𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐰𝐨
I knocked on the cabin door, lightly clearing my throat before exhaling dramatically. Why did he have to be so intimidating all the time?
"Come in."
His deep voice echoed, smooth and unreadable like always.
I entered. He didn't even glance up, just raised a brow while his eyes remained on the screen.
"Yes, Miss Zoya?"
"Uh... Sir, here." I placed the document in my hand forward like it was the map to some hidden treasure.
He finally looked up, his grey eyes flickering from me to the paper."What's this?"
Seriously?
I smiled- fake, of course. "Nikkah certificate. The one you asked for."
"Hmm." He glanced at it for a second. "Keep it there."
I gently placed it on his desk, hoping it would catch fire from my internal rage.
As I turned to leave, his voice stopped me again.
"Miss Khan."
"Yes, Sir?" I turned, mentally begging not to give me more misery.
"Check the financial records of the past 15 years. Crossmatch the sales growth against market trends and compile a comparative report. By tomorrow."
I blinked. "Fifteen years?!"
He finally looked up, calm and annoyingly composed. "Is there any problem?"
Yes. You. Your calm face. Your perfect grey eyes. Your robotic soul and I want to put 2 tablespoons of salt in your tea.
"I-huh?" I snapped back to reality as his gaze sharpened on me.
"N-No Sir."
"Dismissed."
I walked out fuming.
"Akroo!" I muttered under my breath like it was a curse word. I stomped to my desk, flung myself into the chair and glared at the computer like it was his fault.
After drowning in spreadsheets, graphs, and whatever economic nonsense existed, I looked at the time: 8:30 PM.
What the... Why am I still here?!
Oh yeah. Because Mr. Grey Eyes thinks I'm a literal Excel wizard.
I picked up the final stack of files, fixed my scarf, and trudged to his cabin again.
I knocked again. "Sir, here are the files for the quarterly-"
"Leave them there. Also, make sure the client report for ZS Holdings is included with the tax audit folder."
Of course, he remembered that now.
"Noted." I mumbled and turned on my heel.
"Where are you going?" His voice stopped me like a thunderclap.
I turned back, deadpan. "Home?"
He looked up slowly. "Have you checked the time?"
I folded my arms. "Who made me stay this long, Mr. Akr-I mean, Sir?"
He tilted his head slightly, in that judgmental owl way of his. "You won't go alone. My work is just done. We'll leave together."
"Excuse me??"
He didn't blink back. "You heard me."
"I can go by myself," I said, my voice a touch louder. "I am the Zoya Khan. Nothing can happen to me."
His jaw twitched. "It's not about what can happen. It's about what won't happen under my watch."
"Zoya."
I didn't stop.
"Zoya, stop."
Still didn't.
"I said stop right there, Mrs. Zoya Zaigham Khan."
I froze.
The air evaporated from my lungs.
I slowly turned.
"I don't need a bodyguard-"
"No," he cut in, standing up now, pushing his chair back with a smooth scrape. "You don't need a bodyguard. But you do need a husband who makes sure his wife doesn't wander around at 9 p.m."
My breath hitched. "W-What?"
He took a step forward, gaze sharp. "You heard me."
Slowly, I turned, blinking like I'd stepped into a parallel universe.
He was walking toward me now, calm, intense, like a predator who had just cornered his prey.
Each step echoed off the glass walls like a countdown to the moment my world tilted.
My back met the cool pane behind me. I couldn't move.
"You are not Zoya Khan anymore," he said, voice low, deadly serious.
"You are Mrs. Zaigham Khan now. And when I say you will come with me, that's final. No arguments."
I dared to roll my eyes.
Big mistake.
His gaze darkened. "Don't ever roll your eyes at me again."
Well damn.
I blinked once.
Twice.
"Fine," I mumbled. "Whatever."
He stepped back, fixing the cuffs of his shirt like I hadn't just annoyed the life out of him.
I turned and stomped toward my desk to grab my bag.
I muttered to myself. "Mr. Akroo Zaigham Khan."
He turned slowly. "What did you just say?"
"Nothing."
He narrowed his eyes.
I cleared my throat and started walking beside him toward the elevator.
"Stop sulking," he muttered without even looking at me.
"I'm not sulking." I replied.
As I marched towards the car, muttering under my breath, I remembered the day I got stuck with Mr. Akroo Khan for life. Oh my Allah, even now he manages to ruin my mood just by existing.
