Until It Was Real

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲-𝐄𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

I blinked, my lashes brushing against the pillow as a nasty ray of sunlight pierced through my eyes.

I groaned. Zaigham's arm was wrapped around me, tightened around me almost instantly, pulling me closer until there was barely any space left.

"What happened?" his voice was still heavy with sleep, rough and low, but as always it succeeded in making my heart stumble.

I bit back a giggle. "Sunlight."

"Turn to my side then," he muttered, eyes still closed, but the corner of his mouth tilted into something dangerously close to a smile. I could feel it. "Haha, No. Mr. Khan we should be getting up now."

"You don't want to, you want to be in my arms all day, I can feel it in your breathing."

"What?!" I laughed. as I rolled my eyes even though he couldn't see me. "Since when did my breathing become a whole language?"

I turned to him in his arms.

He hummed, finally opening one eye, catching me in the middle of my pout. "Since I married you."

My cheeks burned, and I turned away, hiding my face in the pillow.

He chuckled, his fingers brushing lightly over my hand as if he knew exactly what effect he had on me.

"Zaigham..." I mumbled into the pillow.

"Mhmm?"

"You know it's Rukhsatiday, right? We should get up."

"Not yet," he said simply, pulling me even closer, his forehead resting against the back of my head. "Five more minutes. Just five."

I sighed, my smile growing helplessly. "Yeah, five minutes, then ten and then it will turn into twenty."

"Then stop keeping count," he teased softly, his lips brushing the edge of my hairline.

"Nope..." I muttered.

Eventually, I managed to wriggle out of his arms, though not without earning one of his signature frowns.

"Zaigham, please," I whispered, sliding off the bed, "if we don't get up now, we will be late. Everyone's already going to be rushing."

He leaned back against the headboard, watching me as I reached for my dupatta draped on the chair. His hair was still mussed from sleep, his screen glasses lying forgotten on the side table.

"You're worried for everyone else," he said, his voice low, "Except your husband."

I glanced at him over my shoulder. "That's not true. My sisters will eat me alive if I'm late."

He chuckled. "I'd like to see them try."

I shook my head, ignoring the growing nerves clawing at me.

From behind me, I heard the faint rustle of sheets. "Zoya."

I met his eyes in the mirror as he stood, rolling his sleeves. "Hm?"

"Breathe. It's just another day."

Dayum, how does he always see through me?

"I blinked. Zaigham, it's not—how is this just another day? And after Nouran api yesterday, everyone just gawked at me... the way I carried myself as the elder daughter-in-law. The same is going to happen today and tomorrow too. So yeah, I don't want to be even the slightest topic of gossip."

His brow lifted, amusement flickering at the edges of his expression as he moved closer.

His voice dipped, quiet yet commanding, brushing against my nerves like a shiver.

"Let them stare if they want. Their eyes don't measure you, Zoya. Mine do."

My breath caught, my heart thudding painfully at the weight in his tone.

He adjusted the edge of my dupatta with precise fingers, his gaze locked with mine in the mirror.

"And in my eyes... you've already set the bar higher than they will ever reach."

I smiled at him.

The moment I stepped out of our room, the calmness of the morning vanished. The house was already alive, voices bouncing off the walls, footsteps rushing, phones ringing, instructions flying from one corner to the other.

Zaigham had barely slipped on his watch before Zayyan tugged him away, talking about last-minute decoration checks. He gave me one of his steady looks, before disappearing down the hall.

I turned toward Nouran Api's room, where the chatter was loudest.

Inside, the energy was a storm.

Laiba was sprawled on the bed with her phone, scrolling through reels.

Rumman Api sat at the dresser, testing lipstick shades.

Aaliya had her head buried in a jewelry box, holding earrings up against her ears.

Ayat and Inaya arguing over hairstyles. And Nouran Api, perfectly put together as always, was giving instructions like a commander in the middle of battle, despite being the bride.

"Zoya, sit here," Rumman Api called without looking up, still busy with her lipstick.

"Finally," Laiba said with exaggerated drama, tossing her phone aside. "Madam decides to join us."

I rolled my eyes at her and settled onto the cushion near the bed.

Just then, Sofia slipped in with a tray. The faint smell of parathas drifted across the room, and I realized how hungry I am. "Sofia, can you bring breakfast for me, please?" I asked.

She nodded before leaving again.

