𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲-𝐍𝐢𝐧𝐞
The function was in full swing. And yet, Zaigham's mind wasn't on any of it. He stood at the edge of the gathering, hands folded behind his back, scanning the flow of people with the same calm control he always carried.
To anyone watching, he looked composed, perhaps even aloof. But the truth was, his eyes were searching for someone.
Zoya.
He expected her to return with Inaya, bringing Nouran out for the entrance. And for a moment, when Nouran appeared, beautifully draped and smiling, he exhaled in relief. But then his gaze sharpened.
Inaya was there. Rumman was with her.
Not Zoya.
His smile flattened instantly. Something inside him pressed down like a weight.
He excused himself from a group of relatives and walked straight to his mother, who was surrounded by guests. He leaned slightly, lowering his voice so only she could hear.
"Mama. Where's Zoya?"
She blinked, clearly caught off guard. she excused herself from the guests and turned toward him. Then, with a scoff.
"That girl is beyond careless, Zaigham. I sent her with Inaya to bring Nouran. She just disappeared in thin air."
His frown deepened. "What do you mean disappeared?" His voice was calm, but his eyes were razor sharp.
"She did exactly that," his mother replied firmly. "Where else would she have gone? She must be in some corner of the house. Don't defend her every time, Zaigham."
For a beat, he just stared at her, disbelief tightening his jaw. Then, under his breath, almost too low to catch, he muttered, "Something's wrong..."
He pulled his phone out immediately and dialed Zoya's number. The ringtone buzzed nearby, and he turned only to see Laiba holding up the phone.
"Bhai," she said, walking toward him. "Her phone's with me."
Zaigham's brow furrowed. "Why do you have it?"
"She left it with me earlier," Laiba shrugged, unbothered. "I've been waiting for her too, no clue where she wandered off."
He nodded slowly, the muscle in his jaw tightening. Then without a word, he turned and strode back into the house.
His mother's earlier words circled his head. She disappeared. She must be in some corner of the house.
No. Zoya would never. His gut screamed louder with every step he took.
Inside, the noise of the function dulled, leaving the house almost too quiet. He stopped near the staircase and called out sharply, "Inaya."
She came rushing toward him, eyes wide. "Yes, Bhai?"
He lowered his voice, but the firmness in it made her shrink. "Where is Zoya?"
Inaya fidgeted. "She came with me. I... I asked her to bring the shawl from Mama's room, but...she didn't come back."
The silence that followed was heavy. His jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached.
"Inaya," he said, his tone cutting, "are you out of your mind? You didn't even bother to check where she went?"
Her face paled. "I—I thought she just went somewhere else. Maybe to the hall, or—"
He took a step closer, his eyes narrowing. "Seriously? That's what you all think of her? First Mama, now you. Does Zoya look like a child to you? That she'll just wander anywhere without a word?"
Inaya flinched, guilt flooding her expression. "I'm sorry, Bhai. I didn't mean to—"
He pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling through gritted teeth, his composure thinning for the first time all night.
"Enough. Go back to Nouran. Don't mention this to anyone. Not a word."
She nodded quickly, almost trembling, before scurrying away.
Zaigham remained standing in the quiet corridor, his hand falling to his side, curling into a fist.
His eyes scanned the empty hallway, every shadow, every closed door. His chest rose and fell in measured breaths, but inside, his blood was roaring.
"Where are you, baby," he muttered under his breath.
Zaigham didn't waste another second. His strides echoed through the marble corridor. Every servant he passed straightened immediately, instinctively lowering their eyes under his gaze.
"You," he called out to one of them, his voice calm but cutting. "Did you see Zoya Madam?"
The servant shook his head quickly. "N-no, Sir. Not since she left with Inaya Madam."
Zaigham's eyes narrowed. He dismissed the man with a flick of his hand and kept moving.
His mind was calculating, cataloging everything at once —the time since she was last seen, the direction she should have taken, the number of people inside the house. A hundred scenarios flashed through his head, each one darker than the last.
At the first floor landing, he paused, his sharp gaze scanning down both sides of the hallway.
Doors stood ajar, laughter spilled faintly from some rooms where guests were gathered. But not her.