Flashback: A week ago, Monday, 9:00 p.m. Dinner time
The entire Khan family was seated in the massive dining hall that could easily host a wedding.
"Ayaaat! Stop kicking me under the table!" Laiba shrieked, nearly knocking her glass over.
"It's not me! It's Zaviyaar!" Ayat accused, sticking out her tongue.
"I'm literally sitting three seats away from you," Zaviyaar deadpanned, not even looking up from his phone.
"Exactly! Ghost kick," Rayan bhai added casually, munching on salad like he wasn't feeding the chaos.
"Honestly, if I die from second-hand embarrassment, someone better give a good speech at my funeral," muttered Ruman api, already regretting sitting with us.
I was laughing, holding my stomach, when suddenly-
Ahem.
Dada Jaan cleared his throat. And just like that, the room fell dead silent. The kind of silence that makes you feel like you've done something illegal even when you were just having dinner.
"I have an announcement to make," he said, calm and collected like he was just ordering dessert.
Everyone instantly went silent.
The elders looked like they already knew. Great. Even worse.
"On Sunday," Dada Jaan said, slowly wiping his hands with a napkin like he was about to announce a new Prime Minister, "Zoya and Zaigham's nikkah will take place."
I spilled the water.
Correction: I inhaled the water. And choked so hard Ayat smacked my back like she was trying to wake up my past life.
I blinked at Dada Jaan. Then at Zaigham. Then at my water glass like maybe it had blood in it.
WHAT.
That man. That Mr. Akroo Khan. The CEO of my stress. The human rulebook with no sense of humor. That man??
And there he was. Calmly chewing his roti like this was just another news report. I swear he didn't even flinch. Hello? Your name was in the sentence too, sir! Show some shock!
Meanwhile, I was sitting there looking like a fish out of water, internally screaming Oh Allah, please take me away from this table.
I opened my mouth. "B-but, Dada-"
Mama shot me a look that said "Say one more word and your funeral will be before the nikkah."
So I shut up. Instantly.
Ayat whispered, "You sure you didn't sign a marriage contract in your sleep?"
Aaliya gasped, "Oh my Allah! You're gonna be Mrs. Akroo!"
"I need popcorn," muttered Laiba.
I just wanted to disappear. Or maybe wrap myself in the tablecloth and crawl away.
Later that night, after pacing in my room like a sleep-deprived squirrel, I finally marched up to Dada Jaan's room.
I knocked, trying to sound confident but probably came off as someone selling insurance.
"Come in," his calm voice replied, like he hadn't just turned my entire life into a dramatic telefilm.
I stepped in.
"Dada Jaan..." I said, dragging it out like a warning.
He looked up. "Zoya beta, I know what you're going to say."
"Do you, though?" I folded my arms. "Because I was hoping to cry a little first."
Mama was sitting quietly on the corner sofa, sipping green tea like this was a casual family discussion. Baba was there too, pretending to read a newspaper at 10 PM. Wow. The betrayal.
"Beta," Dada Jaan said, super chill, "I know the decision is sudden, but it's for the best. You'll be happy with him."
Happy? With him?
My mind short-circuited.
You mean the man who types like he's trying to break the keyboard? Who talks in bullet points? Who doesn't even smile at the jokes in the office group chat?
"But why me?" I burst out. "Why me? You could've picked Laiba, or Rumaan api... or anyone else who doesn't actively hide behind a filing cabinet when he walks by!"
Baba cleared his throat. "Zoya..."
"No seriously," I turned to him, "did everyone just get together one day like 'Hmm, let's ruin Zoya's mental peace for fun'?"
Dada Jaan actually smiled. SMILED.
"This is better," he said. "Whatever we've decided, we've decided right. Don't drag others into this."
"That sounds like something out of a crime drama," I muttered.
"Do you like someone else?" he asked, totally ignoring my sarcasm.
I blinked. "No!" I said quickly. Then added, "But that doesn't mean I'm ready to be married to Mr. Akr-I mean him either!"
Mama finally spoke up. "Zoya, it's just nikkah for now. Rukhsati will be later."
Dada Jaan said simply. "That's enough time."
"Enough time for what? To emotionally bond with a man who reads office memos like bedtime stories?"
Mama raised a brow at me like I was overreacting. Okay, fine. Maybe I was. A tiny bit.
But this was insane.
