Forever His

Chapter 51: Safe

Mahnoor's POV:

The silence in the car is thick, practically swallowing the hum of the engine as Shahmeer drives us along the dimly lit road. My arms are crossed, my face angled away from him, but I can still feel his presence beside me—calm, and somehow quietly furious. We've barely said two words since he hauled me out of that field, but the tension between us has only grown sharper. Every so often, I sneak a look at him, taking in the hard line of his jaw, his steady grip on the wheel, his dark eyes focused ahead.

Finally, I can't stand it anymore. "Where are we going?"

His gaze stays fixed on the road. "You haven't eaten," he says in that detached, no-arguments tone of his. "We're having dinner."

Dinner. The thought feels out of place after everything that's just happened. I huff softly, turning back to the window. "I'm not exactly in the mood to eat," I mutter, though the truth is, I am hungry. The night's events have left my nerves frayed, but my stomach growls despite my pride.

We pull up to a cozy-looking restaurant nestled on the outskirts of town, filled with darkness. The place is charming, candlelit, with an outdoor terrace overlooking a quiet garden. I know I should probably feel grateful he's even trying to salvage the evening, but all I can feel is my frustration simmering beneath the surface.

We're seated at a small table on the terrace, the sound of leaves rustling around us. He orders for both of us without asking my preference, something I'd normally find arrogant, but tonight, I can't bring myself to care. As the waiter leaves, silence settles between us again, thick and tense, punctuated only by the clinking of silverware as we arrange ourselves at the table.

After a moment, he sighs, his gaze sharp as he looks at me. "Running away in the middle of the night wasn't a great idea sweetheart," he says evenly. His tone is calm, but there's an edge to his voice, something sharp that cuts through the quiet night.

I meet his stare, raising my chin defiantly. "I wouldn't have to run if you didn't treat me like some... some prisoner." I can hear the bitterness in my own voice, raw and unfiltered.

Shahmeer's expression hardens, and for a moment, I see a flicker of something in his eyes—anger. But he doesn't flinch. "You don't understand what's at stake here," he says, voice low. "This isn't about control; it's about keeping you safe."

A bitter laugh escapes me before I can stop it. "Safe? By dragging me around like a suitcase? By... by killing someone right in front of me and acting like it was nothing?" The words tumble out before I can stop them, and I watch his expression grow colder with each one.

He leans back in his chair, his face unreadable. "Like I said, If I knew you were this sensitive about violence, I wouldn't have proposed this marriage deal with your father," he says, his voice a little too calm, a little too casual.

The words hit me like a slap. I feel my stomach twist, anger flooding my veins. "And like I said, it was you  who ruined my life, not him," I say, voice shaking. "You're the reason I'm even here."

He watches me, unfazed, not a trace of remorse in his expression. "Your father was more than willing to agree."

"Of course he was," I spit, the words dripping with bitterness. "He's always been more interested in his business than in his own daughter." I look away, my gaze unfocused as memories flash through my mind. The lonely dinners, the constant reminders that I was never enough, never worth his time. "I never mattered to him."

He's silent, his expression unreadable, as always. The waiter arrives with our food, and we're left picking at our plates in silence. I barely taste a thing, my mind still spinning with the weight of his words, the knowledge that this marriage—my marriage—was nothing more than a business deal.