He tried her number again out of habit, and cursed under his breath when he remembered it was with Laiba.
Clenching his jaw, he pulled out his phone and instead dialed the head guard of their mansion.
"Seal the back entrances. Now. No one in or out."
"Yes, Sir."
He hung up, sliding the phone back into his pocket as his steps carried him deeper inside.
Every detail around him seemed louder, the click-clack of marble under his shoes, the hum of the air conditioner, the faint swell of chatter coming from outside.
But underneath it all was the gnawing absence of her.
At one point, he stopped outside a closed storeroom door, his hand brushing against the handle.
Something about it made his chest tighten. But before he could push it open, a cousin came rushing past, distracted, pulling him away from the moment.
He came back.
Something about the storeroom door wouldn't let him pass. Zaigham's hand tightened on the handle, and this time he pushed it open.
Dark. Silent. Dust gathering in corners. Nothing out of place.
He turned on the flashlight of his phone.
Almost nothing.
A glint on the floor caught his eye. He stilled, his gaze narrowing before he bent down. His fingers closed around a delicate diamond pendant —her pendant.
The one he'd clasped around her neck himself on their wedding night. The one she never took off.
For a split second, his heart stopped, leaping straight to his throat. His blood ran ice-cold, the silence of the storeroom crashing over him like a wave.
No.
No, no, no.
I ran a hand down my face, frustration burning through me, the necklace clutched so tightly in my fist the sharp edges pressed into my palm. A thousand thoughts hammered inside my skull, each worse than the last.
She wouldn't drop this. She couldn't. Not unless—
My breath hissed out, sharp and ragged. I shut my eyes for one second, forcing the storm back into its cage.
I pulled out my phone and dialed security. "Check the cameras. Now. I want footage from fifteen minutes ago. Every hallway. Every corner." My voice came out low, edged with steel.
There was fumbling on the other end.
"Sir... the feed... it's blank."
Blank.
For a beat, everything inside me froze.
"You're telling me," I roared, my voice echoing through the walls, "that in this entire mansion, at this hour, when my wife goes missing, your goddamn cameras conveniently go blank?!"
I didn't wait for the stammering excuse. My grip on the phone tightened, fury lacing every word.
"Get me the backup server. Now. If I don't see footage in the next two minutes, every single one of you is out of this house before the night is over."
My pulse thundered, chest heaving as I paced the length of the storeroom. The necklace dangled from my fist, its chain biting into my skin.
The seconds dragged like hours. My jaw clenched so tightly I thought it might snap. Then, hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor.
One of the guards stumbled in, his face pale, his cap nearly slipping off in his rush. He stopped a few feet from me, chest heaving, sweat glistening on his forehead.
"S–sir..." his voice cracked, "we—we checked the servers, the backup, everything but... there's nothing. The feed is completely—"
Before he could finish, I crossed the space between us. My hand fisted into his collar, yanking him up so hard his feet nearly left the ground.
"Nothing?" I hissed, my voice a low growl. The pendant in my other fist swung like a blade. "My wife is missing inside this house and you're telling me nothing?"
The man's lips trembled. "S–sir, we... we don't know what happened. The system must have—"
"Don't you dare finish that sentence," I snapped, my roar reverberating in the small space. My grip tightened, making him wheeze. "Systems don't fail by themselves. This was done. Deliberately. Under your watch."
His eyes widened, sheer terror flickering across his face.
I leaned closer, so close he could feel the heat of my rage. "If a single scratch comes to her because of your negligence, I will personally make sure you regret the day you put on this uniform."
He nodded frantically, the fabric of his shirt bunching as my grip wrinkled it.
"Get out," I finally growled, shoving him back with such force he staggered against the wall. "And pray to God I find her before I find another reason to come looking for you."
The guard scrambled away, tripping over his own feet in his rush.
Silence fell again.
I looked down at the necklace in my palm, my knuckles white around it. My chest heaved, fury and dread a war inside me.
The noise outside grew louder, bleeding into the halls like a restless tide. Zaigham had barely pocketed the pendant when hurried footsteps echoed.
"Bhai!" Zayyan's voice cracked as he rushed toward him, face pale. "Come outside—hurry, now!"
