Warning: dubious consent, watch the trailer above.

___

The night was suffocating, the air thick with the weight of what had just transpired. Murtasim Khan stormed through the mansion's grand entrance, his hand gripping Meerab’s wrist with unrelenting force. The imposing doors closed behind them with a resounding thud, sealing them both inside the oppressive silence of the ancestral haveli.

Meerab stumbled as he dragged her through the dimly lit corridors, her wide, tear-filled eyes darting around, taking in the familiar surroundings, she had seen this house several times, not in person but in pictures. She had seen the haveli before, but never like this—never as a captive.

“Chhodo mujhe!” she cried out, her voice trembling with what appeared to be fear. “Kya kar rahe ho, Murtasim? Tumhein koi haq nahi banta mujhe haath laganeka!”

But inside, her thoughts were anything but frightened. "Haath pakda bhi nahi jaata sahise., " she mused inwardly, her heart racing not from terror, but from the thrill of being so close to him, of finally having him in the palm of her hand. He was merely holding her two fingers before now he was gripping her hand and it excited her, she wished she could entwine them, but it would too out of character for her.

Murtasim’s jaw clenched, his eyes dark with fury as he ignored her pleas. He didn’t stop until they reached the centre of the haveli, where the family was gathered, drawn by the commotion. The opulent chandelier above cast a harsh light on the scene, illuminating Meerab’s tear-streaked face and Murtasim’s stormy expression.

Maryam was the first to approach, her eyes wide with confusion. “Bhai, yeh kaun hai?” she asked, her voice laced with concern as she took in the sight of Meerab standing beside Murtasim, her expression unreadable.

Murtasim’s grip tightened on Meerab’s arm before he answered, his voice a controlled growl. “Yeh Meerab Malik hai. Meri mangetar.”

The room fell into a stunned silence. Maryam’s eyes darted between her brother and Meerab, disbelief etched across her face. “Mangetar? Kab...kaise?” Her questions hung in the air, unanswered as Murtasim’s gaze bore into Meerab, daring her to contradict him.

But before Meerab could speak Haya came running through, “Yeh kaun hai? Is aurat ko yahaan kyun laaye ho?”

She noticed him gripping her hand and she was scared.

Murtasim didn’t answer, his grip on Meerab only tightening as he turned to face his family. “Yeh Meerab Malik hai,” he announced, his voice cold and commanding. “Meri mangetar.”

A shocked silence fell over the room. Haya’s eyes narrowed, her lips curling into a sneer as she looked Meerab up and down with open disdain. “Mangetar? Tumhari mangetar?” she spat, her voice dripping with venom. "Tumne zaroor Murtasim ko apne jaal mai phasaya hoga. Tum aur tumhare khaandan ne saalon se humari zindagi kharab ki hui hai. Ghatiya khaandan ki ghatiya ladki”

Meerab’s heart clenched at the insult, the words cutting deeper than she expected. But she maintained her act, letting out a small, broken sob as she turned her tear-filled eyes to Murtasim. “Mujhe yeh sab nahi chahiye, Murtasim,” she whimpered, her voice laced with a vulnerability that belied the storm raging within her. “Mujhe yahaan kyun laaye ho?”

Inside, though, her thoughts were far from innocent. "Tumne mujhe ikdam theek samjha hai, Haya,”she thought, her nails digging into her palms as she resisted the urge to retaliate. “Aaj tum jitna chaaho zehr ugal lo, kal dekho tumhe kaise chup karwati hoon.”

Murtasim’s eyes flickered at her words, something in them softening, but only for a moment. He quickly steeled himself, reminding himself that this woman was dangerous, no matter how helpless she appeared. “Tumne yeh khud chuna hai, Meerab,” he said coldly, though his grip on her arm loosened slightly. “Ab is faislay se peeche nahi hat sakti tum.”

Haya scoffed, crossing her arms as she glared at Meerab. “Is aurat ke nakli aansu pe mat jao, Murtasim. Mujhe toh lagta hai yeh ladki koi chaal chal rahi hai.”

Meerab bit her lip, her shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs as she glanced up at Murtasim, her eyes pleading. “Agar tumhe mujh par bharosa nahi toh tumhari marzi,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Lekin mujhe tumhare Khaandan waalon ki bakwaas sunney ki zaroorat nahi hai.”

Her words were a knife to his heart, the doubt and pain in her voice stirring something deep within him. Before he could reply Haya was quick to interrupt. “Bharosa?” she echoed, her voice harsh. “Tum par bharosa? Tum jaisi ladki par?”

Then she turned to Murtasim expecting him to say something, "Haya theek keh rahi hai, ye shaadi ek saza hai jo tumhe umar bhar katni padegi".