Nouran Api looked up from her neatly folded dupatta. "Zoya. Maybe you can help me knock some sense into these girls. They can't agree on the lipstick shade I am choosing."

Aaliya straightened, earrings still in her hand. "We do agree! She's just vetoing everything."

Laiba suddenly leaned forward, mischief written all over her face. "By the way, has anyone noticed Nouran Api's mehndi?"

Rumman Api immediately caught her hand. "Ohhh, look at this color! It's so dark."

Aaliya gasped in fake shock. "Api, you know what that means. Ayaan bhai is completely gone for you."

The room burst into laughter.

Nouran Api rolled her eyes and snatched her hand back, though her cheeks tinted pink. "Bas, you all have nothing better to do?"

Laiba clapped her hands. "Admit it, Api! He must have called you again last night. No wonder it turned out this dark."

"Shut up, Laiba!" Nouran Api grabbed a pillow and threw it across the bed.

I couldn't hold back my laugh either. "Honestly, if this is the result of one phone call, we should all be worried about what happens after marriage."

The girls laughed. Nouran Api turned bright red, now throwing another cushion, this time straight at me.

I ducked, still laughing.

Laiba leaned forward again, narrowing her eyes at me with that evil grin that always spelled trouble.

"Speaking of mehndi..." she sing-songed, "Zoyaaa, should we check your color too?"

Instantly, my smile faltered. "No, no, no—" I tried pulling my hands into my lap, but Aaliya was already quicker. She grabbed my wrist and held it up like a trophy.

"Look at this!" she announced dramatically. "Dark as midnight. Guess who's hopelessly obsessed with her?"

Heat rushed straight to my cheeks. "Aaliya! Stop it, it's not my wedding" I squeaked, tugging, but they were all crowding around me now.

Rumman Api gasped, pretending to wipe an imaginary tear. "Woah, her Akroo Khan... who would have thought? Turns out he's just a lover boy in disguise."

The whole room erupted in giggles.

I buried my face in my dupatta. "Stop it, all of you."

Laiba plopped onto the bed beside me, resting her chin on my shoulder with mock sympathy.

"Poor Zoya, so embarrassed. But don't worry... you're safe with us." Then, lowering her voice wickedly, she added, "Then in the evening function, I'll announce it in front of everyone."

My head shot up in horror. "You wouldn't dare!"

Her grin widened. "Try me."

Everyone burst out laughing again.

I threw a cushion at them, whining, "You're all so mean!"

By the time the clock was really ticking, Nouran Api's room had transformed into a warzone.

Hair straighteners and curling rods fought for space on the same socket extension, bangles were scattered like shrapnel across the floor, and the faint smell of hairspray was strong enough to choke an army.

Rumman Api was hunched over the mirror, furiously attempting her eyeliner. "Why—" she paused dramatically to shake the liquid liner pen, "—does this thing always betray me on important days?"

"You don't need eyeliner," Laiba quipped from the bed just finished her makeover, legs crossed as she scrolled through her phone. "You need surgery. That wing is flying to Karachi."

"Shut up!" Rumman Api muttered.

"Great," I groaned, putting on my lipstick.

Meanwhile, Aaliya was in her own crisis. "WHERE is my other jhumka?" she shrieked, digging through the jewelry box like a madwoman. "If someone doesn't find it in two minutes, I swear I'll—"

"Cry?" Inaya offered innocently.

"No," Aaliya snapped, holding up one earring. "I'll wear just one and start a trend. People will thank me later."

"Yeah," I muttered, catching my hair in a bun. "they will thank you by calling you a pirate."

The room exploded into giggles.

By the time I'd finished my makeup, my confidence was hanging by a thread. I turned toward the makeup artist, who was busy perfecting Nouran Api's makeover with surgeon-level precision.

Api looked ethereal, calm and regal... the perfect bride.

And then there was me, staring at the mountain of fabric lying neatly on the bed.

A saree. My enemy.

I froze. "Ugh, how am I even supposed to wear this thing?" I muttered, glaring at it like it would speak and tell me itself.

Apparently, all the daughter-in-laws were expected to wear sarees for the function today. Cute, in theory a nightmare, in reality.

Because the only person in this room who knew how to drape one was Nouran Api — who was currently busy.

"Laiba!" I whined, spinning toward her. "Please help me! You're just sitting there doing nothing, and I have no idea how to do this!"

