even if you kill me, my heart, my soul will always belong to Zaroon.”

5

Everyone was happily having breakfast with Saubia when suddenly Mr. Ajlal signaled Mrs. Aroosa to sit down. Najma and her mother were startled — in all these years, it was the first time he’d asked them to join the family at the breakfast table.

“Sit down, Aroosa. I have something important to discuss with you,” he said politely.

“Mom, please sit,” Najma quickly helped her mother to the chair beside Mrs. Mubashira and stood behind her.

“You sit down too, my child,” Mr. Ajlal said kindly. She nodded and sat beside her mother — directly across from Moheeb.

For the first time in her life, she sat at an equal level with him — sharing the same table. The thought itself filled her heart with a strange, soft happiness.

“Mother, you speak. You’re the elder,” Mr. Ajlal requested his mother respectfully.

That night was Jazay and Saubia’s wedding reception. Najma had already booked her flight — after the event, she planned to head straight to the airport. Everything was perfectly on track, and she was at peace with her decision to come to Karachi.

“Najma is my granddaughter. She’s now stepping into womanhood, and I’ve grown very concerned about her future.”

The moment grandmother began speaking, Najma stared at her in disbelief.

“Since when does she care about me?” Najma thought bitterly.

“So I’ve been thinking about her marriage. Normally, we marry within our own clan, but given her background, no decent proposal has come. So I’ve decided that Najma should marry Moheeb.”

Those words fell like a bomb. Both mother and daughter sat frozen, staring at each other.

Everyone in Malik Mansion knew how Moheeb treated Najma and her mother.

“But mother, Moheeb is getting married to Palwasha in four months — what about that?” Aroosa asked in confusion.

Najma’s eyes darted to Moheeb, who continued eating as if he hadn’t heard a word. She couldn’t understand — the same man who used to find her touch disgusting was sitting calmly after hearing he’d marry her?

“I know,” grandma said. “But I’ve managed to convince Moheeb. Anyway, Palwasha lives in Islamabad and plans to stay there after marriage, so Najma will live here in Malik Mansion. Islam allows a man four marriages. So—”

Before she could finish, Najma’s patience snapped.

“Thank you so much for worrying about me, but that won’t be necessary. I’m already engaged, and very soon Zaroon and I are getting married. I’m sorry, Mom, for saying this in front of everyone, but you never gave me time to talk.” She stood and spoke firmly, her tone proud but respectful.

“First of all, lower your voice. Second, sit down — grandma hasn’t finished speaking yet,” Moheeb said, putting his spoon down and looking at her coldly. His tone carried authority, ice, and warning.

“Najma, in our family, we don’t marry outside the clan. You need to understand that,” said Mr. Ajlal in a calm but final tone.

“I don’t care! You people never treated me or my mother as family — so don’t you dare impose your family rules on me now.” Najma’s voice trembled with anger and defiance.

“Don’t test our patience! Sit down!” Mubashira snapped, glaring daggers at her.

“No, I won’t. I’m not sitting with you people.” Her voice was flat and emotionless now.

“Najma, you are my granddaughter. Malik blood runs through your veins. You cannot marry an outsider. Your Nikah will take place with Moheeb tomorrow. That’s final!” grandma rose, furious, and stormed away after announcing her decision.

“I would rather die than marry you!” Najma glared at Moheeb with hatred. He only smiled faintly — enjoying her helplessness.

“Son, if Moheeb has agreed, then why don’t you? You’ll be his first wife — what’s the issue?” Aroosa tried to reason with her daughter later in her room.

“First wife? Mom, don’t you see what’s happening? They want to trap me here forever! I’ll be nothing but a servant! And if Moheeb controls everything, then how can grandma decide this? No — this marriage is his doing. He wants revenge. He’s cruel, manipulative, and power-hungry. He’ll destroy me. I love Zaroon, Mom. I can’t even imagine marrying someone else!” she cried, holding her head in despair.

“There’s nothing in my heart for him but hate. Just the thought of marrying him burns me alive.”

“Mom, I’m calling Zaroon. He’ll come get me.” She wiped her tears, grabbed her phone—

“If you truly love Zaroon, don’t involve him. They’ll kill him, Najma. You don’t know the extent of Moheeb’s power.”

“You’re threatening me with Moheeb?” she asked, shocked.

“No… I’m warning you. Moheeb Ajlal Malik is a powerful businessman and politician. Fighting him won’t end well for you. If he wants this marriage, it will happen. Your only safety lies in obeying. After marriage, if you give him love, he’ll treat you well. Men crave affection, Najma.”

Najma stared at her mother in disbelief.

“Mom… he’s forcing me into marriage to torture me — and you’re giving me lectures on love? What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m a mother of a young girl. I fear for your honor. If he’s marrying you publicly, that’s better than what he might do in rage. You know how dangerous his temper is.”

“I’m not afraid of him,” Najma said firmly.

“But I am! Please, have mercy on me. If he harms you, I’ll have no one to turn to. Neither I nor Zaroon can protect you. Marry him — you’ll be his first wife. If you please him, he’ll treat you well. All this — the mansion, the land, the factories — it’ll all be yours one day. Just like your elder sister-in-law rules this house now, one day you will too.”