Meerab flinched at the words, a fresh wave of tears spilling down her cheeks. “Kaash bhai ki revolver laayi hoti, is Behaya ka muh abhi band kardeti” she thought bitterly, but aloud, all she said was, “Meri zindagi tumhe khel lagti hai?”

Before he could respond, Haya cut in again, her voice sharp and accusing. “Murtasim, yeh ladki tumhari zindagi barbaad kar degi. Iske iraaday saaf nahi lagte.”

Meerab’s eyes widened, genuine hurt flashing across her face as Haya’s words hit home. “Saazish? Yeh tum jaan bhi nahi sakti Haya ke main kya karne wali hoon,” she thought, but kept her expression wounded and innocent.

She let out a shaky breath, turning to Murtasim with desperation in her eyes. “Maine aaj tak kisiko nuksaan nahi pohchaya hai, haan Malik Zubair ki behen hu iska matlab ye nahi ke mai buri insaan hu,” she said, her voice quivering. “Main sirf apni zindagi jeena chahti hoon... please mujhe jaaney do”

Murtasim’s resolve wavered for just a moment, the sight of her tears twisting something deep inside him. He looked away, unable to meet her gaze, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

Haya, however, wasn’t finished. She stepped closer to Meerab, her eyes flashing with anger. “Agar tumhe apni zindagi jeeni hai toh yahaan se nikal jao. Is ghar mein tumhari koi jagah nahi hai,” she hissed.

Meerab looked down, her shoulders shaking as fresh tears fell, but she said nothing. Inside, her thoughts were seething. “Thirdwheel, I have to kill this bitch.”

Finally, Murtasim spoke, his voice low but firm. “Yeh faisla ho chuka hai, Haya. Meerab yahaan se kahin nahi jaayegi.” His tone left no room for argument, and Haya, though furious, knew better than to push further.

With one last glare at Meerab, Haya turned and stormed off, leaving the room thick with tension. Meerab watched her go, her tears still flowing, but inside she was smirking. “Yeh bas shuruaat hai, Haya. Tumne jo zehr ugla haina, uska jawab tumhe milte der nahi lagegi.”

Murtasim finally released her arm, his hand falling to his side as he took a step back, creating distance between them. “Tum apne kamre mein jao,” he said, his voice void of emotion. “Kal subah tak nikalna nahi.”

Meerab nodded, wiping away her tears with trembling hands. “Theek hai,” she whispered, her voice still shaky. She turned to leave, but not before casting one last glance at Murtasim, her eyes holding a silent promise.

Murtasim watched her disappear into the shadows, his heart pounding with a mix of anger, confusion, and something else—something he couldn’t quite name. As the night stretched on, he knew one thing for sure: Meerab Malik was not what she seemed, and she was about to change his world in ways he could never have anticipated.

___

In her room, Meerab sat by the window, her face illuminated by the soft glow of the moonlight. She could feel the eyes of the house on her, judging, questioning, but she cared little for their opinions. Her mind was a labyrinth of thoughts, her plan unfolding with every passing moment.

She pulled out a small, intricately designed locket from beneath her dress, opening it to reveal a tiny photograph of Murtasim, taken years ago at a family friend's event. She traced his features with her finger, a smile playing on her lips. “Tumhein sochne pe majboor kar diya maine, Murtasim Khan,” she murmured to herself. “Ab tumhari har soch, har faisla, sirf mere liye hoga.”

___

As Meerab's figure melted into the shadows, the weight of the moment settled heavily on Murtasim's chest. The silence in the room was oppressive, broken only by the echo of her footsteps fading down the corridor. He stood there, rooted to the spot, his hand still tingling with the ghost of her touch.

This was not how it was supposed to be. Meerab had turned his life upside down, and now, despite the fury that had driven him to drag her here, all he felt was confusion.  It was as if he had no control over himself..

“Yeh ladki... isme aisa kya hai jo mujhe bechain kar raha hai?” he thought, his brows knitting together in frustration. He clenched his fists, trying to shake off the unsettling emotions coursing through him.

Before he could delve deeper into his thoughts, the sharp click of footsteps echoed through the room. He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was—Maa Begum's presence was unmistakable.

"Murtasim!" Her voice was a low, controlled hiss, laced with an anger she seldom displayed. She marched up to him, her eyes blazing with a mixture of fury and disappointment. "Tum yeh kya kar rahe ho? Yeh ladki... tum use ghar mein ghusay laye, apni mangetar ke taur pe?"

Murtasim’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t meet his mother’s gaze. "Haan, Maa Begum," he replied, his voice strained, as if the words themselves were a burden. "Yeh faisla mera hai."

Maa Begum’s eyes narrowed, her hand shooting out to grab his elbow out of anger, forcing him to look at her. "Tumne apne aap hi yeh faisla le liya, mujhse ijazat lene ka socha bhi nahi?"