Zaigham's brows knitted. "What happened?"
Zayyan hesitated only for a heartbeat. "Zoya—" His words were cut short because Zaigham was already striding past him, his long steps eating up the corridor, every line of his body bristling with urgency.
The moment he stepped into the garden, chaos greeted him. Guests clustered in uneasy circles, murmuring, whispering, eyes darting between one another like sparks in a dry forest.
Zaigham's voice sliced through the clamor like a blade. "What's happening here?"
The sudden command silenced everyone. Heads turned. And then his eyes landed on Ayat, standing stiffly in the middle of the garden, her hands trembling around a folded piece of paper.
Zaigham's tone dropped lower, sharper. "I asked you a question."
Ayat nearly dropped the paper. "B–bhai... here." She held it out with shaking hands.
He snatched it, unfolded the page, and read:
I can't pretend any longer. Growing up in the same house made me think I could bear this, but marriage has turned everything into chains.
The walls I once called home now feel like a prison.
Everyone looks at me with expectations, duties, responsibilities, never-ending tasks.
I feel like I've lost myself in all of it.
I'm tired of living under the same roof where every eye follows me, where every step feels judged. I don't belong here, not as your wife, not as the daughter-in-law of this family. Maybe as a cousin I could stay, but as your wife I cannot breathe.
By the time you read this, I will have left. Don't come after me. Forget me, Zaigham. Forget everything we were.
–Zoya
The letter crumpled under his tightening grip. A muscle ticked in his jaw as his gaze lifted, hard and cutting. "What the hell is this?"
Rayyan shifted uneasily. "Bhai... it's—it's a letter. Ayat came to us saying Zoya left this. We didn't believe her at first but—" His eyes flickered away. "The handwriting... it's hers."
The storm in Zaigham's eyes darkened. He turned back to Ayat. "Where. Did. You. Find. This."
Ayat's lips trembled. "M–Mahveen api... she—she found it."
Slowly, his gaze slid to Mahveen. She visibly shrank under his gaze.
"I—uh..." Her throat worked as she forced the words out. "Khala jaan asked me to look for Zoya. I went to your room and... and that's where I saw it."
Whispers erupted instantly. Ran away... shameful... poor Zaigham... Eyes darted toward Zoya's parents—her mother's hand clamped over her mouth, her father rigid, pale.
Zaigham's chest heaved once, and then his voice detonated.
"SILENCE!"
The garden fell deadly quiet.
He strode forward, the letter raised like an accusation.
"How dare you all believe—for even a second—that Zoya could do this?
Huh?!" His glare swept the assembly, pinning his family members where they stood.
"Because of this pathetic piece of paper?
" He shook the crumpled letter, his voice dripping with venom.
Mahveen's voice cracked as she whispered, "But Zaigham... it—it says she ran awa—"
"She did NOT run away, dammit!"His roar shattered the night, echoing off the walls. Half the crowd recoiled, Mahveen flinching violently as his fury bore down on her.
He jabbed a finger toward her, voice seething with lethal warning. "And if anyone dares to say those words again, the consequences will be far worse than you can imagine."
"Zaigham beta..." Dada Jaan's voice, calm yet heavy with weight, broke it. His wise eyes fixed on his grandson. "Is there something you know... that we don't?"
The question settled like a stone in the silence. Zaigham's breath came harsh, his composure fraying at the edges—but his answer was steel.
"Yes."
He lifted his palm, unfurling his fist. The diamond pendant gleamed under the lights, the delicate chain wrapped around his fingers like a shackle.
Gasps rippled. Guests craned for a better look.
"I found this in the storeroom while searching for her." His voice dropped to a deadly register.
"This necklace has never left her. Not once. She sleeps in it. She breathes in it. She never takes it off."
Zoya's mother broke then, her knees buckling as her husband caught her, her sob strangled and raw. "No—no, my daughter..."
Zaigham's gaze swept the crowd, sharp and searing, daring anyone to meet his eyes. His words hit like hammer strikes.
"So hear me well. My wife did not run away." His fist closed around the pendant, veins standing out on his hand. "She has been kidnapped."
Shock detonated through the gathering.
