Chapter 3 - He's Watching
567 Words
The room smelled like expensive cologne and danger.
I woke up with a gasp, my wrists sore from the cuffs. The window was gone. Instead, floor-to-ceiling glass showed me the city lights of Rawalpindi far below. I was 20 floors up.
A prison with a view.
The door opened. No knock.
Zayn Malik.
My husband. The mafia king I married 6 hours ago.
He wasn’t in a suit this time. Black shirt, sleeves rolled up, tattoos crawling up his forearms. He looked like sin wrapped in money.
He walked to the bar cart, poured whiskey, and didn’t look at me.
"Did you sleep well, wife?"
I hated that word. Wife.
"I didn’t sleep."
He finally turned. His eyes were dark. Not angry. Worse. Curious.
"Good. You should be scared."
I forced myself to sit up straight despite the chains. "Why? Because you own me now?"
He laughed. Low. Dangerous.
"I don’t own you, Aisha. I bought you."
The word hit like a slap.
"My father sold me to clear his debt," I whispered. "I know."
Zayn set the glass down. He came closer. Too close. I could smell him. Cedarwood and power.
He crouched in front of me, so we were eye level.
"Then you also know the rules."
He pulled out a black card from his pocket. 10 rules, printed in gold.
THE 10 RULES OF THE MALIK HOUSE
1. You will not leave this penthouse without me.
2. You will call me Zayn. Never Mr. Malik.
3. You will eat what I serve.
4. You will not lie to me. Ever.
5. You will not ask about my business.
6. You will wear what I choose.
7. You will sleep in my bed.
8. You will not touch me unless I allow it.
9. You will not fall in love with me.
10. You will not make me fall in love with you.
My hands shook as I read the last two.
"This is insane."
"This is survival," he said. "Break one rule, and there are consequences."
"What kind of consequences?"
His finger lifted my chin. His touch was cold.
"The kind you won’t survive twice."
I wanted to slap him. To scream. But my father’s gambling debt was 2 billion. And Zayn had paid every rupee.
"Why me?" I asked. "You could buy anyone."
For a second, something flickered in his eyes. Something human.
"Because when I saw you at the auction, you didn’t cry. You looked at me like you wanted to kill me."
He stood up.
"Rule 7. Come."
He walked to the bedroom. King size bed. Silk sheets. And one side already rumpled.
My heart hammered. "I’m not sleeping with you."
Zayn didn’t stop walking. "You are. But don’t worry. I’m not a monster."
He turned, leaning against the doorframe.
"Not tonight."
He left. The door locked with a beep.
Alone again. 20 floors up. Married to a mafia king.
I looked down at the 10 rules in my hand. My eyes stopped at Rule 10.
You will not make me fall in love with you.
Why would he write that... unless he was already scared of it?
Outside the glass, the city was awake. And somewhere down there, my father was probably drinking with the money Zayn paid for me.
I crumpled the card in my fist.
Fine. Let’s play by your rules, Zayn Malik.
Let’s see who breaks first.
- Writer
