Zavian Malik. The name itself carried power, fear, and a history she had tried to forget. Her enemy. Her family’s destruction. And now, inexplicably, her husband.

As the priest asked, “Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?” Ayesha’s lips barely formed the word yes. Inside, her mind raced, plotting. Revenge had never felt so bitterly sweet. She had been forced into this contract, bound by signatures and threats she couldn’t escape.

Zavian’s piercing eyes met hers. Cold. Calculating. Dominating. A ghost of a smirk curved his lips. “You are mine now,” he whispered, just loud enough for her to hear, sending shivers down her spine. Not with love, not with tenderness, but with a claim. A warning.

The ceremony ended in a blur, applause and clinking glasses fading into the background as Ayesha followed Zavian to the car. The driver held the doors open, and for a moment, she dared to imagine this was all a nightmare she could wake from. But Zavian’s hand brushed hers, fingers brushing with a possessive weight, and she knew: this nightmare was real.

The mansion was enormous, cold, and silent, each hallway echoing with their footsteps. She was led to her room, lavish and untouched by warmth. Her suitcase lay neatly by the bed, as if someone had expected her to obey without question.

“Leave your bags,” Zavian commanded, voice low, authoritative. “We start the terms immediately.”

Terms. That single word pierced her chest. Ayesha clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms. I will not break. I will not.

“I—” she began, but he silenced her with a look so sharp, so unyielding, it could cut glass.

“You will obey,” he said. “Everything else is optional for me.”

That night, as she lay in the luxurious bed, the silence became suffocating. Zavian didn’t speak. He didn’t hold her. He simply watched, a shadow in the corner, a king in his domain. Her mind raced with memories, fears, and a fire of revenge she had nurtured for years. Every cruel word he had spoken in the past, every slight her family had endured because of him, fueled the storm inside her.

But then, something unexpected happened.

A faint knock on the door. A tray appeared—dinner. Carefully prepared. Elegant. Thoughtful. Zavian’s handwriting on a note: Eat. You’ll need strength for tomorrow.

Her heart twisted in confusion. Was this part of the game? A trap? Or… something else? No. She refused to soften. I will never give him that satisfaction.

Days passed, each one a careful dance of tension and toxicity. Conversations were battles, glances were weapons, and the air between them crackled with unspoken challenges. She saw glimpses of a man behind the cold facade—moments when his mask slipped, showing flashes of pain, anger, and maybe… loneliness. But Ayesha didn’t care. Not yet. She had a mission.

And then, one night, she found the first crack in his armor.

He was reviewing documents in his study, eyes intense, jaw tight. A photograph on his desk caught her attention—a picture of a little girl, smiling brightly, holding a small stuffed bear. Zavian noticed her staring. His eyes darkened, but the ghost of softness lingered, gone before she could name it.

“You should not be looking at my things,” he said, voice low and dangerous.

Ayesha smirked, a dangerous glint in her eyes. “Maybe I like looking at what I can’t have,” she shot back.

For the first time, Zavian’s composure faltered. A flicker of intrigue, a hint of amusement—or was it frustration?—passed over his features.

And in that moment, Ayesha realized something terrifying. She wasn’t just playing the game. He was, too.

The nights grew longer, tension thicker. Words became sharper, touches became tests, and every shared moment was a battlefield. And yet, amidst the hate, a strange pull tugged at her heart—a forbidden desire she could not deny, no matter how fiercely she resisted.

As the clock struck midnight on the third day of her marriage, Zavian appeared at her doorway, eyes blazing.

“Do you finally understand, Ayesha?” he asked, stepping closer, the air between them electric with unspoken threats and promises.

She met his gaze without flinching. “Understand what?”

“That this… this isn’t just a marriage. This is a war. And I will win,” he said, voice low, a smirk threatening to curl.

Her pulse quickened. “I don’t plan to lose either,” she whispered, almost breathless.

The tension between them was unbearable, intoxicating, and utterly dangerous. And as he turned away, leaving the door slightly ajar, Ayesha knew one undeniable truth:

This marriage would destroy them both—or bind them in ways neither could escape.

And she was ready for the battle.

Tomorrow night, he will reveal a secret from the past—a secret that could shatter everything she thought she knew about him… and herself.