From contract to ishq - Chapter 7: Chapter 7
You are reading From contract to ishq, Chapter 7: Chapter 7. Read more chapters of From contract to ishq.
Minahil sat in the plush seat of the private jet, nervously twisting the platinum band on her left ring finger. She stole a glance at Yaram beside her. Even in sleep, his hand loosely clasped hers, his fingers intertwined with a possessive grip he’d barely loosened all day.
They were nearing Karachi's airport, and her mind spun through the chaotic day that had just unfolded.
It was almost midnight, and everything had happened in less than a day.
That morning, they’d left his house in Karachi to meet his lawyer, Zain Gabol—a striking man she’d once seen with Yaram in the break room.
She’d signed a pre-nuptial agreement promising her 5 million once the nikaah was complete.
The papers were ready, as if Yaram had orchestrated it all in advance. Her stomach twisted at the realization.
Then, they’d flown to Islamabad. The moment they landed, he had already arranged their clothes for nikkah. He rushed her to a small mosque.
A quick nikaah followed, officiated by a trusted maulvi with two witnesses. There were no rings at first, but afterward, Yaram found a jeweler, selecting platinum bands with brisk efficiency.
He slipped one onto her finger without fanfare, and it was done.They’d eaten a quiet meal at a hotel restaurant afterward, her nerves too raw to taste the food.
Then, he’d checked them into a suite and spent claiming her as his wife all night.
The plane descended, snapping Minahil from her thoughts. Yaram’s demeanor had darkened after the nikaah, his possessiveness deepening since he’d claimed her as his wife.
He stirred as the cabin pressure shifted, and she slipped her hand free. Smoothing her shalwar with trembling fingers, she felt his gaze settle on her.
The drive from the airport was silent, Karachi's city lights streaking by. She glanced at him, his eyes fixed on the road.
“Itna late ho gaya hai, mein aaj pack nahi kar sakti. Aap mujhe ghar chor do, kal pack kar lungi.”
His gaze snapped to her.
“Nahi.”
“Yaram, mein—”
“Mujhse behas mat karo, Minahil. You’re not spending any night away from me after our marriage.
“Lekin, mein—”
“Baat khatam.”
She inhaled sharply, nerves fraying.
When they reached his bungalow and the garage doors closed, her unease spiked.
Exhaustion weighed on her, her nerves were shot, and tears threatened.He helped her from the car and followed her inside.
She carried only a small bag with a toothbrush, makeup, and the clothes on her back.
Her silk kameez was comfortable, but sleeping in it—or worse, naked—unsettled her. Would he demand sex again? She craved solitude to process everything.
Quietly, she said, “Mein thak gayi hoon. mein Sona chahti Hun".
He stood in the foyer, sifting through mail, and glanced up. “Theek hai. Mein bhi aa raha hoon.”
She turned wordlessly and climbed the stairs. She hadn’t explored upstairs but assumed there’d be a bathtub.
The second door revealed a bathroom with a large, oval tub. She shut the door, started the hot water, brushed her teeth, clipped her hair up, and sank in, closing her eyes to unwind.
Downstairs, Yaram was locking the house, preparing for bed. When silence finally fell, her tension began to ease. The water soothed her, washing away the day’s chaos—airports, wedding, everything.Then the door flew open, shattering her calm.
Yaram loomed in the doorway, rigid with anger. “Tum yahan kyun ho?”
Stunned, she froze as he stepped forward, gripping the tub’s edge and leaning over her. She crossed her arms over her chest, shielding herself as his eyes roamed her body through the water.
Anger clashed with vulnerability inside her. How had her life unraveled so fast? She blamed herself as much as him for agreeing to this.Tears brimmed, and she shouted, “Mein naha rahi hoon. Bahar jaen!”
He didn’t move. “Tum neeche mere bathroom mein kyun nahi ho?”
His tone was sharp.“Wahan sirf shower hai.”
She glared. “Bahar jaen!!.”
He grabbed her wrist, holding firm. “Bas yahi wajah hai?”
She pulled against him, a tear escaping. “Yaram, please, mujhe bas nahana hai,” she whispered.
He studied her, then let go. “thirty minute. Agar thirty minute mein neeche nahi aayi, toh mein wapas aaunga.”
The door clicked shut.Her bath ruined, her mind a mess, Minahil stepped out and dried off. Only one day with the ring, and regret consumed her.
His control was stifling.
He’d use her for two years, then discard her. What had she done?Fuming, she rinsed her undergarments in the sink.
He didn’t care about her comfort, only his desires.
She was a means to an end. The rushed consummation had been a trap, binding her before she could escape. But he hadn’t paid her yet—that was for Monday.
Maybe there was still a way out.Shaking off the melodrama, she slipped into her silk shirt and trouser. She brushed her hair, switched off the light, and descended the stairs.
At the bottom, she stopped cold. Yaram sat in a large armchair, facing her, waiting. His damp hair glistened from a shower, and he wore only trouser. His dark, piercing stare locked onto her, sparking fear and an unwanted thrill.Her heart pounded as she hesitated.“Ready?”