I sat down dramatically on the edge of the bed. "I'm twenty-two. I still eat cereal for dinner when no one's home. I lose socks in the laundry. I accidentally sent a meme to HR last week. And now I'm someone's wife?"
"You'll be fine," Baba said, smiling in that weirdly calm way dads do when they know they can't undo what's done.
Mama patted my back. "At least he's responsible. Settled. Decent."
Yeah. Decent. Like an overachieving robot. A rulebook wrapped in a good-looking face.
I didn't even argue anymore. I just nodded slowly, like a goat politely agreeing to be sacrificed.
"Fine," I said, standing up with Oscar-worthy exhaustion. "But when I start having nightmares, just know it's on you guys."
And with that, I left the room.
End of flashback.
"Zoya."
Huh?
I snapped out of my thoughts when I heard him call my name. "Yes, Bhai-"
Oh no.
I almost called him Bhai out of habit and bit my tongue immediately.
He gave me a look. "Are you serious right now? Will you stop calling me Bhai? Or are you planning to destroy this nikkah with that one word?"
I frowned. "Excuse me? I didn't exactly rehearse being your bride growing up. What did you expect me to call you- 'Honey Bun'?"
His jaw clenched.
"Don't argue," he muttered.
"Or what-"
One sharp glare.
And I shut my mouth like someone had hit mute.
Ya Allah... is this who I'm stuck with for life? Handsome, sure. Like... offensively handsome. But also scary. And bossy. And emotionally constipated. But just because he looks like a lead actor from a Turkish drama doesn't mean I was emotionally or mentally prepared to marry the man.
You're already married to him, said my brain.
I internally facepalmed.
The car finally stopped in front of the house. I jumped out like I'd been held hostage.
"Assalam u Alaikum!" I called out loudly.
"Walaikum Salam," came the warm chorus from the living room. The entire Khan family was gathered, sitting like it was a live studio audience waiting to judge my life.
"Why so late, beta?" Mama asked sweetly.
"Work, Mama." I smiled. Lie. Big one. But she nodded anyway.
Tayi Jaan asked with a smile. "How did you come?"
Oh no.
I was about to say I Ubered or magically teleported or something less incriminating-
Before I could answer, his deep voice rolled in behind me.
"Assalam u Alaikum."
And then Zaviyar, the human speakerphone, blurted out: "Uh-oh! Someone's enjoying husband time a lot."
My eyes bulged. "EXCUSE ME?!"
Everyone burst into laughter.
I turned, and there he was, my very own "Mr. Akroo" , walking in with that perfect posture, his blazer slung over one arm like a Vogue photoshoot.
"Ohooo Zoya's blushing!" Said Laiba.
"She's not even denying it!" Zayyan bhai chimed in.
I was going redder by the second. My face felt like it could fry an egg.
Thankfully, Deeda chuckled. "Okay enough, let the kids rest now. Go freshen up, beta, dinner will be served soon."
I gave her a grateful smile and rushed upstairs like my life depended on it.
I had just kicked off my heels and flopped onto the bed when Ruman and Laiba barged in like two gossip-hungry hyenas.
"So," Ruman flopped on the bed. "How's married life?"
Laiba smirked. "Any honeymoon plans or just daily office romance?"
"Shut up!" I threw a pillow at her. "You guys are literally the worst."
Ruman sat up. "You didn't deny the romance part though."
"Laiba," I turned dramatically, "get your sister. I will murder her."
Laiba: "Girl, she's your sister too."
"Okay but seriously," Ruman said. "Is he, like... boring? Or secretly sweet?"
"He's... Mr. Spreadsheet. Mr. Silence. Mr. Don't Argue Back or I'll Glare At You."
They burst into giggles again.
"Why me, yaar?" I whined loudly. "Why me? There are like seven billion people in this world-why did fate tap me on the shoulder and say 'You. You get the scary CEO husband.'"
And then, like he was summoned by sarcasm itself, his voice came from the door.
"If you're done with your nonsense, after dinner come to my room with the rest of files."
I froze.
I peeked up from the pillow. He was leaning casually against the doorframe. Arms crossed. Eyebrow raised. Judging me.
"Were you eavesdropping?"
He ignored me, as usual. "Dinner's almost ready. Don't take forever."
And with that, he walked away like he hadn't just overheard me scream-cry about fate's poor choices.
Laiba and Ruman were now dying of laughter.
