𝕸y brothers were wild cards.

I, on the other hand, was carefully planned and crafted, strategically created for the benefit of Mughal Co., only and solely for the company's benefit.

My whole life, I sat glued to my grandfather's side, touted around as the charming toddler so he could humanize the family. The company was a family-owned business, and our faces was what all of our business revolved around. When the charming baby girl spiel grew old, he ordered and brought advisors, stylists and even sent me to finishing school in Switzerland to chisel away at my personality. To sculpt and sand until all that was left on the surface was sunshine, charm, and wit. Because if we looked happy and invested, the investors and board of governors were satisfied, throwing their unequivocal support behind the business.

Growing up, people would always ask me, why did I work so hard? They would always ask in the same tone of voice - confused, pitying - the kind of tone that told me they were asking me a different question than their words alone conveyed. In that tone, I heard all the implications. The implication that I was wasting my life.

And that, in the end, was the answer.

Why was I working so hard? I was working so hard because none of it would ever be enough. I would continue until I had nothing left to give. Force myself through the grinding machinery of the mind.

I was the one who could never put a foot wrong. The only saving grace because God knows my brothers didn't care. Everything that they'd done - from Taimoor's relationship with my parents to Altamash's wedding and Azaan's exploits - came back to haunt the company.

I had never fully belonged to the Mughal world. It had been mine, but I'd never truly let it possess me. I was a creature of both worlds - the glittering and the normal, of both the ground and the sky. I bore no allegiance to either element or its denizens. I had no coddling compassion, no tears for the weak and the wandering.

But here I was. Weak and wandering.

Lost.

As I stood there, at the brink, with the building in front of me and the tang of deception and deceit in my throat, I felt no pity for the people I could see in the distance, borne aloft by ambition as high as the building itself.

The men in that building were doomed. Their bodies would settle onto the comfort and privilege of their job, where they would swell fat, then float, and then sink under the weight of their ambitions one last time. They would be bones in my domain. Well...not my domain, exactly. His domain. Altamash Mughal, soon to be King of the Corporate World. I didn't have many friends in the company and most of them were neutral parties, if not fully loyal to him.

The very thought curdled my stomach.

"It's her, isn't it?"
"She looks different from the photos."
"Should we talk to her? I think we should..."
"No, you never approach a Mughal. It's just not done."

I wanted to roll my eyes - hard - but instead, I schooled my features and prayed that the elevator ride would end soon. The blurry reflections of the women whispering behind me moved and I tried not to focus on them. Their voices sound unfamiliar, but I didn't want to know for sure if we were acquainted. Some might say that it was easier to navigate through life if you knew friend from foe. For me, it was both a process of elimination and a means of survival.

I just needed to get to my office.

Then I could start on my list of what I needed to require to get through this day. I just needed to open my email. Needed to say hello to person A, respond to person B, give an analysis of how buried my desk is with various projects needing approval, and I needed to avoid a certain CEO.

That last one would probably be impossible.

A ping signalled the end of my purgatory and the elevator doors open. Luckily, it was the right floor, otherwise I'd have been forced to take the stairs just to escape the incessant staring. I walked down the row of cubicles and tables scattered with different electronics and mechanical prototypes to use in projects, to get to my office and was accosted by - flowers?

"Ms. Mughal, it is so good to see you."

Ushna's cheerful drawl welcomed me, and her sleek bob and suit almost bounced from contained happiness. Piles of flowers and gift baskets occupied either side of my assistant's desk as she worked to sort them out. The woman was the only bright spot about returning to work.

"Where did all of this come from?"

Ushna looked a little stiff at the question. "The Board of Governors, of course. Everyone is just so happy about the upcoming Gala, that they couldn't contain themselves."

Her eye twitched when she said the words.

Ah, displays of fair-weather friendship.

Her manner made sense, for someone as genuine and loyal as she was, the machinations of the corporate atmosphere were especially bothersome. She'd worked at the company longer than I had but hadn't been exposed to the extent of fraud that was my existence here until working for me. Ushna's clear and open honesty had been more helpful than she would ever know. I'd never seen anyone behave that way with either my grandfather, father or brothers.

I thought I had been losing my mind.

