"Mama! Are you throwing that bitchface niece of yours out of my house or you want me to do it?" I whine before my mother.

She looks at me with raised eyes, "Language Mahira. She is our guest and is here to attend your wedding."

Ghanta wedding. Dulhe ke bagair kya hi shadi hogi aur wo to manega nai.

" That is the exact reason I haven't slaughtered her already. I can't tolerate her for another second. Mom, why don't you get it. She has her eyes on Mohsin!" I exclaim in despair.

"Stop being jealous Hira! He is your husband already."

Wait. What? What on earth is she talking about? She must be joking. Of course she is. Me and jealous? Not in a million years.

"Mom. I am not jealous. It's just Ramsha is too outgoing and I know Mohsin was uncomfortable. I was just trying to help."

And he is not my husband. He can't wait to get rid of me.

"Hira! Beta idhar aao." Papa calls me and I stomp towards him still upset with what I saw near the study. That make up ki dukaan was hanging off of his arms. Looked like a fairytale meeting. Ugh!!

I begrudgingly open the door to his study, not sparing any glance to my beloved husband, who happens to love falling into other girl's arms. Jerk.

I haughtily walk towards Papa, tapping my hand in his table. "Yes papa. You called me?"

He raises his head from the files, smiling at me.

"When would you like to go shopping for your Valima dress." For a while there, I just blinked my eyes. Every nerve in my body was commanding to turn around and look at his face for a reaction. But I stop myself, staring at papa wide eyed. I must look funny because Papa chuckles at my reaction.

"Mohsin and Amna want the reception by the end of this week and I don't have any issues. Do you?" Papa says glancing at Mohsin whom I have still not looked at. Well, I had decided Mohsin won't be part of the plan anymore. Time to set it into action.

"Yes. Papa I don't want to have this reception. Infact, I want to...."

"Sir! Can I have a word with Mahira alone?" He effing interrupted me? That jerk. I huff, annoyed at being ignored. Papa nods gesturing me to take him to our room. I turn back still not laying eyes on the jerk walking back to my room.

I know why he brought me here, to intimidate me more. But he doesn't know who he is dealing with. Mahira Altaf Khan! Once we are in my room, he locks the door. And I can't help the tremor that passes through my body.

I gulp when the strongest masculine scent I have ever smelt hits my nostrils, clouding my senses. I close my eyes involuntarily for a moment, my anger, my arguments, my worries all floating out of my brain and into open air. I feel a spark when his intense hazel eyes burn into mine, and for the first time in a while my heart skips a beat. He is wearing a turtleneck tee with straight pants, his left wrist adorning a Rolex Day-Date Platinum watch. My shaky nerves jump as his steps fall into my direction, his eyes studying me like a complex case.

"What do you want to talk about?" I manage to ask.

His eyes sweeping my attire, stopping a little longer on my waist as he sits on the couch relaxed. He picks the new keyboard I ordered from the table and begins playing with it like he just did not throw a bomb on me.

"Are you stupid? Why would you agree on the reception when this is all a hoax." I squeak under his scrutinising gaze. His right eyebrow raises in mock surprise, "Weren't you the one desperately waiting to have the reception?"

His disgusting tone just made it sound like I was a whore to have wanted that. The feminist in me wants to break his bones, hurl a string of curses at him. But I swallow the building rage. Choosing to focus on the impending issue.

But fuck it if he doesn't get under my skin.

"Stop being a jerk for once, will you? I am not bloody interested in being your wife. It's just a time of need." I spit folding my hands across my chest. He doesn't bat an eye at my raging self continuing to play with the keyboard. If he thought I was offending him with my tone, he didn't show it. He was unbothered by my irritation, sitting there as if he had all the free time in the world.

"Look, initially I thought since you were already married to me, you could be of help to execute the plan. But you don't want to be part of this scandal which is reasonable. So I think we should just end this marriage and I could look for another guy to help me with the process. Long story short, there is no need for a reception now. Go down there and tell Papa that you don't want this marriage." I breathe out what I had on my mind for a whole day now.

I was expecting his eyes to light up in happiness at finally being released off this burden. But he suddenly appears before me out of thin air, hitching my breath at the proximity.

"The world doesn't revolve around you Ms.Khan. Don't think too high of yourself. My mother wants this reception in a week and it will take place. What you want has nothing to do with me." His eyes convey the nonchalance of his tone, he speaks with so much arrogance dripping off his tongue that for a while there I felt like shoving him into a wall.

I glare at him with gritting teeth, his nonchalance seems to irk me more than anything in the world.

I grab his collars, "Who do you think you are Mohsin Baig? Why do you behave like I am the dirt under you shoes?" I screech finally losing my senses. The distance between us has now decreased and I am overly aware of his normal heartbeat which completely contradicts my frantic one.

I want to slap him hard and kiss him senseless at the same time. He sends my hormones on overdrive like I am a damn teenager. I gasp audibly as his slender fingers grab my waist pulling me closer, our bodies mold together with a perfect proportion of hard against soft. My insides clench at the contact, as buzzing electricity runs through my nerves. My fingers tighten on his collar as his hot breath hitting my forehead, a sensual feeling arises in the pit of my stomach.

"Kisi din nafrat ki patti hata kar dekhna.

Shayad kisi musafir mein apna nazar aaye.

Kisi din phoolon ki mehek ke andar jhankna.

Shayad kaaton ki berukhi ki wajah samajh aaye."

He whispers that staring into my soul as though letting out a deep secret. The stoic and sturdy Mohsin Baig and a shayari? I couldn't even dream of it in a million years. But does he ever cease to surprise me? Never.

For the first time in a millennium, his eyes are displaying an emotion apart from anger. A need to be understood, a desperation to be soothed, a storm to be calmed. And I can recognize it, the tired man in him ready to give up, the hard working son wanting rest, the load bearing officer waiting for a leave. His guards are down, letting me peak into the depths of his heart. And I am enthralled, mesmerised by the beauty he holds within himself.

"What do you wish to convey Mohsin? Tell me clearly. Don't talk in riddles." My words seem to break his trance as he withdraws his hand from my waist stepping back. He shakes his head, as if he was stupid to have said that, as if it was silly of him to expect me to understand. But I did, I understand all that he had let out.

"Be ready for the rukhsati by weekeend" He mutters turning around to exit the room.

"Mohsin, if we are having this reception send one invitation to Amir Husnain. Collect his address from dad."

With the way his back stiffened, I am sure he knows who Amir Husnain is.

Let the games begin.