Sultan(18+)

Trapped beauty

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I just want to kiss your vertical lips.
-Sultan Zafrani.

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Rokeya glared at Mishti, her steely gaze boring into the young daughter-in-law.

"Bua, how can you talk to Bhabijaan like that?" Dua interjected, her voice laced with concern.

"Keep out of this, Dua. She is the daughter-in-law of this house. Whose going to do the chores?" Rokeya snapped.

"But we have maids..." Dua tried to reason.

"We had," Rokeya said, her lips curling into a sneer. "But from today, I have cut them off. Why do we need maids when she is here? What will she do? Waste free food?"

Dua could feel her blood boil at Bua's insulting words. "Bua, you can't insult Bhabijaan like this. I will tell everything to Bhaijaan."

"Go and tell. He doesn't care about her," Rokeya hissed, her eyes narrowing dangerously.

Mishti, sensing the escalating tension, gently held Dua's hand, gesturing her to stay silent. With a heavy heart, she tiptoed out to the kitchen to make breakfast, her shoulders slumped in defeat.

Dua watched Mishti's retreating figure, her heart aching for her sister-in-law. She glared at Bua one last time before leaving.

Mishti's fingers trembled as she gripped the knife, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks. The once vibrant young woman had been reduced to a shell of her former self, trapped in a life of servitude and fear.

As Rokeya hovered nearby, her hateful glare burning into Mishti's back, the poor girl continued her tedious tasks - washing clothes, scrubbing the floors, tending to Rokeya's every whim. It was an endless cycle of drudgery, leaving Mishti utterly exhausted by the time she returned to the kitchen in the evening.

With a heavy heart, she began to prepare the dinner, chopping vegetables with a weary hand.

Mishti stood on the tool to, stretching to reach the bag of wheat on the top shelf of the kitchen. As she leaned forward, she felt her balance start to shift. In a split second, strong arms wrapped around her waist, steadying her.

Mishti looked down to see Sultan, her husband, gazing up at her with concern and........ something else.

Slowly, Sultan eased Mishti back down, his hands lingering on her waist. As her feet touched the ground, Mishti felt the warmth of his body against hers, their chests nearly grazing. She caught her breath, the intimacy of the moment sending a shiver through her.

When Mishti's feet were firmly planted, Sultan's hands remained on her waist, his thumb gently caressing the soft fabric of her sari. Mishti felt a flush creep up her neck, her heart racing.

"Sultanji," she said, her voice a whisper, "your hands..."

Sultan's eyes met hers, reluctantly letting her go.

"What are you doing?"

Mishti froze, the knife slipping from her grasp as she turned to face her husband, Sultan. His imposing figure cast a shadow over her, and she could feel the fear rising in her chest.

"J-just...just preparing dinner," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Sultan's brow furrowed as he stepped closer, his gaze piercing. "But we have maids for that, don't we?" he said, his tone laced with a subtle threat.

Mishti's heart raced as she felt his hand come to rest on the kitchen sink, trapping her. "Did you read my letter?" he asked, a smile playing on his lips.