It had been fucking exhausting, it still was. But with Ushna, I knew it wasn't just me who interpreted it this way. It had only taken one meeting to know I hadn't been making it up in my head. Ushna had turned to me, fuming, before calling the manager we'd met with a horrible man. The kinship had been instant and invaluable.

"If you could arrange for these to be donated somewhere, I'd appreciate it."

I walked toward my office door but stopped with my hand on the knob. "There aren't more in my office, are there?"

A vision of being buried under gift baskets once I opened the door hit me. It was ridiculous, but I was still reassured when she gave me a slow smile. "Just one."

When I saw the monstrosity on my desk, I wanted to groan. The flowers were pretty. I'll give him that. Unlike the little baskets outside, this was an arrangement with volume and flare. Vibrant yellow roses mixed with lily of the valley gave a dynamic feeling to the creation. A stark white card glared at me from the front of the arrangement. Like a masochist, I lightly picked up the expensive folded cardstock and unfolded it to reveal a bold, blocky script I recognized.

He actually wrote the message himself? How strange, my thumb brushed over the textured paper.

Zeenia,

So good to have you here. Don't hesitate to come to me for any advice. Your loving brother -A

Resentment burned, topped with a healthy helping of annoyance. I crushed the message into a tight ball - the edges of the card biting into my hand - but it did little to ease the sensation wrangling inside me like a small animal trying to escape.

Damn. Damn. Damn.

My hard-won composure began to crack before I even sat down at my desk. I took a deep breath. Maybe I was overreacting. It was Altamash. There wasn't anything he could say that didn't sound condescending. It's just the way he was. I shouldn't take it personally. Ushna's voice broke me from my thoughts.

"Ms. Mughal, you have a meeting with the finance guy in about ten minutes," she informed me, answering emails on her phone. My mind was racing. There were a million things to handle.

"What meeting? Finances for what?"

"Your brother mandated an official budget for the Gala."

"I thought my grandfather took care of that?"

"Mr. Mughal deferred the matter to your brother."

Betrayal flashed hot and fast through my veins. How could he? This was my project! Altamash had nothing to do with the Gala.

"So now I have to go down and beg some finance guy to approve a budget for a prestigious Gala I've conceived?" the numbness in my chest wasn't quite so numb remembering the way he spoke to me. My hand curled into a fist and the emotions in my chest were replaced with anger. I felt rattled. "I'm going to kill him."

"Can you at least wait until midday? We could bury the body during my lunch break."

"Nope. I'm sure my brother's waiting for me to storm into his office right now. I'm not going to give him the satisfaction. I suppose the detour won't put back my workload any more than it already is," I shot a look of faux remorse at her. The stack of unread emails in my inbox were only a fraction of those that passed Ushna's screening measures.

She grinned at me.

"I've already pushed your appointments for the morning, so you'll have time to review the buildup on your desk, and we can decide how to proceed once you get back."

I smiled for real. Trust her to have all my details in order.

The floor numbers crept by while the elevator ascended. I rubbed my fingers against my temples, trying to fend off a growing headache.

It was time to get this over with.

The office was just as stunning as the last time I'd been in this place. Views from the wide windows, sleek modern furniture, and masculine colors. The desk, once cluttered with porcelain knickknacks and pictures of his family, was clean and tidy, everything stacked in its proper place. No doubt reflecting the man behind it almost perfectly: too polished, in a crisp white button-down shirt that strained at his broad shoulders, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows to reveal rather intimidatingly sexy forearms. His hair was swept back out of his long face and somehow accentuated his equally straight nose with black square glasses perched on it.

Oh fuck.

"You-? What, how?" I sucked in a breath and bit my cheek to stifle a groan.

"Zeenia," the man in question sat in the leather chair that for forty-five years, had been inhabited by Rehan Chaudry. Seeing him was the crescendo of returning to the office.

Unhampered by any shadows, Asfand watched me from his spot, all sweeping angles and grace. It was a bad time to notice he was more gorgeous than I had let myself remember. Asfand had a face reminiscent of a fallen angel, sculpted in unforgiving glory, which went well with his warm eyes and dark, fashionably cut hair. His physique was that of a swimmer with powerful shoulders and contrasting lean hips, the suit fitting his long limbs perfectly, precisely. And while some guys got too bulky with muscles and others too ropey, Asfand felt like my own personal Goldilocks story come to life because he was just right, lean yet strong.