She didn't even look up. "Watch a tutorial."

I blinked. "Excuse me? A tutorial? This isn't origami, it's a saree!"

Finally, she looked up, with the smuggest grin. "Exactly. Tutorials are made for things like this. Problem solved." She shoved her phone at me, a YouTube video paused on "Easiest Saree Draping for Beginners."

Then, like the devil she was, she physically turned me toward the door and patted my shoulder.

"There you go, my dear sister. Go in peace, lock yourself in a room, and drape away."

I stared at her in disbelief. "Are you serious right now? You're abandoning me in my darkest hour?!"

Her evil smile only widened. "Yup. Love you, now get out."

I narrowed my eyes, holding the phone like a weapon. "You are SO mean, Laiba. May...may you burp loudly in public."

I tried to curse, yeah this is how I curse.

"Yeah yeah," she sang, already turning back and picking up her outfit.

I turned away and walked to my room.

___

The third time I tried, the pleats slipped straight out of my hand again and landed in a heap on the floor.

I glared at the screen of Laiba's so-called "helpful" tutorial still playing on my phone.

The girl on YouTube was smiling like draping a saree was the easiest thing in the world.

Easy for her, she wasn't standing here in tights and a blouse, sweating, sulking, and fighting with six yards of stubborn fabric.

"Ugh!" I groaned, collapsing onto the bed, burying my face in the folds. "Why did I ever agree to this?!"

The door creaked. I quickly sat up, clutching the saree to my chest.

But it was my one and only husband.

Zaigham walked in, his sleeves pushed up, hair a little tousled, face slightly tired but still infuriatingly put-together.

He stopped mid-step when he saw me, his brow furrowing as he dragged his gaze from top to bottom.

"What happened? Why aren't you ready yet?"

I bit down on my lip before blurting out, "I don't know how to drape this thing!" My eyes darted to the pile of fabric in defeat.

He exhaled slowly, setting his phone on the table. "Then ask someone to help you."

"Wow," I muttered, rolling my eyes, "as if I hadn't thought of that. Everyone's busy. No one has time for me right now."

For a moment, he just studied me. Then he sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "Okay. Let me wash my face, I'll do it."

I blinked at him. "You?" My cheeks instantly warmed.

"Yes, me," he replied, a brow arching at my expression.

"You... know how to drape a saree?" I asked, half horrified, half curious.

A soft chuckle escaped him as he shook his head. "No, Zoya. But I can figure it out. A tutorial should be enough." His tone was so casual.

I blinked.

I looked at the video as he went to freshen up.

After sometime, he came out drying his face with a towel, he came toward me and picked up the phone from my lap, scanning the video.

I sat confused as he leaned against the table, watching the video with the same concentration he gave to office reports.

He nodded slowly, murmuring to himself.

Then he glanced at me.

"Petticoat?"

"What is that?" I frowned.

He angled the screen toward me, pointing. "This. What she's wearing under the saree. Go put it on."

I groaned, snatched the piece off the bed, and stomped off to slip it on. When I came back, he was still studying the video.

He finally set the phone down and looked up.

"Ready?"

"Yeah," I whispered, though my heart thudded wildly.

The moment his fingers brushed my skin, I jolted. He started looping the saree around my waist, his touch careful.

"Hold this here," he murmured, pressing one end of the fabric into my waist.

His voice was low, his breath grazing my skin.

I swallowed, gripping it where he placed my hand.

He stepped behind me, folding pleats with deliberate patience. His fingers tugged and pressed at my waist to keep them in place before pinning them.

When the pleats slipped again, I groaned, frustrated.

"Shh," he hushed, his hand steadying mine. "Relax. Show me the phone."

I quickly handed it to him. He studied the screen for a minute, nodding as if he'd cracked some secret code. "Got it," he muttered, returning to me.

This time, his hands moved with more confidence, smoothing the pleats, tucking them firmly into the waistband.

Each brush of his fingers was both innocent and devastating.

"Don't move," he said softly, his palm pressing against my stomach as he pinned the folds.

His eyes lifted to meet mine in the mirror.

I felt my breath stutter.

Finally, he lifted the pallu, draping it over my shoulder, adjusting the fall with precision. When he leaned in to pin it, his chest brushed against my back. His fingers lingered a little longer than necessary, grazing my collarbone.