"And whoever had the audacity to do this..." His eyes blazed, a vow in human form. "...will beg for a death they do not deserve."
The guests were served, their whispers escorted politely to the exit. Smiles were strained, food barely tasted. Beneath the glittering chandeliers of Khan Mansion, the celebration had soured into something brittle.
Later, in the vast living room, the family gathered. The bride and groom sat quietly, while elders shifted uneasily.
Zaigham stood in the center of it all. His gaze had been sweeping the room like a predator's.
Until his gaze stopped.
Fixed.
On one man.
Zaarib.
Something primal flickered across Zaigham's face. In a heartbeat, he moved—faster than anyone expected—grabbing Zaarib by the collar and slamming him back against the wall.
The room erupted in gasps.
"Zaigham!" Zoya's mother's voice cracked.
"Bhai, stop!" Zayyan surged forward.
But Zaigham's grip only tightened, knuckles white, his voice low and venomous. "Where is she?"
Zaarib's eyes widened, panic flooding them. "W–what? What are you—"
"WHERE IS ZOYA?!" The roar rattled the walls, every syllable drenched in fury. His hand twisted the fabric of Zaarib's collar, choking his protest.
"I don't know! I swear I don't—"
Zaigham slammed him harder against the wall, faces inches apart, his breath ragged. "Don't you dare lie to me! You think I don't see the way you've been watching her? The way your eyes linger?" His voice was shaking with rage. "This was you, wasn't it?"
Zaarib sputtered, his hands clawing at Zaigham's iron grip. "Bhai, I swear on everything, it wasn't me!"
"Zaigham, let him go!" His father's commanding voice cut across the room, but Zaigham didn't move.
His mother rose sharply, her own voice cracking. "Zaigham! You're crossing a line—"
"The only line that's been crossed," Zaigham snarled, eyes never leaving Zaarib's terrified face, "is someone laying a hand on my wife."
The room went still at the possessive venom in his tone.
Zayyan gripped his brother's arm. "Bhai, think—if it was him, would he be stupid enough to show his face here?"
"Exactly!" Zaarib gasped, his voice breaking. "I don't know where she is—I would never—"
Zaigham's jaw ticked, his fury boiling too deep to release. His fist pulled back like he might hit him, every muscle taut with violence.
"Zaigham, ENOUGH!" Dada Jaan's voice thundered through the hall.
The weight of it cut through the tension. Zaigham's hand shook once, then he shoved Zaarib away with a force that sent him stumbling.
The silence was deafening.
Zaigham's chest was still heaving from the outburst when his eyes snapped to his younger brother. "Zayyan. Come with me."
He turned, already striding toward the door, when his father's voice cut sharply through the silence.
"Zaigham!"
He stopped, his hand curled tightly around the necklace in his fist, his back rigid. Slowly, he turned to face him.
"Where are you going at this hour?" his father demanded, his voice steady but his eyes betraying unease.
"To the police station," Zaigham answered without hesitation, his tone firm and controlled despite the storm raging inside him.
His father's gaze flicked from his son to the large wall clock above the mantle. The pendulum swayed silently, the hands pointing at twelve.
Midnight.
"Zaigham, this is not the right time—"
But Zaigham cut him off, his voice sharper than steel. "Abbu, my wife is missing. What exactly do you want me to do? Sit. Wait. Drink tea until the sun rises?" He shook his head, his jaw hardening. "I can't do that."
The finality in his words rang through the room, leaving no space for argument.
He was already at the doorway when another voice spoke up, softer but determined.
"Bhai."
Zaigham turned to find Ayaan standing. Ayaan's eyes darted briefly to his bride, still in her bridal attire, hands folded in silent prayer with the rest of the sisters. The glittering jewels on her forehead looked out of place against the tears shimmering in her eyes.
"I'll go with you," Ayaan said, his voice quiet but steady.
Zaigham's eyes flickered between him and the fragile figure of his sister. For a heartbeat, the sharpness in his gaze softened.
"You should stay," Zaigham said firmly, his voice dropping low as if trying to shield him. "This is your day. And already—" he exhaled sharply, his voice catching just enough for the family to feel the weight of it—"already too much has happened."