Simply put, he was perfection.

"Asfand. I'm surprised to see you here."

"Your grandfather asked me to come in and help out."

"That's...unexpected. Is there, was there a particular reason? Not that it's not great to see you, of course-" specially after what happened the last time we'd seen each other. At least this time I wasn't smoked out of my mind.

Those expressive brown eyes, framed by gorgeous, thick glasses, immediately zeroed in on me. "He wanted my help with something."

"What do you do exactly?"

He blinked slowly. "I'm a financial analyst."

Asfand's directness made me want to squirm. I looked past him to the modern painting behind his desk before answering. The piece was the only thing in the office décor that looked organic, paints swirling with reds and blues.

"Why are you handling the budget for the Gala? Isn't that a little... off base?" I was sorely tempted to ask what Daada Jaan was up to when he decided to get Asfand involved with the company. But I kept my mouth shut, not reckless enough to dole out that nugget of information just yet.

"I asked to help out. I knew it was a huge undertaking and it's for a good cause. Thought I'd jump in for a bit."

What was going on?

"I'd-" how did I even begin to explain this? I'd trusted my grandfather and he'd pulled the rug out from under me? Squeezing the insides of my cheeks didn't help, none of my anger seemed to dissipate. In fact, it just grew. The feeling of betrayal stinging all over. "To be honest, I didn't think I'd be having this discussion again. I'd already had the budget approved and I-"

"You don't need to explain anything. It's done."

"It's done?" he cracked a cool smile, but even I knew how to recognize the shock in my voice when I said. "That's it?"

"Of course. You wanted it, so it's done."

"It's- I have to go," I sounded colder than I wished I did. I wished I could be warm. I wished I could be genuine. He'd solved something I knew would have taken ages to get through. I would have had to plead and bargain to get what I wanted and here he was giving me everything without requiring anything from me. I could decipher textbooks and equations but struggled to decipher the exact cadence of a voice that made a name a term of endearment, nor the pattern of a touch that made it a caress. So I went for authenticity. "Thank you-"

"Zeenia," he said.

"What?"

There was a flicker of movement in Asfand's brows, a stutter in the cadence of his blink. He glanced away to the windows and back again, his full lips set in a straight line. If I looked deeper, I would have been able to see the changes in those eyes that picked up the colors of his surroundings like camouflage.

He was off limits.

I had to remind myself of those simple words when just one look from him made my heartrate pick up. He looked away again, his expression smoothed out once more but distant. "You'll have no problems on the financial side. I've made sure of it..."

"I appreciate it. I really do," I said, stepping out, and when I brushed by him, I tried not to notice the faint sound of my breathing, steady as seconds ticking by. "Welcome to Mughal Co.."

༻❂༺

Summer's warm breath clung to the crisp night, humid residue weighing down roses in full bloom. Though the Lahore estate was not nearly the grandest of the Mughal family houses, its three adjoining rooms opened into one long hall that was truly spectacular, fashioned after an ancient Roman bathhouse with walls clad in solid slabs of lustrous Italian marble.

"Don't you think that dress may be... I don't know, a little revealing?"

The dress was admittedly a lot, but I didn't blink when Baila had insisted I go all out. It was an over-the-top, silk cocktail dress. Great to dance in, but the outfit plus the huge necklace on my collarbone made me look like a walking corpse bride.

"It's just so revealing. And that plunging neckline is quite low-cut," Seher continued. She bent toward me to lift up the V of my neckline, but I jolted back.

Her comment made me want to strip naked just to spite her. Instead, I acted like the good "society girl" that I pretended to be, standing tall in my limited-edition Louboutins- white needle-thin heels made of stacked pearls and Swarovski crystals - and plastered on a smile in Seher's direction.

"I like it," my eyes narrowed before I leaned closer to the mirror placed in the foyer. "And you don't need to worry about it."

The rounds had just started and I hadn't had a chance to taste a single speck of the rich spread of cold hors d'oeuvres the rest of the guests were stuffing into their mouths as quickly as they could: dozens of meats, unsteady mountains of caviar, cheese from every nation in Europe. Drinks flowed in a fountain- a literal fountain sculpted of ice, spouting upward crackling cold, clear as air and twice as light.