His voice cut through the silence, heavy with intent.
They were nearing Karachi's airport, and her mind spun through the chaotic day that had just unfolded.
It was almost midnight, and everything had happened in less than a day.
That morning, they’d left his house in Karachi to meet his lawyer, Zain Gabol—a striking man she’d once seen with Yaram in the break room.
She’d signed a pre-nuptial agreement promising her 5 million once the nikaah was complete.
The papers were ready, as if Yaram had orchestrated it all in advance. Her stomach twisted at the realization.
Then, they’d flown to Islamabad. The moment they landed, he had already arranged their clothes for nikkah. He rushed her to a small mosque.
A quick nikaah followed, officiated by a trusted maulvi with two witnesses. There were no rings at first, but afterward, Yaram found a jeweler, selecting platinum bands with brisk efficiency.
He slipped one onto her finger without fanfare, and it was done.They’d eaten a quiet meal at a hotel restaurant afterward, her nerves too raw to taste the food.
Then, he’d checked them into a suite and spent claiming her as his wife all night.
The plane descended, snapping Minahil from her thoughts. Yaram’s demeanor had darkened after the nikaah, his possessiveness deepening since he’d claimed her as his wife.
He stirred as the cabin pressure shifted, and she slipped her hand free. Smoothing her shalwar with trembling fingers, she felt his gaze settle on her.
The drive from the airport was silent, Karachi's city lights streaking by. She glanced at him, his eyes fixed on the road.
“Itna late ho gaya hai, mein aaj pack nahi kar sakti. Aap mujhe ghar chor do, kal pack kar lungi.”
His gaze snapped to her.
“Nahi.”
“Yaram, mein—”
“Mujhse behas mat karo, Minahil. You’re not spending any night away from me after our marriage.
“Lekin, mein—”
“Baat khatam.”
She inhaled sharply, nerves fraying.
When they reached his bungalow and the garage doors closed, her unease spiked.
Exhaustion weighed on her, her nerves were shot, and tears threatened.He helped her from the car and followed her inside.
She carried only a small bag with a toothbrush, makeup, and the clothes on her back.
Her silk kameez was comfortable, but sleeping in it—or worse, naked—unsettled her. Would he demand sex again? She craved solitude to process everything.
Quietly, she said, “Mein thak gayi hoon. mein Sona chahti Hun".
He stood in the foyer, sifting through mail, and glanced up. “Theek hai. Mein bhi aa raha hoon.”
She turned wordlessly and climbed the stairs. She hadn’t explored upstairs but assumed there’d be a bathtub.
The second door revealed a bathroom with a large, oval tub. She shut the door, started the hot water, brushed her teeth, clipped her hair up, and sank in, closing her eyes to unwind.
Downstairs, Yaram was locking the house, preparing for bed. When silence finally fell, her tension began to ease. The water soothed her, washing away the day’s chaos—airports, wedding, everything.Then the door flew open, shattering her calm.
Yaram loomed in the doorway, rigid with anger. “Tum yahan kyun ho?”
Stunned, she froze as he stepped forward, gripping the tub’s edge and leaning over her. She crossed her arms over her chest, shielding herself as his eyes roamed her body through the water.
Anger clashed with vulnerability inside her. How had her life unraveled so fast? She blamed herself as much as him for agreeing to this.Tears brimmed, and she shouted, “Mein naha rahi hoon. Bahar jaen!”
He didn’t move. “Tum neeche mere bathroom mein kyun nahi ho?”
His tone was sharp.“Wahan sirf shower hai.”
She glared. “Bahar jaen!!.”
He grabbed her wrist, holding firm. “Bas yahi wajah hai?”
She pulled against him, a tear escaping. “Yaram, please, mujhe bas nahana hai,” she whispered.
He studied her, then let go. “thirty minute. Agar thirty minute mein neeche nahi aayi, toh mein wapas aaunga.”
The door clicked shut.Her bath ruined, her mind a mess, Minahil stepped out and dried off. Only one day with the ring, and regret consumed her.
His control was stifling.
He’d use her for two years, then discard her. What had she done?Fuming, she rinsed her undergarments in the sink.
He didn’t care about her comfort, only his desires.
She was a means to an end. The rushed consummation had been a trap, binding her before she could escape. But he hadn’t paid her yet—that was for Monday.
Maybe there was still a way out.Shaking off the melodrama, she slipped into her silk shirt and trouser. She brushed her hair, switched off the light, and descended the stairs.
At the bottom, she stopped cold. Yaram sat in a large armchair, facing her, waiting. His damp hair glistened from a shower, and he wore only trouser. His dark, piercing stare locked onto her, sparking fear and an unwanted thrill.Her heart pounded as she hesitated.“Ready?”
His voice cut through the silence, heavy with intent.
End of From contract to ishq Chapter 7. Continue reading Chapter 8 or return to From contract to ishq book page.