Our eyes locked in the mirror, again.

His gaze was steady, piercing, pulling me in until the world blurred.

His lips lowered, brushing against the curve of my ear as he murmured, voice husky, "Here you go, love. Perfect...but very tempting."

Heat rushed to my cheeks. I couldn't form a reply, my breath caught somewhere between my throat and my chest.

And then he leaned in, against the side of my neck pressing a soft kiss that left my knees weak.

By the time he pulled back, my reflection was smiling helplessly, my mouth open in disbelief.

The saree fell around me flawlessly.

"It's... perfect," I whispered, touching the fabric, still stunned.

He smirked, stepping back, eyes dark with satisfaction. "So. My reward, wifey?"

I smiled, and shook my head.

On my toes, I quickly pecked his cheek instead. "That's all you're getting," I teased, brushing off the lipstick mark with my thumb.

He tilted his head, amused, watching me as he chuckled under his breath before going to change.

As he disappeared inside, I caught myself staring in the mirror again. At the saree. At the reflection of my lips curved in a smile that wouldn't go away.

It was a beautiful a beautiful deep maroon silk saree.

Tiny, delicate stones caught the light as I moved, subtle yet enough to make me aware of every step I took.

The full sleeves hugged my arms, the golden embroidery at the cuffs and neckline glinting against my skin.

I turned around and picked the matching hijab, as I put it on.

When Zaigham stepped out of the bathroom, I forgot how to breathe for a second.

In front of me stood my husband, wearingBlack Shalwar Kameez with subtle embroidery around the neckline. His hair was still damp, a single lock rebelliously falling over his forehead, and the faint fragrance of his cologne filled the air between us.

Oh no. Oh no.

My fingers froze against the edge of the hijab as my eyes betrayed me, trailing down his tall frame. My heart had no shame, hammering against my ribs as if it wanted to escape straight into his hands.

And then his gaze lifted, catching mine in the mirror.

One brow arched, sharp and knowing. His lips curved into the faintest smirk.

"Staring much, are we?"

Heat flushed up my neck, but instead of shying away, my pride jumped in before common sense. I straightened my shoulders, raised my own brow, and said, "Yes, actually. And why not? You're my husband. I can stare as much as I want."

The silence that followed was dangerous.

His smirk deepened, and his eyes darkened in a way that sent sparks racing down my spine.

Oh no. Wrong move, Zoya.

Abort. Abort. Abort.

I tried to take a step back, but it was too late. In a flash, his arm slid around my waist, pulling me flush against him. I felt the heat rise straight to my ears.

"Oh really, sweetheart?" he murmured, his lips brushing just near my ear.

His voice was deep, velvet, too close.

"You think you can say things like that... and just walk away?"

My breath hitched. My knees felt weak. "W-we're... we're getting late," I stammered, my hands pressing lightly against his chest in a half-hearted attempt to push him away.

"Function can wait," he countered smoothly, lowering his head just enough that his breath warmed my skin. "I—can't, wifey."

I was about to protest again when—

BANG BANG BANG

"ZOYA!" Laiba's dramatic voice echoed through the door. "Give me my phone, I need it right now!"

We both froze.

Zaigham groaned under his breath, closing his eyes in utter frustration. "Your sister has the worst timing," he muttered darkly.

I bit back a laugh, biting my lip as I whispered, "I told you... we are late."

"Don't think this is over," he warned lowly, squeezing my waist once before letting go.

His eyes lingered on me, stormy.

Another bang rattled the door. "ZOYAAA! Hurry up!"

I quickly darted away, fumbling for Laiba's phone on the dresser, while Zaigham leaned back against the wall, pinching the bridge of his nose, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like a prayer for patience.

Nouran sat before the mirror, her bridal lehenga spilling around her like a sea of crimson and gold. Her hands, resting on her lap, trembled slightly, the mehndi dark against her skin, the rings she wore suddenly feeling heavier than ever.

Her mother was the first to break the silence. She reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair away from her face, her fingers lingering on Nouran's cheek longer than necessary. "You look... radiant." Her voice trembled despite the smile she forced.

Nouran tried to smile back, but her lips quivered. "Mama, don't."

She hugged her mother and her tears spilled out.

No matter if she was only moving to another room, the weight of this moment was something else entirely. It carried a depth, an intensity, that every daughter feels...the quiet ache of leaving behind what has always been hers, even if it's just by a few steps.