Of course I wouldn't get any of that. Not until I'd met and greeted every single guest. Going along with whatever the family asked of me was my shtick at this point. I'd done it for so long with a smile on my face that no one batted an eye when my lips started to fall. I continued my punitive tour, meeting the most ancient and tedious people on the list, deliberately being kept away from anyone I liked.

"Zeenia... didn't imagine I'd see you here today," Sara smirked highlighting her perfectly applied bloodred lipstick. Her deep-brown eyes were covered with heavy eye shadow and her newly applied eyelashes made her seem older than she already was.

"I'm what, half an hour late and you're already drunk?" the women around us shook their heads, casting pitiful glances towards her, who to anyone else but those ladies hypercritical eyes, looked perfectly gorgeous and lovely in her minidress from Jacquemus.

"Whaaat..." grabbing her hand, I dragged her down to the corridor to me.

"You're trashed Sara," the Hermès tote draped on her wrist caught my eye, and a tiny sliver of uncertainty flashed in the pit of my stomach. I wondered if the contents were just her normal wallet, makeup, and pills or if she was moving on to something worse.

"Naaa, fin..."

"Yeah, you look fine."

"Why don't... drink?"

"You know I don't like losing control. We've already been over this... come on, let's get you home."

At my strangely pained expression, Sara laughed nervously and dug into her purse to retrieve a prescription bottle without a label.

"What're you doing? Is that Valium?"

"Just a little pill for my nerves," she popped the top skillfully one-handed.

"Wait," I interrupted. "You've been drinking. Is that a good idea?"

"I'll be fine. I've done it before."

"That's not necessarily the same thing-" I sighed with relief when I saw her fiancé making his way to us.

She ignored me as she tipped the bottle back like the shot she just took. The pills slid down the see-through orange plastic before she swiftly took a few sips of liquor and swallowed both. I couldn't tell how much she took, but when she was done, she dropped the bottle back into her chic purse and smiled at me like she didn't just pop sketchy pills, and chase them with expensive vodka in a matter of seconds.

"Is this normal? What's happening to her?"

He glanced at me before returning his gaze to the woman in his arms. "She's just having a hard time. The families had a prenup meeting today. You can imagine how that went."

My heart sank as his eyes found mine and didn't let go. I tried not to react, but a faint shake of my head escaped my control. "They're still not happy with this marriage? You guys are engaged!"

"We forced them to accept this relationship," the cold formality of his brow was anything but deferential. "It's been difficult for her... constantly fighting with her family. They've postponed the wedding twice."

"I can't even imagine what that must feel like..."

"It'll be nice if you'd come to visit her once in a while, it'll make her feel better, now that you're here," he muttered, steering her by an iron grip on her upper arm. "I'll get her home."

Something thickened in my throat. I nodded for him to signal my understanding and he took a step back. "I'll come visit."

And then I spun to walk away only to find the one person I wasn't expecting to see.

My attention snagged on a tall figure in the shadows close to the doors. He leaned against the wall with a drink in hand, perfectly at ease in the absence of the light. A mirror stretched above the extravagant flower display and our eyes locked in the reflection like two magnets drawn together. He couldn't have been able to hear my conversation with Sara and her fiancé that far away, but his presence alone helped me and a calm wave rolled over me, settling my jittering hands.

He was wearing a black button-down his sleeves rolled up. The playful, mischievous smile that I'd somehow already grown used to was gone now but his gaze was full of comfort and warmth as he peered over his glass up at me. A long neglected hope stirred beneath my sternum, and I tipped my head to the side in invitation.

"Hey," he said when we got to each other. "Thought I'd drop by..." he trailed off as he truly looked at me, and his lips parted as if he was taking a quick breath.

"What?" my voice was too loud, the music making it hard to hear anything and I leaned closer. Enough that I felt the heat of his body and caught his clean scent.

I wanted to step back from Asfand, but I didn't. For a moment, we kind of just swayed around each other. Like magnets in too-close proximity deciding whether to slam together or split apart. A strange little dance that had us both flustered.

"Silly girl," his grin was wide. "You fell victim to one of the most classic blunders."

He remembered. How did he remember that?

"Never get involved in a land war in Asia?" weakened, I let my head rest against the wall as I smiled and quoted The Princess Bride back to him.

Slowly he shook his head, and his hair fell over his brow. "Nope."

