Forever His

Chapter 89: Bruised

Mahnoor's POV:

I sit on the floor with my back pressed against the door, knees pulled to my chest, my sobs the only sound in the room. My whole body trembles, like my bones are trying to crack under the weight of what I just heard. My heart... God, it feels like someone reached in and wrung it dry.

"Mahnoor—open the door." His voice comes muffled from the other side. "Please, what happened? Talk to me."

Another knock. Firmer this time. "Love, please—"

I press my hands over my ears. I don't want to hear his voice. Not right now. Maybe not ever.

Because the truth is still echoing in my head, and it's louder than him.

                                                                                _______________

We were standing there, awkwardly filling silence. Dad breaks it first. "So... how are you two getting along?"

I scoff, arms crossed. "Unlike you and mom, we love each other."

He gives me a look that makes my stomach turn. "Enjoy it while you can. The year's nearly over."

My brows furrow. "What do you mean?"

"The contract ends after a year. Then you'll be free."

I blink, confused. "Contract? What contract?"

A smirk pulls at his mouth. "Oh, so your lover hasn't told you?"

My heart sinks.

"Told me what?"

"Why do you think someone like him would marry someone like you?"

And suddenly I feel like a child again, powerless and small.

"Because you hated me," I whisper, "because I reminded you of mom. That's why YOU got me married."

He nods once, casually. "Partly. But also... his profits were crashing. Investors weren't interested. They didn't believe in a man who didn't believe in marriage. He needed to give people hope."

I shake my head slowly. "No..."

"He came to me with the idea. I thought, what better way to get rid of you and secure a long-term deal with a chain of high-end hotels?"

My voice is a whisper. "So not only did you force me into a marriage with a stranger, you... sold me?"

"I didn't sell you," he laughs, like I'm being dramatic. "I expanded our business. His and ours."

I stand taller, throat burning. "Don't call it our business. It's yours. I have nothing to do with it."

                                                                                    ______________

I wipe my face with the tissue in my hand and toss it into the bin. But as it lands, something catches my eye.

A torn photograph.

My breath catches.

It's the picture from the corkboard—the one with me, Meerab, and Rohail. Only now, it's just me and Meerab. The right side has been ripped, clean off.

So he saw it. Of course he did.

Good. Let him see it. Let him wonder.

I stand up and start throwing everything I had just unpacked back into my bag. Clothes. Makeup. Books. Whatever. I'm not staying here.