Her father, standing just behind, cleared his throat. His usual composed self looked slightly shaken today. He placed a steadying hand on his wife's shoulder and said quietly, "Let her smile before you start the waterworks."

That earned a tiny laugh from Nouran, though her eyes glistened.

Inaya sniffled from the bed, clutching a cushion like a lifeline. "I swear, I told myself I wouldn't cry—" she broke off, wiping at her cheeks, "—but look at me now."

Nouran laughed weakly, shaking her head. "Don't start, Inaya, or I'll fall apart too."

The door creaked open then, and Zaviyaar strolled in, leaning against the wall near the window.

His gaze swept the room before landing on his sister.

"You all are acting like she's moving to another continent," he remarked, a teasing glint in his eyes. "She's literally going downstairs."

Inaya smacked his arm immediately, her face blotchy from tears. "Shut up, Zaviyaar!"

The others laughed at that, the tension breaking for a brief moment.

Zayyan entered next, his shoulders stiff but his tone lighter than his expression. "Don't listen to him. He just doesn't know how to handle emotions like a normal person."

Zaviyaar smirked. "And you do?"

Their bickering drew another round of chuckles, grounding the moment in familiarity.

Then Zaigham stepped in. His gaze fell on his sister, adorned in her bridal dress, and for a long moment he simply stood there, watching.

His usually guarded eyes softened, the corners heavy with unspoken memories.

They had grown up so quickly, hadn't they?

and now here she was, ready to leave, draped in a new chapter of life.

He rested a hand gently on Nouran's shoulder. For a second, she didn't look up, but when she did, her eyes filled instantly.

She hugged him.

"You'll ruin your makeup," he said quietly, patting her back, but there was no sharpness in his tone. Just a brother, trying and failing not to let his own throat tighten.

Nouran gave a wet laugh, dabbing at her cheek with the back of her hand. "You sound like Mama."

"That's a first." he replied smoothly, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

She swatted at him weakly. "It's not easy," he admitted, his voice lower now. "But you're not walking away from us, Nouran. You're just... making more space in your life. Ayaan is lucky. And so are you. You both are perfect for each other."

Her face crumpled at that, a laugh tangled with a sob as she pulled away. "Why would you say that right now?"

"Because it's true," he said simply, thumb brushing her knuckles before he let go.

Zaviyaar, then groaned playfully to lighten the tension in the room. "See? What did I tell you? She's just going to another room."

Inaya groaned and smacked his arm again. "Do you ever stop?"

Everyone laughed again.

If someone ever asked me to describe a rukhsati in one word, I'd say: chaos. Beautiful chaos.

By the time I stepped into the hall, the noise hit me like a wave.

I barely made it past the entrance before Aaliya pounced on me. "Finally! Where were you?"

I held up my dupatta helplessly. "Do you want me to look like a ghost in pictures? Sarees aren't five-minute jobs, Aaliya."

She rolled her eyes dramatically. "Excuses, excuses. Rumman api was just about to drag you here by your ear."

Rumman Api shot me a teasing look from where she stood near the flower strings. "Honestly, Zoya, the groom's sisters are supposed to glow. Not crawl in late like they've run a marathon."

I stuck my tongue out at her, which earned me an unimpressed shake of the head from her — the classic Api move.

Before I could defend myself, Rayyan bhai swooped in, balancing a tray of sweets dangerously in one hand. "Ladies, ladies, calm down! The star of every function has arrived."

I blinked. "Excuse me? Who's the star?"

"Me, obviously." He gave a dramatic bow, and the tray wobbled so badly Laiba shrieked.

"Rayyan, if you drop that, I swear—"

But he was already laughing, weaving away into the crowd with his tray.

Typical Rayyan Bhai.

I exhaled, pressing my palm against my stomach, duh it's barely mid-function and I am already feeling tired.

I felt a strange prickling at the back of my neck. The hair on my neck rose.

Like someone was watching me.

I turned my head sharply, scanning the hall. Rows of aunties with their glittering dupattas, girls whispering behind hands, children darting between chairs. Some eyes were on me anyway — Zaigham's wife, the elder daughter-in-law.

My throat went dry. Get it together, Zoya. You're surrounded by at least a hundred people.Obviously people are looking at you.