He pulled away from her grasp, stepping back as he ran a hand through his hair, agitated. "Maa Begum, yeh zaroori tha," he muttered, his voice low but edged with frustration. "Meerab Malik ko yahaan lana zaroori tha."

Maa Begum’s expression softened, but only slightly. "Isse accha tha tum apne haath apne dushman ke khoon mein rangte, magar tumne toh uska haath hi thaam liya" She shook her head, the lines of worry deepening on her face. "Yeh ladki... tumhare liye khatarnaak hai, Murtasim. Tum iske jaal mein fas rahe ho."

His eyes flashed with defiance. "Main jaanta hoon yeh ladki kon hai, Maa Begum."

She studied him for a long moment, the anger fading to something closer to concern. "Murtasim, jang ke maidan mai aadmi jeet sakta hai, magar jab baat dil ki baat aati hai  toh aurat jeet ti hai, tum haar jaogey..."

Murtasim looked away, his gaze fixed on a distant point in the room.

Maa Begum pressed, her voice softening as she took a step closer. "Beta, gussa mai galat faisla na lo"

Murtasim remained silent, his mind racing with the events of the evening. He had brought Meerab here in a fit of rage, determined to assert control over the situation, but now... now he wasn’t sure who was controlling whom. "Yeh ladki itni aasani se tootne wali nahi hai," he thought. "Lekin na jaane kyun, iss bechaini mein bhi ek ajeeb sukoon hai."

Maa Begum sighed, her stern expression softening into one of reluctant acceptance. "Bas, beta, yeh yaad rakhna ke tum apne dil ke saath yeh jang jeet bhi lo, par apni izzat aur apno ki hifazat se kabhi samjhauta mat karna."

Murtasim nodded, though the turmoil within him remained. "Main apni zimmedariyon ko kabhi nahi bhoolta, Maa Begum," he promised, though he knew that promise would be tested in ways he couldn’t yet foresee.

As Maa Begum turned to leave, she cast one last glance at her son, the worry still evident in her eyes. "Woh ladki... Meerab... woh tumhe sirf barbaadi ke raste le jaa rahi hai."

Murtasim watched her go, the echo of her words lingering in the air long after she had left. He stood alone in the grand hall, his mind a battlefield of emotions.

As the night wore on, a knock on the study door interrupted Murtasim's thoughts. A servant entered, handing Murtasim a sealed envelope. “Sahab, yeh aapke liye aaya hai,” the servant said before leaving quietly.

Murtasim tore open the envelope, his eyes narrowing as he read the message. It was a single line, written in elegant, flowing script: “Haqeeqat humesha aankhon ke saamne nahi hoti, Murtasim Khan. Apni aankhein khuli rakhiye.”

His grip on the paper tightened, the cryptic message only adding to his confusion. “Yeh Malik Zubair ka kaam hai,” he muttered, convinced that his rival was somehow involved. But somewhere in the back of his mind, a small voice whispered that there was more to this than he could see.

As the night deepened, Murtasim knew one thing for certain—Meerab Malik was not what she seemed, and this was only the beginning of a dangerous game that neither of them could afford to lose.

___

The room was bathed in the soft, silver glow of moonlight, filtering through the half-drawn curtains. Murtasim lay asleep on his bed, his features relaxed and peaceful, a stark contrast to the turmoil of the day. His chest rose and fell steadily, bare beneath the thin sheet that barely covered him.

Meerab stood at the foot of the bed, her eyes locked onto him, her heart pounding with a mix of excitement and longing. This was the moment she had been waiting for—finally, she could see him up close, not through the grainy footage of the CCTV cameras she had installed to track his every move, but in the flesh, mere inches away. "Murtasim Khan...," she thought, a wicked smile playing on her lips, "Tumhe dekhne ka asli maza ab aa raha hai."

She stepped closer, her breath catching as she took in the details of his face—the strong jawline, the shadow of stubble, the lashes that fanned out against his skin. "Kitna handsome hai," she mused, biting her lip to suppress the urge to touch him. Her hand hovered just above his cheek, trembling slightly with the effort to hold back.

She wanted to feel the warmth of his skin, to trace the lines of his face with her fingers. But she knew better. "Abhi nahi, Meerab," she scolded herself, though her hand betrayed her, inching closer. She paused, just barely resisting the urge to caress him. "Nikkah jaldi ho jaye toh sab kuch mera hoga."

But just as she was about to pull away, Murtasim stirred. His eyes fluttered open, and for a split second, Meerab froze. Her heart raced, and she quickly withdrew her hand, but it was too late. His sharp, alert gaze locked onto her, and in an instant, he was fully awake, his body tensing as he registered her presence.