"Never go against a Sicilian when death is on the line?" gently, I flicked a lock of my hair back. He watched me do it, but his smile didn't falter. It grew as he angled his body to protect me from the crush around us."What is the most classic blunder?" I asked in a haze.

His long lashes swept down on a slow, dazed blink. "I don't know," he whispered. "I forgot where I was going with it."

Suddenly I was aware of Asfand all around me. There was something peaceful and comforting about him that I wanted to reach and be consumed by. Warm dark eyes that trapped you, the kind that made you curious enough to get closer, hoping to explore their depths. Framed by long eyelashes, the ocher flecks in his brown eyes glimmered in the dim evening light.

"No glasses," in spite of myself, when he smiled, it took my breath away.

"Only for work," his thumb slowly rubbed circles on the back of my hand. The motion so small but jarring. It was too comforting, too soothing, and I couldn't think past it.

"Pity... they suit you. You look like a sexy Clark Kent," oh my God. Our eyes met, his so deep that I couldn't think straight. My breathing became audible as we inched closer to each other, until we were only a breath apart.

I should stop this, lighten the mood, fucking get my head together.

But then his nostrils flared, his eyes widening as he ripped his body away from me.

A gust of icy air settled between us immediately, and goosebumps crashed against my skin as I crumbled against the wall, watching him, feeling momentarily lost as he stepped back.

"I should go. Your brother asked me to drop by."

"Oh," my heart detoured as though it had been stitched to a pendulum.

"I'll see you around?"

"Yeah," he was right to take a step back. This was a bad idea. So of course, I forced a smile. "I need to do some mingling."

His jaw clenched and I could tell he was torn between fighting against whatever tension was crackling between us, or giving in. "Sure."

"Time to settle down now," my elder brother's unwelcome wife said, immediately replacing the empty space of Asfand's absence. "We're only halfway and I'm already exhausted. How's the Gala preparation coming along? I hope it's not as tedious as this."

"We've got a good list of entertainers scheduled for the main show. A list of auction items, starting from a rare grecian diadem - " I began, staring dubiously at the triangular wedges placed artfully before us.

"Looks like my money's being out to good use," Altamash chimed in, slinging his arm around my shoulder. "What's up? Are you still trying to recover from standing in the same proximity as Ghulam?"

"Our money," I tugged down the hem of my mid length white dress, even as my other hand balled into a fist. "And he's a prick. Why was he on the list?"

"I invited him."

"Of course you did."

"Easy," I heard Seher purr, her fake accent annoying but no less dangerous. "And are you sure you want to eat that? In our world, women are only considered beautiful when their hearts and bones are exposed."

I eyed the glass and in my other hand, resisting the urge to hit the woman who was topping my most detested human list.

"It's just a snack," Altamash ground out with an easy laugh but not before I saw a flicker of concern and unease in his eyes. Out of all of us, he was the one who'd seen me struggle with an eating disorder. We'd grown up with a mother who ate the bare minimum to keep her alive and a size two, and I came of age when the waif thin supermodels were plastered all over the media as shapes to emulate. For all his faults, he'd never been supportive of that side of me, even going so far to arrange for a therapist.

My relationship with food and my body wasn't the greatest, and Seher's words were only dumping fuel into the fire. He glanced at Seher, who looked only too eager to continue while I was standing right there.

"I meant you have to get married right..." Seher rambled on, words dropping out of her mouth like a dump truck. "Next month is important. Laghari is coming in and as long as nothing goes wrong by then..."

The words smacked me in the chest and landed between the three of us like a brick. Thoughts and worries and unspoken fears seemed to weigh the air between us with thick, invisible threads.

"She doesn't need to worry about that and nothing's finalized," Altamash glared down at his wife, resembling our father in every line of his face.

"What's happening here?" confusion furrowed my brow. "Why is your cousin a part of this discussion?"

"Jehangir is a handsome boy. Intelligent, ambitious, ruthless. I'm not sure he'd like a... you know."

I didn't know if that was supposed to be a threat or a pitch to consider her cousin in a more romantic light. Either way, the disgusted look on my face heaped insult on injury.

"You think he's beneath you?" Seher's lips almost disappeared. "The Mughals would do well to remember that people like Laghari can be just as powerful as you. It's time to build bonds with the people who control this city."

