The evening at Khan Haveli was calm, with the entire family gathered around the long dining table, engaging in light conversation as they enjoyed dinner. Maa Begum sat at the head, with Murtasim next to her, and Meerab beside him, directly in front of Haya, who sat a few seats down, silently stewing in her jealousy.
Meerab was focused on her food, her mind wandering as the conversation between the others drifted to things she barely paid attention to. She absentmindedly reached for the naan when she suddenly felt something-Murtasim's hand, sliding onto her thigh under the table. Her eyes widened, and she froze.
Her gaze snapped to him, but he was the picture of innocence, casually chewing his food and nodding at something Maa Begum said. His hand, however, was anything but innocent. It lingered on her thigh, firm yet teasing, sending a ripple of heat through her body that she fought to control.
"Murtasim!" she hissed under her breath, her hand moving subtly under the table to swat his away.
But he didn't budge. In fact, he smirked-just a slight, devilish curl of his lips, enough to make her heart race. His hand, as if encouraged by her protest, slid higher. Meerab's eyes widened even more as she felt his fingers playfully tug at the strings of her salwar.
Her breath hitched, panic rising in her chest. She shot him another warning glare, but Murtasim, the ever-confident, smirking devil, was completely unaffected. His fingers expertly undid the strings, loosening her salwar slightly.
The pressure in her chest grew as his hand slipped inside. The sensation sent a jolt through her, and she struggled to maintain her composure. Her body betrayed her, reacting to his touch, and she bit her lip to suppress the sounds that threatened to escape.
Maa Begum, oblivious to the sinful act unfolding under her roof, turned her attention to Meerab. "Meerab beta, are you alright? You look flushed."
Meerab swallowed hard, her voice trembling. "Y-Yes, Maa Begum, I'm fine." She forced a smile, but her eyes flickered dangerously towards Murtasim, silently cursing him for putting her in this situation.
Murtasim's hand stilled for a moment, giving her a fleeting sense of relief. But when he caught her glare, he only smiled wider, his thumb grazing her skin in a way that made her shiver.
Across the table, Haya, who had been observing the subtle tension between them, grew suspicious. She narrowed her eyes, watching Meerab shift uncomfortably in her seat and noticing the way Murtasim's gaze lingered a little too long on his wife.
Haya's jealousy burned like a wildfire, and she dropped her fork intentionally, pretending it was an accident. "Oops!" she exclaimed, bending down to retrieve it.
As her head dipped under the table, her eyes landed on Murtasim's hand-where it shouldn't be. Her breath hitched, and she gasped, her face paling as she realized what was happening.
Murtasim didn't even flinch, his smirk still in place as he glanced at Haya out of the corner of his eye. He knew she had seen, and he didn't care. He was making a statement-Meerab was his.
Haya's grip tightened on the fork, her jealousy reaching its boiling point. She sat back up, her face flushed with both embarrassment and anger, eyes darting between Murtasim and Meerab, who seemed oblivious to her surroundings, her breaths coming in shallow, uneven bursts.
"Meerab," Haya's voice was low, sharp, dripping with venom. "Are you sure you're alright? You seem... tense."
Meerab's eyes widened, and she bit her tongue to avoid snapping back at Haya. She couldn't afford to give away what was happening. Instead, she forced a tight-lipped smile. "I'm fine, Haya. Just... a little warm."