Before she could react, he shot up, his hand grabbing her wrist as he flipped her beneath him, pinning her to the bed. The sheet slipped further down his torso, revealing his muscular chest, and Meerab's breath hitched. "Oh God, he's shirtless," she thought, a flush creeping up her neck. She tried to turn her face away, to hide the excitement that she couldn’t suppress, but the dim lighting worked in her favor; Murtasim, still groggy and disoriented, didn't notice the hungry look in her eyes.

His hand, still gripping her wrist, accidentally brushed against her waist, sending a jolt through her body. She swallowed hard, struggling to keep up her act. "Control, Meerab," she thought, feeling the heat of his body against hers. Her thoughts were a chaotic mess, torn between wanting to give in to her desires and maintaining the innocent facade she had crafted so carefully.

Murtasim, still on high alert, glanced around the room, searching for something—anything—that could explain her presence, or perhaps even defend himself with. "She is here to kill me in my sleep," he thought, his eyes darting around, but all he found was Meerab, her gaze locked onto his, her expression a mix of fear and something else... something he couldn't quite place.

Her voice broke the silence, soft and trembling. “Kya kar rahey ho?” she whispered, tears welling up in her eyes. They were tears of restraint, of holding back the wild urge to throw herself at him, to claim him then and there. But she knew she had to stay in character, had to keep up the act that had brought her this far.

Murtasim’s brow furrowed, his grip loosening slightly. “Tum yaha kya kar rahi ho, Meerab?” he demanded, his voice rough with suspicion.

Meerab hesitated for just a moment, then replied, her voice small and innocent. “Woh... mai paani peeney gayi thi... phir wapas aatey waqt raasta bhul gayi... aur galtise tumhare kamre me aagyi,” she explained, biting her lip and lowering her gaze as if embarrassed by the situation.

Murtasim’s eyes narrowed, his body still hovering over hers. “You know you shouldn’t enter a man’s room in the middle of the night,” he said, his voice stern but tinged with something else—something that made Meerab’s heart race even faster.

“Why is he such a gentleman? At least kiss me, you idiot!” she screamed internally, but on the outside, she nodded meekly, bobbing her head just enough to draw his attention to her glossy lips. She could feel the heat radiating off his body, could smell the intoxicating scent of his cologne.

“This is torture,” she thought, her pulse quickening as their eyes locked. “But also... bliss.”

Just as Murtasim opened his mouth to say something more, the door creaked open, the sound shattering the tension between them. Murtasim reacted instantly, pulling the blanket over them both, instinctively shielding her from whoever was about to enter. Their bodies were pressed together, the thin fabric doing little to hide the sensation of his warmth against her.

Meerab was barely able to contain her glee, her heart pounding with excitement as she relished the proximity. But the moment was short-lived. A voice cut through the darkness—Haya’s voice.

Her footsteps approaching the bed.“What the hell is she doing in his room in the middle of the night?” Meerab seethed inwardly, her anger boiling as she realized what was happening. Through the blanket, she could see Haya’s shadow moving closer. She gritted her teeth, her hands balling into fists as she resisted the urge to lash out.

Then, just as she was about to lose her composure, she felt Murtasim flinch. A small, subtle movement beneath the blanket—Haya’s hand was tugging at his hair. Murtasim winced, clearly uncomfortable, as Haya whispered to herself, her voice filled with a possessive venom that made Meerab’s blood boil.

“Woh chali jayegi humari zindagi se... aur phir, Murtasim, phir tum sirf mere hogey,” Haya hissed, her words sending a surge of rage through Meerab’s veins.

“That’s it.” Meerab thought, her patience snapping. “This woman has crossed the line.”

Without a second thought, she pulled at Murtasim, using the momentum to bring their lips together in a sudden, angry kiss.

Murtasim’s eyes widened in shock, a low groan escaping his throat as he tried to make sense of what was happening. Meerab pressed on, her lips moving against his with a fierce desperation, trying to make a statement, to claim him as hers in front of this unwanted intruder.

“Meerab, stop!” Murtasim’s voice was muffled against her mouth, his hands coming up to push her away, but the blanket was suddenly ripped away, exposing them both to the harsh reality of the situation.

Haya stood frozen in the doorway, her eyes wide with disbelief as she took in the scene before her—Meerab lying beneath Murtasim, their lips locked in an embrace that left no room for doubt.

For a moment, the room was silent, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Then, all at once, everything erupted.

"Haya, get out!"

Murtasim screamed, but Haya didn't move, "Ye tumhare saath yaha kya kar rahi hai."

Meerab lay there in horror, realising that because of Haya, she let go of her innocent persona...

Haya was looking at them like an idiot, but before she could say a word, Murtasim set her straight. 

"Meri mangetar hai, tumse kya matlab, niklo abhi yahase!"

Haya saw Meerab's smiling face as she showed her the middle finger, as soon as Murtasim turned her innocent face reappeared.

And she backed away, he didn't say anything to her and she awkwardly left the room, thinking to herself, "He could have asked me to stay over for the night".