeenia looked nervous."He'll be in direct competition with us. And with the legitimate creator at the helm, we'd lose money, you'll lose your seat and your credibility and the business will go back to Dad."

"I have to think about this."

"There's nothing to think about. It's a business decision. Making her your wife, ensures that you have complete control over her father. And if she's married to you, no one would dare finance Mansoor Khan's innovations. It's a win-win."

"And what about her? What about the girl? Is she supposed to sign away her life for these business decisions?" her husband threw out, visibly upset. It was clear he wasn't expecting her to be so blunt.

"Our parents did it."

"You hated that. Who's to say she won't hate it?"

"If she's already in this deep, if she's willing to marry her cousin, I think I know where her head's at. She's a smart capable girl. I'm sure she can find a future here. She doesn't have to be a wife. She can be a partner."

"The will said that she has to be a perfect wife and she has to provide an heir," I interjected.

"The will specifically states that you need a wife if you want to be voted into the board. The heir part is for Mughal Manor."

With dark eyes and an equally dark countenance, senior and detached, rigid, and unbending—Zeenia was the female version of our grandfather. I didn't know why I was surprised by her pragmatic approach. It was all him.

"You could always just buy the house."

"The lawyers won't put it up for sale. Not until everyone agrees. Besides, Mom and Dad would rather die than sell the house."

"What about Azaan? Will he agree?"

"He needs to focus on his degree. We have time to think about Mughal Manor."

"Why are you even selling it?"

"We're considering it."

"I want to talk to Zeenia," Affandi opened his mouth to protest. "Alone."

Seconds later she settled into the chair, watching her husband leave, her lips pursed in a familiar determined expression.

"Why are you pushing this?"

"Why are you not? This could be your way out. She gets you that seat on the board. The board members will see you as a stable, competent, and capable CEO. Dad will have to step down."

"And then what? He goes back home and makes Mom want to bang her head on the wall?"

"Their marriage isn't our issue. Our legacy is our issue."

"Where are those maternal hormones?"

"Taimoor, I'm pregnant, not stupid," my mind filled with white static, and I didn't try to change the channel or make sense of how I was feeling right now. "There's no better answer. She's the key. She leads us forward. This is perfect. Make her an offer. I'm sure she'll want to save her family legacy. Give her rights to her father's business, let her have it, and secure her loyalty. That's what we want. That's what we need."

"You should have been the CEO."

"Yeah well, the one thing between your legs is the reason why you're where I should have been."

"He's screwing us from the grave."

"Oh yeah. This is his particular brand of mischief. He knew Dad wouldn't be the right person. He knew Altamash was the heir and yet, he pushed you to do this."

"Don't remind me."

"Are you going to make her an offer?"

I tilted my head to the side as I examined my sister. "I'll consider it."

"That's all I ask."

"She doesn't belong in the darkness Zeenia. It's not fair to her."

"You asked me where I found her," a reluctant smile graced her lips, proving that she felt some genuine fondness regarding the girl. "I found her seeking refuge in the dark."

༻✺༺

My parents were not happily married. My grandparents on both sides weren't happily married. But my sister had broken the curse. She'd managed to carve out her happiness. Something my great grandparents had. None of it altered that, on the whole, my family had been unlucky in love. Could I force Daania to live in the same misery I did? Daania deserved to live in her potential and not in my shadow—not in the dark recesses behind the crazy businessman who skulked in the shadows and threatened his partners. These were all things I'd repeated over and over to myself the past two days. I'd never been religious, but the way I prayed for Daania would have made me a saint.

I hadn't slept a full night in years. I kept to the early mornings because they were dark and cold and lonely—just like me. I closed my eyes as the burnt brown liquid warmed me. This was also the time that I had to fight the memories, because they, too, were lonely and searching to make my frozen heart their permanent home. But this morning, the kind of insanity in my insomnia had nothing to do with my restlessness and paranoia. It had everything to do with the tiny girl with wild hair and eyes that held the kind of anger and bitterness that I felt in my soul—the kind that came from giving your all and now, all that was left was to resent yourself for not giving enough.

For the past two months, she'd become like the masterpieces that I stared at in the house, hanging right in front of me: able to be looked at, admired, and studied. But always behind a layer of glass. Untouchable. Forbidden. Because I had put her there.

I needed to think. I needed to think about what I was going to do about her and what I definitely could not do to her. She was the thing I saw in color for the first time in months. I saw the red of her anger. The blue of her sadness. The orange of her hurt. The yellow of her fear.

Loathing leeched through my cells. I'd never have her. She would never want to spend her life with a monster like me. And now that she was standing right where I had her, right where she'd put herself, could I do it? Could I rip the fabric of her reality?

I slammed my fist into my desk.

Here was a well-worn depression in the wood from where the gesture found its home. Here, the walls were thicker and almost sound-proof. And even if they could hear, no one in this house questioned the noises that came from the other side of this door. Not anymore.

