The Forced Surrender
Inside the room, Kayan released her hand and shouted at everyone present:
"All of you leave right now! Within two seconds!"
Knowing his temper, everyone scrambled out. Once they left, he locked the door. Only Kayan, Hooreen, and a stunned Hareem remained. He approached Hooreen and pulled her into a forced embrace.
"You came…? I searched for you so much. I waited so long, and look, my love brought you to me. I love you a lot. You are mine."
Hooreen was in shock, but his actions sparked a fire in her. She pushed him back and slapped him hard across the face. It was a slap to his ego, his pride, and his arrogance. How could a man like Kayan tolerate this?
He lunged at her, gripping her waist with one hand and fisting her hair with the other to tilt her face up. He pressed his lips hard against hers. She struggled fruitlessly, her hands forming fists to hit his chest. In the struggle, her glass bangles shattered, piercing her own skin. Her hands were bleeding, but she didn't care. Her phone and the gift fell to the floor. The scent of his cologne filled her senses, making it hard to breathe.
When he finally let go, her eyes were streaming, her breath hitched, and her hands were wounded. Hooreen slapped him again with all her might.
Kayan repeated his action, and she writhed in his grip like a fish out of water. When he pulled away, Hooreen was in a terrible state, a small drop of blood appearing at the corner of her lip.
"Slap me again, and I'll do it again," he growled. "By God, if anyone else had even thought of slapping me, I would have buried them alive. But you are my life, so I gave you this small punishment. As for that slap, you struck my ego, and with my actions, I struck yours. So we are even. And…"
Hareem, who had been watching in disbelief, interrupted:
"Kayan! How can you do this in front of me? And this girl? How can you… I am your bride-to-be! We are getting married and you, with this random girl…"
"Lower your voice," Kayan snapped. "And don't ever make the mistake of interrupting me again. You were the bride-to-be, not anymore. And you never will be."
"What do you mean?" she asked, stunned.
"It means this girl will be my wife, not you. I don't want to hear another sound from you, or things will get very bad. You know me." Hareem sat down, sobbing silently.
He turned back to Hooreen. Her hands were bleeding, her face was flushed, and her lip was cut. Kayan felt a pang of pain in his heart, but he suppressed it; he felt that if he didn't act now, he would lose her forever. He wiped the blood from her lip with his thumb.
"Our Nikah will happen right here, right now. And you will do it without creating a scene."
"No… no… I… I will… never… do that," she said, terrified but adamant.
A knock came at the door. Jailani Sahib and Mr. Laghari entered. They saw Hareem crying and then saw Hooreen in her disheveled state. Jailani was horrified.
"Who is this girl? What is happening here? Why is she in this state?"
He signaled Waleed, who brought a first aid kit. Jailani approached Hooreen; she closed her eyes tight in fear. He began to clean her wounds with antiseptic.
"Papa…" she whispered, the sting of the medicine making her open her eyes. She saw a kind man tending to her. He placed a hand on her head.
"Don't be afraid, child. You don't need to fear anyone or cry. Think of me like your father and tell me what happened."
Hooreen threw her arms around him. "Uncle… please… save me… from this… wild animal. I want to go… home… please…"
Jailani looked at Kayan with grief and anger. Kayan felt the words sting like a knife.
"Dad! No questions right now. Just call the priest and have the Nikah performed."
Jailani stood firm. "I am his father, but I won't hesitate to punish him if he is wrong. Kayan, your Nikah was supposed to be with Hareem!"
Laghari intervened, but Kayan dismissed him with cold insults, mentioning how Laghari used his own daughter as a business asset. Kayan then turned back to his father with a chilling finality.
"Dad! All I know is I want this girl. She is mine. If anyone tries to stop me, they will be responsible for whatever goes wrong. And Dad, if you say another word, you will lose your son forever."
Jailani realized this wasn't a whim; it was a madness. He eventually managed the situation outside, arranging Hareem's marriage to a friend's son (a businessman) to save face. Laghari left in tears, haunted by his own past sins, reflecting in the situation.