Najma couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

She just sat there, holding her head — talking felt meaningless now.

---

That evening, everyone was leaving for the wedding reception.

“You’re not ready yet?” Mubashira entered her room without knocking.

“Just finishing my hair. You go ahead — I’ll come with the driver.”

She watched Mubashira leave, suspicious.

“They can’t stand me — yet suddenly, they want me as their daughter-in-law? No, Najma, don’t be stupid. He’s marrying you only to trap and punish you — and they’ll get a free lifelong servant in return.”

Once she was sure the mansion was empty, she slipped out.

“Let’s go, driver.” She got in the car, her black dress flowing elegantly around her. Her open hair shimmered, and even in light makeup, she looked angelic.

But as soon as the car started, the other door opened — and Moheeb stepped in.

Najma froze. It was the first time they’d ever sat in the same car. He looked devastatingly handsome — white shirt, black coat — and his cologne filled the space, tightening her breath.

“Drive,” he ordered the driver after one brief, piercing glance at her.

Her heart pounded — she had deflated the tires earlier, planning to escape when the car stopped mid-route. Now his presence ruined everything.

The car halted. “What happened?” Moheeb looked up from his phone, frowning.

“Sir, let me check.”

He got out. Najma’s pulse raced — the moment he stepped out to argue with the driver, she slipped out quietly and ran.

But running was painful — her knees hurt. Still, she flagged down a taxi.

“To the airport, fast!” she gasped.

Moheeb’s call went unanswered — he kept redialing. Then, taking the keys from the driver, he drove himself, calling his men.

“Where is she?”

“Sir, in a taxi. Should I stop it?”

“Yes. Stop it — send me the location.”

Within minutes, black SUVs surrounded the taxi. Guards with guns forced the driver out. Najma’s breath hitched; terror paralyzed her.

Then — the door opened.

“Moheeb…” she whispered.

“Yes, Moheeb. Get out.” His eyes burned into hers as he yanked her by the arm. None of the guards dared look at her — Malik women were never to be stared at.

He pushed her into his car again. Neither spoke the entire drive back. But Najma knew — this silence was the calm before the storm.

At the mansion, he dragged her straight to her room and shoved her onto the bed.

“You’re not leaving this house again. Understand?” His roar filled the room.

“Why are you doing this? What have I done to you? You don’t love me — you despise me! Then why marry me? What will you gain by imprisoning me?”

“Shut up. Get ready for Nikah. That’s better for you. Try running again, and you’ll regret it — Moheeb Ajlal Malik never forgives twice.”

“I love only Zaroon — and I’ll marry only him.”

“Fine. If marrying a dead man is valid, go ahead.” He left, slamming the door.

---

“Moheeb, why didn’t you come to the reception? Everyone was asking about you,” Mubashira asked upon returning.

“Moheeb, my dear, is everything alright?” grandma added, worried.

“No. Your beloved granddaughter tried to run away.” He sat calmly, voice icy.

“What?! That wretched girl! Time to clip her wings!” Ajlal thundered.

---

Najma sat crying in her room, staring at a photo of herself and Zaroon, when the door burst open. Moheeb entered without knocking.

“What the hell is this? Don’t you even know to knock?” she shouted.

“Come with me.” He ignored her fury, grabbed her wrist, and dragged her out despite her protests.

“Let me go! You have no manners—let go of my hand!” she cried, struggling helplessly against his iron grip.

He pulled her to the lounge where the entire family was gathered.

“Uncle, look! Moheeb’s being violent again!” she cried.

“Uncle!” she pleaded, hoping for help — but he just glared.

“How dare you try to run?” His voice was thunder.

“Uncle, I only came here because you invited me — not to marry your son! Please let me go! I can’t marry Moheeb!” Her voice broke, tears spilling uncontrollably.

“You will marry him. That’s final.” His tone was cold, absolute.

“I love Zaroon, and I—”

Before she could finish, Moheeb pulled out his gun and pressed it to her forehead. Her voice died in her throat.

“Say that name again, and I’ll pull the trigger,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Moheeb, no!” Aroosa rushed forward, pulling the gun away from her daughter’s forehead.

“Convince her — it’s better for both of you,” he said coldly, spinning the gun in his hand.

“Then shoot me,” Najma cried suddenly, pushing the gun back to her head. “Kill me! Because Najma Malik can die — but she can never belong to anyone except Zaroon!”

For a brief second, even grandma looked shaken by the madness in her eyes.

“You think I won’t kill you?” Moheeb sneered.

“I know you can. So do it. But remember this — even if you kill me, my heart, my soul will always belong to Zaroon.”

Moheeb’s rage hit its limit. He loaded the gun and aimed again — but a commanding voice stopped him.

“Fine, die then! But you won’t die alone — your mother will join you in the grave. We’ve tolerated that woman only because she was your mother, my late brother’s widow. Once you’re gone, she’s nothing to us.”

Najma froze.

“Kill that wretched woman first,” Ajlal ordered harshly, “then the ungrateful girl who dares defy our family’s honor!”

Najma’s world collapsed. Fear for her mother’s life shattered every ounce of defiance she had left.

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