His Arranged Obsession

Chapter 2 : The First Night

The mansion was too quiet.

It wasn’t the kind of quiet that brought peace. It was the kind that pressed against your chest until you forgot how to breathe.

My heels clicked against the cold marble floor as I walked to "my" room. The room they assigned to me. Not "our" room.

The staff called it the "Guest Wing East". Like I was a guest. Like I wasn’t Rayan Khan’s wife now.

_Rule 1: Don't touch me._

_Rule 2: Don't talk to me unless spoken to._

_Rule 3: You belong to me now._

His note was still burning in my palm. The ink was sharp. Angry. Like he wrote it with a knife instead of a pen.

I locked the door. Twice. As if a lock could stop Rayan Khan. As if anything could.

The silk nightgown they left for me felt like a lie. White. Innocent. Pure.

Nothing about this marriage was any of those things.

It was a contract. A cage. A revenge plan with a ring.

I sat on the edge of the bed. The mattress didn’t even dip. Everything in this house was too perfect. Too expensive. Too cold.

My phone buzzed. Ammi.

`Beta theek ho?`

I typed back with shaking hands: `Ji Ammi. Sab theek hai.`

Lie.

The biggest lie I’d told today. And I’d already told three.

A knock.

Sharp. Three times.

My heart stopped.

"Inaya. Open the door."

His voice.

Low. Commanding. No question in it.

It wasn’t a request. It was an order.

I stood up. My legs felt like water.

The door handle was cold under my fingers. I turned it.

He was still in his tuxedo from the wedding. The black jacket was gone. Tie gone. Top two buttons of his white shirt undone. Sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

Hair messy like he'd been running his hands through it all evening.

In his right hand? A crystal whiskey glass. Half empty. Ice clinking softly.

He looked exhausted. And dangerous because of it.

"You weren't at dinner," he said. His voice was flat. But his eyes weren’t looking at me. They were looking past me. Into my room. Cataloging it.

"I wasn't hungry."

Now he looked at me.

And his jaw ticked.

Because of the nightgown.

Because the silk clung to me in all the wrong places. Because I looked like his wife.

The silence stretched between us. Thick. Heavy. Dangerous.

"Move." He stepped inside without waiting for permission. Closed the door behind him.

The sound of the lock clicking was the loudest thing in the world.

"Rule number 2," I whispered before I could stop myself. "Don't talk to me unless spoken to."

He laughed. Once. Cold. No humor in it.

"And rule number 3? You belong to me now."

He walked to the floor-to-ceiling window. Back to me. The moonlight from Karachi cut across his broad shoulders and made him look like a statue. A cruel one.

"Do you know what happens on a wedding night, Inaya?"

My throat was dry. I hated that he noticed me swallow.

"We're strangers."

"Exactly." He turned. Slow. Deliberate. His dark eyes dragged from my face down to my bare feet. Then back up. Lingering on my collarbone. On the thin straps of the gown.

"So we act like strangers."

He set the glass down on the dresser. Hard. The ice rattled.

"But strangers don't share a last name. Strangers don't share a bank account. Strangers don't share a bed."

I took a step back. My back hit the door.

"This is my room."

"No." He was in front of me now. I didn’t see him move. He was just... there. Too close. I could smell whiskey and his cologne and something darker. Rage.

"This is Khan house. And you..."

His hand came up. I flinched.

But he didn’t touch me. Not where I thought.

His index finger lifted my chin. Just one finger. But it felt like chains. Like handcuffs.

"...are Khan property."

My breath caught.

He wasn’t touching me. Not really. But I felt it everywhere. On my skin. In my bones.

"Look at me."

I did.

His eyes were black. No warmth. But something else was there. Something he was trying very hard to bury.

"You think this is hard for you?" he murmured. "To be sold for debt?"

I didn’t answer.

"Try being the man who has to marry the daughter of the man who bankrupted his father."

So that was it.

Ten years. He’d been waiting ten years for this.

"I didn’t do it," I said quietly.

"I know." His thumb brushed, just barely, against my jawline. An accident? Or a warning?

"But your father did. And now I get to collect."

He dropped his hand. Stepped back. The loss of his touch made me feel colder.

"Sleep," he said finally. Turning toward the door. "Because tomorrow, the world sees Mrs. Khan. And she better look like she belongs to me. Hair done. Dress. Pearls. Smile. Even if it kills you."

His hand was on the doorknob when I spoke.

"Why are you here?"

He stopped. Didn’t turn.

"To make sure you understand the rules, Mrs. Khan."

"You could’ve sent a text."

"I could have." Now he did turn. Just his head. Over his shoulder.

"But texts don’t look at you like this."

And then he was gone.

The door closed. Softly.

I slid down to the floor. My knees gave out.

My heart was hammering. Not from fear.

From something else. Something I refused to name.

I looked at my reflection in the mirror. The white nightgown. The red lips I’d worn for the wedding. The girl who looked like a bride but felt like a prisoner.

_Khan property._

The words echoed.

I got up. Walked to the bathroom. Splashed water on my face.

When I came out, there was something new on the bed.

A box. Black. Velvet.

Inside it, a necklace. Diamonds. Cold. Expensive. And a note in the same sharp handwriting.

> _For the wife. Wear it tomorrow.

> - R_

Not "Love". Not "From". Just "R".

I held the necklace. It was heavy.

Like the weight of his name.

I should’ve thrown it.

I should’ve hated him.

But my hands were shaking as I clasped it around my neck.

The diamonds caught the moonlight.

And for the first time since the Qazi said "Qabool hai", I felt it.

The obsession.

Not his. Mine.

Because the most dangerous thing in this house wasn’t Rayan Khan.

It was me. Wanting him to come back.

Wanting him to break rule number 1 first.

The first night was over.

And we had already broken rule number 1.

We were thinking about each other.