"Sir, breakfast?"

"Don't bother."

I stared at the interior of my study, narrowing my eyes at the gothic atmosphere. The curtains were open, and bright sunlight poured in from the oversized windows, chasing away the shadows. Would she even like it here?

"I'm concerned for your wellbeing sir. Mrs. Khan is worried about your health. Is the food not to your liking?"

"No, the food's fine. There's no need for concern."

"Then what is it?"

"I'm contemplating a takeover."

"I know that look. Is it that poor girl?"

"I haven't decided yet. And don't look at me like that. I don't need another conscience. I have one somewhere."

"You should find it," Akbar drawled, picking up the scattered papers on the floor, placing them next to the empty coffee cup.

"If we're comparing roads to hell, you were a fellow traveler not too long ago," he ignored my heavy sarcasm and swiped a hand on the clean desk.

"Will she be collateral?"

"No, she's an asset," but she was so far outside my sophisticated world and my usual taste in women, that I felt as though patterns I'd followed my entire life were being rewired in my brain. Like the sun, I was drawn to her warmth—her brilliant energy.

"I see. I'll call for the car."

I didn't see her when I arrived. On top of that, she was eight insulting minutes late. It was long enough to send a message of how little she respected me, my time, and my enormous wealth. Of course, that was assuming she was late. I was beginning to wonder if she would materialize at all.

"I've got your ten o clock lined up, followed by a call to the Hong Kong Office, and then as soon as it's morning in London, Lindsey is ready for your call at twelve-thirty-"

"Where is she Jibran? Did you not schedule a meeting with Ms. Mansoor?"

"She, uh, she said that-"

"What?"

He went sheet white, the papers in his hands trembling. "That you could have a meeting with yourself."

"Where is she now?"

"In her office."

"Call her up immediately and escort her to my office. If she protests, tell her that she'd be very interested to know about the stipulations outlined in her contract."

"Right away sir."

The soft thuds down the hall were distantly familiar, but when they paused in front of my door, there was only one person they could belong to. A soft knock was hardly a warning before it opened and she walked in.

"You're half an hour late."

"I thought I'd made my feelings about this meeting clear?"

"And I thought I'd made mine," I appreciated how she lowered into the vacant chair across from me without my approval. A power move. "I see you've made yourself comfortable."

"Is there a reason for this meeting?"

"Yes, there is. Since you're late, I'll make this short," I forced myself to ignore her irritated look and glanced down at my Cartier watch, a graduation gift from my mother. "I have a business proposal for you."

"I'm not following."

Right. I should get to the point. "You're a talented girl. Smart, capable," my offhanded compliments surprised her. A rare pleased look warmed her expression. It was contagious, and when I felt the urge to soften, I railed against it. "You won't match well with Ghazanfar Bilour."

Her posture immediately stiffened. "I wasn't aware you kept up with the gossip Mr. Mughal."

"Is it gossip?"

"My personal life isn't your business."

"Even if it happens in an elevator?" I deliberately pushed her. Without the fight, she looked so lost. I couldn't stand it. Without the fight in her eyes, I saw only the reflection of myself—some who looked at their future like there was nothing left of it. I pushed her because I did not want her to forget that moment. To have it imprinted on her consciousness.

"Did you call me here to blackmail me?"

"No. I did not. I apologize, I was crass," I refused to let any of my irritation bleed out onto my face and held my posture neutral. No way was I apologizing for that. Never. "I wanted to ask a very important question."

"Which is?"

"Will you marry me?"

"Are you alright? Wait, did I hear you correctly?" she blinked, unsure if she believed what she heard, her lips pressed together while she assembled the thoughts in her head. Her eyelashes fluttered when the decision was made, and the statement poured from her. "Did you just ask me to marry you?"

I provoked her to punish us both. "Asking is a mere formality. You will marry me."

Fire burned inside her, narrowing her eyelids. "And why would I do that?"

"I could just force you. You owe me a lot of money, Ms. Mansoor. One word and your father goes back in jail," I pushed her for more—the girl who appeared to have no breaking point. I shouldn't have given her that attention. I shouldn't have let her desperation affect my own, but she needed me. I could see it lined in her irises. And goddamn it, but I needed her.

"You wouldn't do that."

"Wouldn't I? Even your fiancé won't be able to save him," she scowled like I was the one being unreasonable. So damned expressive. "I'd do it in a second. To be honest, I want you to give me a reason to do it."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why now? Up till two months ago, you wanted nothing to do with me, which is what I preferred by the way," it was a well crafted jab, I'd give her that.

"Are you in love with Ghazanfar Ms. Mansoor?"

"You can't ask me that."

"I think I just did."

"It's inappropriate."

"We crossed that line when you barged into my office unannounced."

"That's not the point-"

"The point is that you're stalling. You don't have any feelings for him, and thank God for that because I would be judging you if you'd said yes."

"He's still family."