The air in the room grew heavy, saturated with the scent of lilies and the metallic tang of fear. As the heavy oak doors clicked shut, leaving Hooreen alone with the man who had just dismantled her world, the silence became a physical weight. Hooreen sank deeper into the plush velvet of the sofa, her small frame trembling so violently that the broken glass bangles on her wrists clinked together like a mournful chime.
Kayan didn't move immediately. He stood over her, his shadow stretching across the floor like a predator claiming its territory. The flickering candlelight caught the sharp angles of his face—a face that was undeniably handsome but currently wore the terrifying mask of absolute possession.
He leaned down, his hands bracing against the back of the sofa on either side of her, pinning her within the circle of his scent—expensive oud and cold tobacco.
"Agree to the Nikah quietly," he whispered, his voice a low, melodic threat that vibrated against her skin. "Otherwise, your friend and her entire family in the other hall will pay with their lives. You will be responsible for every drop of blood spilled tonight. Do you want that weight on your soul, Hoor?"
Hooreen's breath hitched. "You're… you're a monster. They have nothing to do with this!"
Kayan didn't blink. He straightened up and signaled toward the door. Within seconds, Waleed entered, followed by four armed guards whose faces were as stone-cold as the weapons they carried. Kayan didn't look at them; his eyes remained locked on Hooreen's tear-filled ones.
"Waleed," Kayan's voice was devoid of emotion. "Take the guards to the third section. I don't want to see a single soul left alive there. Start with the ones she loves the most."
"Stop! No! You can't do this!" Hooreen shrieked, lunging forward to grab his sleeve, her nails digging into the expensive fabric of his blazer. "Please, I'm begging you! Don't hurt them!"
Kayan caught her chin in a firm grip, forcing her to look at him. "I can do that and much more," he whispered, his gaze dropping to her trembling lips. "In this city, my word is law. No one can stop me, and no one will find the bodies. Now, tell me… is their life worth your 'no'?"
The room spun. Hooreen felt the world narrowing down to this single, horrific choice. She saw Waleed turn to leave, his hand already on the door handle.
"Wait!" she sobbed, her voice breaking. "I… I am ready. I'll do it. I'm ready for the Nikah. Just… please stop them. Don't hurt Amna."
Kayan's expression shifted instantly. The coldness didn't vanish, but it was replaced by a triumphant, dark warmth. He signaled for the guards to stand down.
"Good," he murmured. He leaned closer, so close that the tip of his nose brushed hers. "What is your name? I've spent a week hunting a ghost. I want to know what to call my wife."
Hooreen's throat felt like it was filled with glass. She tried to speak, but the name wouldn't come. He tilted his head, his lips a hair's breadth from her ear. "What is your name?"
"H… Hoo… ree… Hooreen," she finally managed, the syllables shaking.
"Hooreen," he repeated, tasting the name as if it were a vintage wine. "A name as beautiful and innocent as you are. My Hooreen… my Hoor. You were born for me, and tonight, the world finally recognizes it."
The ceremony was a blur of nightmare and ritual. A Qazi was brought in—a man who looked confused but was silenced by a single look from Kayan's father, Jailani. Hooreen's hand was so cold it felt dead as she held the pen. As she signed the document, she felt like she was signing her own death warrant.
"Nikah Mubarak, my life," Kayan whispered as the final words were spoken. He leaned down and pressed a firm, lingering kiss on her forehead. To anyone else, it would have looked like a gesture of love; to Hooreen, it felt like a brand.
Suddenly, her phone buzzed in the pocket of her frock. Kayan reached in and pulled it out before she could react. He looked at the screen: Amna Bestie Calling.
He handed her the phone, his thumb hovering over the speaker button. "Answer it. Tell her exactly what I told you. If you scream, Waleed goes back to the third hall. Do you understand?"
Hooreen nodded, her heart dying a little more with every ring. She answered.
"Hooreen! Where are you?" Amna's voice was frantic. "I've been looking everywhere! I went back to the stage and the gift is gone, you're gone… I'm getting scared!"
Hooreen looked at Kayan. He gestured for her to continue.