But Ayaan shook his head, taking a step closer. "Please, bhai. Don't ask me to sit here while my Zo is missing. I won't be able to breathe if I do nothing."
Zaigham's jaw flexed. His hand ran once through his hair, pulling in a slow, weighted breath.
Then, finally, he gave the smallest nod.
"Fine," he muttered, his voice low but resolute.
The drive to the station was silent, but not calm.
My grip on the steering wheel was iron, the veins in my hand standing out against the pale glint of Zoya's necklace looped around my fingers.
Every streetlight we passed bled shadows into the car, but all I saw was her face, her laugh, her small hands curling into mine.
And then the image of her terrified, ripped from me in some dark corner of me.
No. I wouldn't let my mind wander there.
Inside, the fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, washing the dull green walls in a sickly glow. Two constables looked up from their desks, exchanging uncertain glances before rising.
"I need the officer in charge," I said. Not loud. Not rushed. But enough for them to scramble.
Within minutes, a weary-looking inspector appeared, tugging at his uniform jacket as if it could shield him from my gaze. "Mr. Khan, what a—"
"Spare me the courtesies," I cut in, my tone flat but edged with steel. "My wife is missing. I want a formal case registered. Immediately."
The inspector blinked, caught off guard. "Sir, maybe she just—"
My fist hit the desk, the sound cracking through the room. "Finish that sentence carefully."
The inspector swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Of course not, sir. We'll— we'll register it right away."
"Not register," I corrected coldly. "Investigate. Pull every resource you have."
He nodded already on to his work.
The house was dead silent when we returned. Even silence has weight, but tonight it pressed like stone against my chest. Ayaan peeled away to his room reluctantly, his eyes still searching mine for something....comfort, assurance, hope. I had none to give.
I pushed open the door to our room.
Darkness greeted me, heavy and suffocating. The faint scent of her still lingered in the air. My eyes landed on the bed, neatly made, untouched since this evening.
A hollow ache dug into me.
I dropped my coat onto the chair and shut the door, leaning against it for a moment. My hand curled into a fist at my side.
I let my head fall back against the door. My eyes closed.
I sank on the edge of the bed, the necklace clutched in my hand. My throat burned as I stared at the diamond glinting faintly in the dim light.
"Zoya..." I breathed, her name trembling out of me, breaking something inside. My chest clenched painfully, like I was suffocating.
I pressed the pendant to my lips and my eyes stung. I couldn't hold it back anymore. The tears came, hot and relentless, blurring my vision until I couldn't see a thing. A sob tore through me, raw and unrestrained.
"I don't know how to breathe without you," I whispered hoarsely, voice shaking as I bent forward, clutching the necklace tighter. "Come back to me... please. Just come back."
I moved across the room like a ghost, my eyes falling on her things — her scarf draped over the dresser, her bangles scattered carelessly on the vanity, the book she'd been reading lying face down, as if she'd only left for a moment.
But she hadn't.
My knees gave way at the edge of the bed again, and I sat heavily, burying my face in my hands. The tears wouldn't stop, falling against my palms, onto the necklace I still held. My breath came in ragged gasps, my chest aching as though my heart was being ripped apart piece by piece.
"Where are you, love?" I whispered into the emptiness.
The silence only deepened, pressing in from every corner of the room, reminding me she wasn't here.
I buried my face in her dupatta, dragging it against me like a lifeline. Her scent clung to it, soft and familiar, and it shattered me all over again. My hands shook as I gripped the fabric, as if holding it tighter could pull her back to me.
Every second stretched into a lifetime.
My heart wouldn't stop racing.
My mind wouldn't stop replaying that pendant lying on the cold floor.
My body felt wrecked, my chest aching from the sobs I had forced into the silence. For a long time, I just sat there on the bed, clutching her dupatta, staring at the necklace in my fist as if it held the answers.
But grief alone wouldn't bring her back.
I dragged a trembling hand down my face, smearing away the wetness, forcing my breath to steady. Vulnerability had no place now.
Not when she needed me.
My gaze fell on the phone lying by the nightstand. I reached for it with slow, deliberate movements, my knuckles still white from gripping her pendant. My thumb hovered over the screen for a moment, my pulse thundering in my ears.