"I can't- your face- when he walked in!" Laiba howled.
Ruman was tearing up. "You really said 'seven billion people', what if he heard the whole thing?!"
"I'm changing my name," I muttered. "I'm moving to a cave. Don't call me. Don't find me."
Laiba said then. "No seriously, you look like you saw a ghost... or kissed one."
"I almost called him Bhai in the car!" I confessed dramatically, covering my face.
They both gasped like I'd admitted to robbing a bank.
"You WHAT?" Ruman choked.
"By accident! I was nervous, okay? He gave me this death stare and said I'd ruin the whole nikkah if I did that again."
They burst into laughter.
"I mean, technically it was a crime," Laiba smirked. "Calling your husband Bhai? Zoya, even Netflix wouldn't allow that."
Just then, the maid knocked on the door.
"Dinner's ready."
Laiba held up her hands like a reporter. "Any last words, Mrs. CEO?"
"Yeah," I said, getting up, "if I don't come back... burn my Wattpad drafts."
By the time we entered the dining hall, the entire Khan family was already seated. The long table looked more like a battlefield preparing for the first wave of naan.
"Come fast, beta!"Chachi called.
"I'm here! Alive and hungry," I chirped, squeezing in next to Ruman. Just then Deeda looked at me.
"Zoya, serve Zaigham some dinner, beta."
The fork in my hand paused mid-air.
"Sorry... what?" I blinked.
Deeda looked up from her plate, smiling innocently. "He's your husband now. You should do your duty as a wife."
I stared at her like she'd asked me to climb K2 barefoot.
"But Deeda... we don't even live in the same room," I blurted out without thinking.
The entire table froze. Ruman nearly choked on her roti.
"Wrong statement. Very wrong statement," Rayyan Bhai said through a smirk.
Zayyan nearly snorted out his water.
"If that's your wish then let's do this, Deeda," Rayyan added with an evil grin.
"NO!" I screamed internally. My whole face turned the shade of tandoori chicken. Zaigham, calmly looked up at me.
I dragged myself toward him, like a soldier going to war. Picked up the bowl of curry, spooned it onto his plate, and placed two rotis in front of him.
My hand brushed his by accident.
He didn't flinch.
"Thank you," he said softly.
Why did that sound illegal?
I didn't reply. Just rushed back to my seat, ignoring the cousins' smirks. The second I sat down, Laiba leaned toward me and whispered, "That was romantic."
"That was traumatic," I corrected.
From across the table, Zaviyaar grinned. "So... who's sleeping where tonight?"
"Zaviyaar!" Nouran api hissed.
Aaliya raised a brow. "I bet Zoya's packing a pillow fort in her room already."
"I have pepper spray under my pillow," I announced.
More laughter exploded around the table.
Deeda shook her head but smiled, clearly enjoying the madness.
"Alright enough, enough," Dada raised his hand. "Let the poor girl eat now before she files for psychological damages."
Everyone calmed down a little as we started dinner properly, but I could still feel Zaigham's quiet gaze on me.
I looked up once, just once and found him watching me with that unreadable expression.
What is it with him and silence? Can someone buy this man a hobby?
I picked up my water glass dramatically and muttered under my breath, "Only 300 years left to survive this marriage."
Ruman overheard and burst into a fit of giggles again.
I was sitting peacefully in the garden with a book in my lap, finally enjoying a moment to myself when-
"Zoya!" Mama's voice echoed from inside the house.
I groaned. "Coming!"
I dragged myself into the kitchen. "Yes, Mama?"
Mama didn't even look up from the stove. "Make Zaigham's black coffee and take it to his room."
My face twisted in slow horror. "What? But Mama... we have like, five cooks roaming around this house! Why can't one of them-"
"Because you are his wife now."
I blinked. "That's... such a strong reason for such a small request."
She gave me a glare sharp enough to slice bread.
I sighed like I had just been asked to carry bricks uphill barefoot. "Why is everyone so cruel to this poor soul? My tiny heart doesn't deserve this injustice," I muttered theatrically while grabbing the coffee mug.
Mumbling under my breath, I prepared his bitter, depressing, tasteless black coffee. Seriously, this man drinks sadness in a mug.
I sprinted to his room before someone changed the task and asked me to iron his clothes or something.
I knocked on his door.
"Come in," came the usual calm, clipped voice.