"Amna… I'm okay," Hooreen lied, her voice thick with suppressed sobs. "I ran into Rabab. Remember our old classmate? She's here for another wedding. She's leaving for Islamabad tonight and offered to take me with her for a few days. I… I decided to go. Don't wait for me. Just go home."
"What? Right now? Without saying goodbye?" Amna sounded hurt and confused.
"I'm sorry, Amna. I have to go. I love you," Hooreen whispered, and Kayan instantly cut the call.
He tossed the phone onto the sofa and clapped his hands. A team of elite beauticians and stylists entered, carrying a heavy, blood-red bridal lehenga and cases of diamonds.
"Get ready," Kayan commanded, his eyes roaming over her terrified form. "The ceremonies and the photoshoot are left. I want you to look breathtaking when I present you to the world. No more drama, my dear wifie. From this moment on, you belong to the house of Zarar."
The transition from the grand, public stage to the suffocating privacy of the Zarar mansion was a blur of high-speed lights and silent tears. Hooreen sat huddled against the door of the luxury SUV, her forehead pressed against the cold glass, watching the city of Lahore streak past like a fading dream. Beside her, Kayan sat in a silence that was far from peaceful—it was a heavy, satisfied quiet, the silence of a victor surveying his spoils.
When they arrived at the massive iron gates of his estate, the guards bowed low. This was his kingdom, and he was bringing home his queen, whether she was willing or not.
The Threshold of the Cage
Kayan didn't wait for her to move. He stepped out, walked to her side, and swung the door open. When she refused to look at him, he leaned in, his shadow eclipsing the moon.
"Don't make me drag you into our home, Hooreen. Walk out with grace, or I will carry you," he whispered, his voice like velvet over steel.
"Please... let me go to my Papa," she choked out, her voice barely audible. "He will be so worried. He doesn't know where I am. Let me just tell him I'm alive."
Kayan's jaw tightened. He ignored her plea, reached in, and scooped her up into his arms. The heavy, gold-embroidered red lehenga spilled over his arms like a waterfall of blood. He carried her through the grand foyer, past the silent servants, and up the winding marble staircase to the master suite.
The Scent of Tuberoses and Terror
He kicked the door shut behind them, and the sound of the lock engaging felt like a guillotine blade falling. The room was a masterpiece of romantic artifice: thousands of white Jasmine and red roses were draped over the canopy bed and the furniture, their scent so thick it was almost intoxicating. Hundreds of flickering candles cast long, dancing shadows against the walls.
He set her down, and the moment her feet touched the floor, Hooreen bolted. She didn't care about the heavy jewelry or the trailing dupatta; she ran for the door, her fingers clawing at the wood.
"Open it! Let me out! You can't keep me here!" she screamed, her voice echoing in the cavernous room.
In two strides, Kayan was behind her. He grabbed her waist and spun her around, pinning her against the hard wood of the door. With one swift movement, he caught both of her wrists—now adorned with the Zarar family rubies—and shoved them high above her head, locking them against the door with a single hand.
"Dear Wifie! You can't go anywhere now," he murmured, leaning in until his chest was pressed against her heaving bosom. "The world outside doesn't exist for you anymore. There is only this room, House and there is only me."
Hooreen thrashed against him, the heavy ruby necklace biting into her skin. "This isn't a marriage! It's a kidnapping! I hate you... I hate you more than I have ever hated anything!"
Kayan's eyes darkened, a flash of dangerous fire dancing in his pupils. "Hate is a very passionate emotion, Hoor. I'll take it for now. Because tonight, and every night after, you belong to me. I'll make you mine. —It is very important that you become completely mine."
He leaned down, his face buried in the curve of her neck. The heat of his breath made her skin crawl.
"You smell like fear and flowers," he whispered against her pulse point, his voice a dark caress. "But soon, you will only smell of me."
As he pressed a searing, possessive kiss to her neck, Hooreen felt the last of her strength give way. The heavy scent of the flowers, the heat of his body, and the crushing weight of her new reality made the room spin. She squeezed her eyes shut, a final, broken sob escaping her lips as his grip on her wrists tightened, claiming her in the silence of the night.