Finally, I pressed the number.
The line barely rang once before it connected.
"Sir—" the man on the other end began, his voice brisk.
"Listen to me carefully." My voice came out hoarse, gravel-edged from the breakdown, but steady. Controlled. The tone I used when no negotiation was possible.
"Yes, sir."
"I want you to keep an eye on someone. From this moment on. Every second, every movement, every breath. If he so much as leaves a room, I want to know before his foot hits the ground."
The man hesitated. "Understood, sir. Who should we—"
I cut him off sharply. "I'll send you the details. You'll recognize him. I don't care how many men you put on him. I want him under a microscope. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, sir. Consider it done."
I leaned back against the edge of the bed, staring into the dark as I spoke, my jaw tight. "No mistakes. No delays. I need every single update. And if I don't... you won't need me to explain the consequences."
"...Yes, sir."
"Good." My tone dropped into steel.
I ended the call without another word, tossing the phone onto the bed.
A sharp, splitting pain throbbed at the back of my skull as I stirred. My eyelids felt like they were weighed down by lead, every blink heavier than the last. For a moment, I couldn't even tell if I was breathing or drowning.
The air around me was icy, damp. It smelled of concrete, dust, and something faintly metallic.
My skin prickled as goosebumps broke out along my arms. Slowly, with trembling effort, I pushed myself to sit straighter.
Where... where am I?
The last thing I remembered, those eyes. Ocean blue. Recognition had shot through me like lightning, and then...pain.
A brutal crash against my head, the world spinning before collapsing into darkness.
And now, this.
I tried to lift my hands, but they refused to move. Panic shot through me like fire. My wrists burned as I tugged desperately, only to realize they were bound tightly behind my back.
My breath hitched. My hijab—my hijab was gone. My chest heaved as dread collided in my throat.
Ya Allah...
Before I could gather my thoughts, the sound came.
Footsteps. Slow. Measured.
Every click against the floor echoing inside the hollow chamber. My heart pounded so violently it felt like it would tear through my ribs.
A chair scraped across the floor, and I flinched. He sat down in front of me. I felt his gaze crawl over me, lingering too long, too cold.
"Well, look who's awake." His voice was low, laced with something sickeningly sweet, like poison wrapped in honey. "My little birdie finally opens her eyes."
My stomach churned, bile rising.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You have no idea how long I've waited for this. No one to interrupt us now. No eyes watching you. Just me and you, baby."
I glared at him, fury overriding my fear. "You're disgusting."
He chuckled darkly, as though my rage entertained him. "Disgusting? Or devoted? You will see soon enough. You will understand how much I love you... how much I've always loved you."
My nails dug into my palms as I clenched my fists against the ropes.
I smirked and looked straight in his eyes.
"Wait until Zaigham finds out... Just count your breaths until then."
His smirk vanished. In the blink of an eye, he lunged forward. My head jerked back as his fist tangled viciously in my hair, yanking until I gasped in pain.
"Aahh—! Let me go, you jerk!" I screamed, thrashing against the ropes. Tears stung my eyes, not from weakness, but from the sheer pain of his grip tearing at my scalp.
His face twisted, inches from mine, spitting every word with venom.
"Zaigham, Zaigham, Zaigham! That's all you ever say! Why not me Zoya!? Why that BASTARD?!"
His eyes blazed, a madness I'd never seen before. "He stole you from me! But not anymore, Zoya. Not anymore. I'll make you mine. Soon, so soon, you won't even remember his name."
He shoved me back, releasing my hair so violently I almost toppled sideways. My chest rose and fell rapidly as I sucked in air, fury mixing with dread.
My voice cracked, but I forced it louder, stronger than his madness. "You... you freak! You think this is love? This is obsession! This is filth!" My throat burned as I screamed, "I can never love you! Do you hear me? Never!"
His jaw ticked, but I didn't stop. I wanted my words to cut deeper than any knife.
"I love Zaigham. Only Zaigham. You? You disgust me."
I leaned forward, my eyes blazing even though my wrists bled from struggling.
"Zaarib Arham Khan—you disgust me to the very core of my soul!"
To be Continued.....
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