I pushed the door open and walked in to find Mr. Broody CEO Zaigham Khan glued to his laptop, typing like the world depended on his next email. His side profile was all serious and CEO-like. I internally rolled my eyes.
"Workaholic," I muttered under my breath.
"I heard that," he said without looking up.
"Well, I didn't exactly whisper it," I muttered again, placing the coffee on the side table with a dramatic thud.
He finally looked up at me with those cold grey eyes of his, beautifully cold, actually. Unfairly beautiful. But very much cold.
"What do you want?" he asked, raising a brow.
"I came to give you your coffee, Your Highness," I said with fake politeness, complete with a mock bow.
He raised his other brow. "Where are the house staff?"
"Great question. I'd like to know that too," I said, dramatically plopping myself on his bed.
His brow stayed up.
"What? Why is it that ever since I married you, everyone in this house suddenly thinks I was born to be your personal assistant?
'Zoya, make Zaigham's tea.' 'Zoya, iron Zaigham's shirt.
' 'Zoya, wipe Zaigham's imaginary tears.
' Like, why me? Why not Ruman? Or Laiba? Or literally anyone who likes cooking?"
He closed his laptop slowly and stared at me with a very blank expression.
"You're my wife. That's why."
"And that's such a convenient excuse for free labor."
"You talk so much."
"Yeah, well. It's a talent. Not everyone can multitask between talking and being a victim of patriarchy at the same time."
"Zoya."
"What?"
"Stop talking."
"See! You men always want us to shut up. First you take away our sleep, then our freedom of speech-"
"I said stop talking." His voice dipped just a little lower. His jaw clenched.
Oops. Wrong turn.
I looked at him and instantly regretted the eye roll I'd just given.
"What did I tell you about rolling your eyes at me?"
"I didn't- Okay fine, I did. But it was instinct! My body reacts before my brain can stop it."
He stood up slowly. I stood too, feeling very much like a squirrel caught stealing snacks.
He walked toward me, his tall frame towering over mine. I looked up, then quickly looked down.
Nope. Can't meet that gaze. My bravery has limits.
"I-I should go," I stuttered, stepping toward the door like I was fleeing a crime scene.
"Zoya."
"Yes?" I turned around halfway, one foot already outside.
"Bring me the files from the study. The ones I told you about this morning."
Oh no.
I gave him my best blank stare. "What files?"
His brow arched again. "Seriously?"
"I...may have forgotten that detail. Is it really necessary?"
He didn't answer. Just gave me the cold Zaigham Khan glare, the one that could probably freeze hot lava.
"Okay, okay! I'm going! Don't melt me with that look," I said, holding my hands up in surrender and bolting out of the room.
"Zoya!" I heard him call as I reached the hallway.
"Yes?"
"Don't spill coffee next time."
"Oh please. I didn't even spill-wait, did I? Ugh," I muttered and jogged toward the study.
The door clicked shut behind her, and the room finally fell silent. I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding and pressed two fingers to my temple.
What am I even tied to for the rest of my life?
This... wasn't supposed to happen. Not like this. Not with someone like her.
I never planned for marriage, not because I had someone else in mind, but because I never had the time or interest to fall into emotional complications. I've seen what they do to people. Seen how easily feelings cloud judgment. I never let that happen.
When Dada Jaan asked me-calmly, clearly-"Is there anyone in your heart?" I had nothing to say. Because there wasn't.
And so, this happened.
Her.
She's everything I would've never chosen.
Too loud. Too impulsive. No filter between thought and speech. She barges into conversations like she owns the room, laughs too freely, forgets half the things she says, and fills every corner of silence with noise.
She talks to maids like they're old friends.
She complains about me, in front of me.
And still... somehow, she doesn't feel malicious. Just... clueless. Unaware of the way her presence shifts the room. Like a storm that doesn't realize it's a storm.
I don't know how to deal with that.
I don't know why I'm still thinking about it.
I leaned back in my chair and opened my laptop again. Work. Routine. Numbers. Calm things. Things that don't shift or shout or knock things over.
But my focus didn't hold.
I kept thinking about the way she sat on the edge of the bed earlier. The way she looked at me, half-annoyed, half-curious-and called me akroo under her breath like I wouldn't catch it.
I heard it.
I hear everything.
And I...still...don't understand her.
I glanced at the untouched coffee mug beside me. Too Bitter, cold.
Typical.
Still... I didn't throw it away.