[Ongoing]
#1in replacement
#3 in nikkah
Shehryaar's patience was wearing thin, and so was mine. "If you say yes to this marriage, you will regret the day you were born," he threatened, his tone chilling.
With a heavy heart, I bowed my head in resign...
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I glanced in his direction, only to be met with a fierce glare. With a nervous grin, I averted my gaze, noticing the telltale mark on his hand—a reminder of my recent retaliation. Taking a cautious step backward, I called out to Zerin, panic creeping into my voice. Where had she disappeared to?
I rapped on her door urgently, desperation mounting with each unanswered knock. If she didn't respond soon, I was as good as a dead meat. Casting a quick glance over my shoulder, I saw him advancing toward me, his sleeves rolled up with ominous intent.
Fear propelled me into action, and without a second thought, I bolted, racing to save myself from the impending doom. But before I could make it downstairs, his iron grip closed around my waist, hauling me back into his room against my will.
Anyone here? Help me!!!
I attempted to shout for help, but my words were muffled as the hulk covered my mouth with his hand, silencing any chance of rescue. Panic surged within me as I struggled against his hold, desperation clawing at my throat.
Passing by Zerin's room, I caught the faint sound of movement from within. So, she was here all along. Anger bubbled up inside me as I silently cursed her for leaving me in this predicament.
My resentment simmered as we finally reached the room, and he released me with a blank stare. I glanced toward the open door, a silent invitation to escape, but he had other plans. With a decisive click, he closed the door, trapping me inside with him.
Frustration gnawed at me as he remained silent, eyeing me, his unreadable expression fueling my irritation. Was he giving me the silent treatment? Fine by me—I had no desire to engage in conversation with him either.
As I moved towards the bed, the weight of exhaustion pulling at my limbs, his voice shattered the silence like a thunderclap. "Where do you think you're going when I'm here waiting for you to speak?" His words, though spoken with an air of annoyance, carried an undeniable authority that stopped me in my tracks.
As I struggled to form a response, a sense of triumph washed over me as my gaze lowered to his hand, my action standing out on his wrist like a designer tattoo, adorned with the beautiful stamp of my tooth tips. A smirk crawled upto my lips as I arched my brows at him, challengingly. I was not one to be underestimated or easily subdued.
Oh my! Look at my unwanted husband, too shy to make a conversation with his sweet wife!
"What should I say?" I finally asked, my irritation simmering just beneath the surface as I waited for him to speak up, to offer some semblance of an explanation or a solution.
His response, when it came, was disappointingly straightforward. "You should apologize," he stated matter-of-factly, his eyes drifting to the hand that bore the mark of my teeth. The absurdity of his demand struck me like a slap in the face.
Apologize for biting him? It was not even tasty. Blah! The very idea was ludicrous, and I felt my resolve harden in response. There was no way I would concede to such a demand, not when it was him who had provoked me in the first place.