"We were talking about the Gala. That's the important thing here. We've got numerous causes to consider-" we held one another in a locked stare until I smiled, twinkling my fingers toward her. Calm. Cool. She couldn't see any chinks in the armour.

"It shouldn't be hard, you've been courting and pandering since you've been born," Seher's face closed up like a fist.

"Seher... enough," my brother finally piped up, his cold, clear tones slicing through Seher's velvet bullshit.

"It's for a good cause."

"What is it again? The arts?" she was trying to twist the knife in with a taunting dig.

"Multiple actually. Human trafficking, refugees, victims of natural disasters, you know, causes to actually help people."

One of her perfectly sculpted eyebrows raised in mock astonishment. I plastered on the expression a good girl wore. Bright big eyes. A polite smile. Hands nestled demurely in front of me. No bouncing knees. No playing with my hands. No fidgeting whatsoever.

"You'll be fine Zee, I'm sure the Gala will be a success. As for Laghari, nothing's final yet. We're just in the preliminary stages. We won't just marry you off to some random person," he trailed off, draining the rest of his drink as his gaze flicked again towards the crowd at the back. He glanced at his watch.

He was going to run.

It was like blood on a trail. Like a deer crashing through the woods, trying to evade a wolf. Something was there. And I needed to know what it was. It was no secret that the Laghari's treated their women like trinkets before they were married and broodmares after, but to have my brother accept that fact so easily made me scared for my future.

Why couldn't he see that? Why couldn't he see what this was doing to me?

But Asfand noticed. As if attuned to me, his head snapped my way, his gaze meeting mine so briefly, I almost doubted it happened. Except I felt it. A millisecond of those sharp brown eyes locked with mine knocked the air right out of me.

His eyes flared for a moment, and he stepped forward, but stopped himself at the last second. I wanted to reach for him for some reason. The twist of my veins and flow of my blood want me to fall against his chest, to have his arms wrap around me.

It was overwhelming.

I never felt like this growing up with him. I never experienced this electricity between us that made me feel like I'd fall apart if I didn't hold on to him, but I didn't dare let that show on my face. I didn't even look in his direction, because the look in his eyes was keeping me sane, on the edge, at a distance, a few feet away from where I was ready to plunge into the abyss.

Muffled sounds of the party faded into the scenic backdrop of the Mughal building behind a thick veil of fresh, crisp spring air. My breath plumed the air, the fresh cut grass crunching beneath my heels, tufts of green illuminated in a pale sheen by the moon.

I knew he was behind me even before I stopped.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

There was a softness in his voice, a gentleness I didn't recognize that inexplicably made me want to cry. I could feel the soreness of the trapped soul in my body. The sadness I allowed him to see was the bruise hinting at the internal hemorrhage within; and until I could get some answers, the most I could do was use his concern to soothe my wounded heart.

"Perfect."

"Not now-" he muttered as he patted at the phone in his pocket before digging it out. As he read the screen, his eyes narrowed.

And froze.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Who is it?"

"It's no one..." a rare urge took hold of my body and I snatched the phone out of his hands. "Zee..."

"Taimoor? He's been texting you? What does he want?" by the time we'd be standing at the gates of damnation, Taimoor Ali Haider Mughal would beg me to throw him to the devil.

Asfand's eyes filtered between mine, maybe trying to discern my emotions from my expression. After a moment, he gave a single defeated nod.

"Zeenia, it's not what you think-"

"It's exactly what I think. I'm sick and tired of my brothers and their stupid decisions," he trailed after me as I strode through the estate and out the door to the garden, escaping into the night, heading for my car, my smile sheathed by the shadows.

Sometimes, the universe gave you exactly what you needed. And I was not the kind of girl to just take what it had to offer.

I was the one to seize it.

"Zeenia wait...I can't let you leave like this. Where are you even going?" the four-acre house I was currently staying in wouldn't do. I needed answers and I wouldn't get them here.

Nothing was more dangerous than showing weakness.

"Islamabad. It's time I pay my dear old twin a visit."

I don't know if I'm back... but I will try to be more consistent! Thank you for waiting. Sorry for any typos or spaces etc, my laptop crashed, so we're working with limited resources. Other than that, let me know what you think of the chapter! What do you think of Zeenia and Asfand? Seher and Altamash? How soon do you think Taimoor's coming up? 🖤

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