"Not really a choice," I replied roughly, even as the corners of my lips fought to tip up at the thought. "So, you don't love your cousin and there's no one else in the picture, don't bother denying it, I know. What's the issue here?"

"This is... weird. How could I marry you? Why would you want to marry me? You have the world at your feet. Why don't you marry someone you want?"

"And yet I'm offering my hand to you."

"Why?"

Her hesitant question came, and the energy between us paused and spun in the air—little molecules of truth and lie, teasing and temptating. Instead, my teeth clenched together, trying to stop the words I knew I shouldn't admit but found myself wanting to speak.

"Since you've asked so politely, here's the catch. My dear old grandfather decided to be a bastard and play games with his grandkids," familiar age old resentment coated my formal words. "He'd trained us, but decided to cut my sister's career short by offering her a lifetime position as an honouree board member. He gave me the coveted position of acting CEO and gave my father, the president of the company, his active seat on the board."

"I'm not following..."

"Historically, the Mughal family has held two seats on the board, one for the CEO or the President the other for the heir of the company till he comes of age. I say he because yeah they're sexist like that."

"So your sister?"

"Got a ceremonial position. Zeenia can't vote and can't sell her shares until the President approves, but she's there. To sit still and look pretty."

"I still don't understand how I fit in."

"Daada Jaan left a will which demanded that I marry before I turned thirty-three or I would lose any chance of becoming CEO."

"What is this? The 1900's? Who does that?"

"Ali Mughal Khan."

"And you want me because?"

"Because you promised to get me a seat on the board. For that, I need to be married. Ergo, as per the conditions of your contract, you marry me."

"Ergo, I think not."

"You don't have a choice."

"Why now? Why not before?"

"Because this had to happen when all of us had reached the ripe old age of twenty-five. My youngest sibling turned twenty-five in August, hence the reading of the will."

"And you've found no one to marry you?"

"I can't trust anyone enough to marry me."

"Do you trust me?"

"No."

"Then why-?"

"You're bound to me. Another contract would only make our lives easier. You'll be fulfilling all your terms, just for a little bit longer," her lips thinned, confirming what I knew—she didn't like being confined. Her chin rose defiantly even as it wobbled.

"How long?"

"Till the end of the financial year."

"So the start of July next year?"

"Maybe push it to September, so it's a little less alarming."

"Yeah, no one will believe it. No one will believe that you're marrying a broke nobody."

"No one will know that you're broke. No one would dare say that when your name is attached to mine."

"You'll forgive my family's debt?"

"All of it."

"And take the court case back?"

"The moment we sign the divorce papers in September."

"Why not when we get married?"

So it was a when and not an if. "I need some guarantees, Ms.Mansoor."

"And I can live my life after the divorce, without any interference from you?"

"Pinky promise."

She ignored the contempt in my tone, chewing on her bottom lip. Every question, every answer was like walking over dunes of sand. Each step was uncharted, unsure how it would land or how it would change the footing underneath me.

"There has to be a downside to this."

"We won't be actual husband and wife?"

She hummed, glancing in my general direction with a rebellious glint in her eyes. "Yeah, I'm bummed."

"You should be, I actually looked forward to that part."

"What? There wasn't a clause asking for an heir?"

"Do you want to provide one?"

Her almond-brown eyes looked up and caught mine. Trapped. Imprisoned. I watched the journey the breath she caught made through her body. First passing her parted lips, the lower one still too damn big for the top. Down her long throat to make her chest rise. Her anger. Her lust. It was oxygen to my lungs. It reached right down into a part of me I didn't even know existed and switched on some sort of primal gene. It didn't make me just want to give her attention; it made me want to consume her with my presence.

"No, children should be born out of love and not duty," she answered softly, her eyes swung up to me as she answered, feeling like she was taking something from me even as she gave me more of herself.

Daania Mansoor Khan... what an unexpected obstacle and a deadly attraction who'd immersed herself in my world whether she'd planned on it or not.

"It's settled then? You agree?"

"I need some time to think about this-"

"You have a day."

"A what? That's not enough!"

"My sister and her husband will come to your house on Friday with my proposal. You should make sure your family is ready to accept it."

"What, your parents aren't in on this?"

"Be glad my parents are not involved, Ms. Mansoor."

"But what's the rush?"

"I turn thirty-three in November. I have to get married before that," she stared for a moment before she stood and my body jolted. I couldn't resist a parting shot. "Congratulations fiancée, you'll be the future Mrs.Mughal."

We stood across from each other at an impasse, and the silence between us amplified in the tense air, building toward a breaking point. "I haven't agreed."

We'll see little dragon.

"My sister will be at your house at eight o clock on Friday."

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So thoughts? Feedback and comments? Felt organic enough? This was looooong. I was about to break it up into two parts but I felt like you guys might riot 😂
But see the effect your comments and feedback have on me? I'm already writing the next chapter 🖤

Until next time ✨ (hint, Wednesday)
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