His Arranged Obsession

Chapter 1: They married us for Revenge

The ballroom smelled like money and lies.

Chandeliers dripped from the ceiling like frozen tears. Every guest in that room wore a smile that didn’t reach their eyes. And in the center of it all, stood me.

Inaya Sheikh. 19. A pawn in a game I never agreed to play.

My father’s hand trembled on my shoulder.

“Smile, beta,” he whispered. “For the family.”

I did. Because that’s what good daughters do.

Even when the man waiting at the altar looked at me like I was a problem he intended to solve with his hands.

Rayan Khan.

34. CEO of Khan Empire. The coldest man in Karachi.

The man my father owed 3 billion rupees to.

They didn’t call it a sale. They called it a _proposal_.

“Mr. Khan has agreed to forgive the debt,” Baba had said three nights ago. His voice broke. “In return… you will marry him.”

I should’ve said no. I should’ve run.

But my brother Hamza was 15. My mother was sick. And Baba was already dying of shame.

So I said yes.

Not for love. Not for him.

For revenge.

Because the Khans ruined us 10 years ago. And now, I was going to be in their house. In their bed. In their life.

To watch it all burn.

I didn’t know Rayan had the same idea.

---

He walked toward me like sin in a tailored black tuxedo. No smile. No warmth. Just eyes that cut straight through the white lace of my bridal dress.

When he took my hand, his touch was ice.

“You understand the terms?” he murmured, low enough that only I could hear.

“Two years. Public wife. Private strangers.”

I nodded. My throat was dry.

“Good girl,” he said. And the way he said it made my spine freeze.

The Qazi asked, “Qabool hai?”

I looked at my father’s broken face. At my mother’s tears. At the cameras.

“Yes. Qabool hai.”

Rayan’s jaw ticked. “Qabool hai.”

Applause. Flashes. Lies.

They married us for revenge.

What no one knew… was that we were already obsessed.

---

The reception was a blur. People congratulating us. Touching me.

Rayan’s hand never left the small of my back. Possessive. Claiming.

His mother, Begum Noor Khan, looked at me like I was dirt on her son’s shoe.

“Try not to embarrass us, _beta_,” she said sweetly.

I smiled. “I’ll try my best, Ammi.”

That night, the car ride to his mansion was silent.

A black BMW. Tinted windows. His red blazer draped over my shoulders because I was shivering.

He didn’t look at me. Not once.

The mansion was a cage made of marble and glass.

A maid led me to “my” room. Huge. Cold. Empty.

Except for one thing. On the bed. A note. In sharp, black ink.

> _Rule 1: Don’t touch me.

> Rule 2: Don’t talk to me unless spoken to.

> Rule 3: You belong to me now.

> - R_

I laughed. Bitter.

Two years of this.

I changed into the silk nightgown they’d left for me. White. Innocent. A lie.

When I came out to the hallway for water, I heard it.

A sound from his study downstairs. Glass breaking.

I shouldn’t have gone. But I did.

The door was open a crack.

Rayan stood there, shirt half-unbuttoned, tie loosened. A whiskey glass shattered on the floor.

He was staring at our wedding photo on his phone. His jaw was clenched so tight I thought it would break.

And then he looked up. And saw me.

For a second, neither of us moved.

The air between us was thick. Dangerous.

“Did I tell you to come here?” His voice was a low g_*_l.

I shook my head.

“Then go back to your room, Inaya.”

My name in his mouth sounded like a c_**e.

I turned to leave. But his next words stopped me cold.

“Do you know why I agreed to this marriage?”

I didn’t answer.

“Because 10 years ago, your father destroyed my family. And now I get to destroy his. Starting with you.”

He stepped closer. Too close. I could smell whiskey and rage and something darker.

His hand came up. Not to hit me. To tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.

The touch burned.

“You think you’re here for revenge, little Sheikh?” He leaned in. His breath was hot against my ear.

“So am I. Let’s see who breaks first.”

And then he walked away. Leaving me shaking.

Leaving me... already obsessed....