I forced myself to breathe and fix my Saree, pretending like nothing happened.

From across the room, Tayii jaan caught my gaze and gestured with her hand, that subtle "come here" signal that carried the weight of a command.

Great.

I plastered on a smile and wove through the crowd toward her.

"Zoya beta, this is Mrs. Rahman," Tayii jaan said as soon as I reached. "And her daughter Sana. They've been eager to meet you."

Mrs. Rahman's eyes flicked from my face to my sari to my jewelry in one slow scan, the kind of inspection that felt like being x-rayed.

"So this is Zaigham's wife," she said, voice syrupy sweet but sharp underneath.

"Yes," I smiled politely, forcing warmth into my tone. "It's lovely to meet you."

Sana gave me a quick smile too, though hers looked more like curiosity mixed with judgment.

"You're so... young," she said, like it was both a compliment and a warning.

"Thank you?" I replied, not sure if that was a compliment or a complaint.

Tayii jaan chuckled softly, covering the moment. "She's adjusting very well." Then she leaned toward me and whispered against my ear.

"Go upstairs and get Nouran. Take Inaya with you — she's in her room fixing her dupatta. The bride needs to come down soon."

I blinked. "Now?"

"Yes, now. Before the aunts start another round of complaining."

I stifled a groan and nodded. "Got it."

Turning, I nearly bumped into an aunty carrying a plate of mithai. "Careful, beta!" she exclaimed, clutching the plate to her chest as if I'd attempted to rob her.

"Sorry!" I squeaked, darting past, trying not to laugh.

Behind me, I heard two cousins whispering loud enough for the chandeliers to hear:

"She looks nice but... isn't she so energetic, unlike Zaigham Bhai?"

"She is."

My ears burned, as I walked past them.

Spotting Inaya near the staircase, tugging at her sleeves, I made my way toward her. "Hey," I called, looping my arm through hers. "Tayii jaan just volunteered us for bride duty. Lucky us."

Inaya rolled her eyes but smiled. "Of course she did. We're basically free labor."

"Yup," I muttered, glancing back one last time at the crowd.

I straightened my shoulders. "Come on," I said, forcing lightness into my tone. "Let's go rescue Nouran api."

We were halfway down the corridor when Inaya suddenly tugged at my sleeve.

"Uhh... Zoya api, I literally forgot the shawl for Nouran api. It's in Mama's room. Could you please grab it?"

She gave me those ridiculous puppy eyes. I groaned. "Inaya, you don't need to weaponize those big eyes. I'll go."

Her grin broke through. "Thank you! You're the best." She darted into Nouran api's room while I turned the other way, heading toward Tayii Jaan's room.

The corridor was dimmer here, quieter, the muffled hum of music and laughter fading behind me. I was halfway when—

A hand shot out of nowhere.

"What—!" My breath hitched as my wrist was yanked hard, dragging me through a half-open door.

The next second, the world went black.

I stumbled into what smelled like mothballs and dust — the storeroom. My spine hit the wall.

The door slammed shut behind us. Panic exploded in my chest.

"Who are you—?!" I started, but before I could finish, a rough palm clamped over my mouth. My words turned into a muffled whimper.

"Mmmphh—!"

It wasn't Zaigham. I knew that immediately. The touch was wrong. The grip was too harsh. My entire body froze as icy fear spread through me.

The stranger's breath ghosted over my cheek, hot and vile in the suffocating dark. My pulse hammered against his hold.

"Shhh..." His voice was low, muffled, and far too close. "Mia Bella... I've got you, my baby."

Every muscle in my body seized. That wasn't real. That wasn't happening. My mind screamed while my body fought, thrashing against his grip, but his hold was iron, immovable.

"No—!" My muffled screams broke into pitiful, trapped sounds. "Mmmmphhh!"

He only chuckled. A sound so dark, it sent a chill tearing through my skin.

My skin crawled.

"Don't fight me, baby. It's useless," he whispered against my ear, voice like poison. "No one can take you away from me now. You're mine. I'm going to make you mine."

My heart dropped to my stomach.

The air was heavy, the darkness so complete I could barely make out shapes. But because of a faint crack of light through the doorframe, cutting across his face.

It landed on the person's eyes.

Ocean blue eyes stared right back at me.

The world around me stuttered. My lungs seized. My heart stopped.

Those eyes.......

To be Continued....

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