Episode 1: The Bride Who Ran Away
"Two days before the wedding, he thought he had everything. He was wrong."
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Scene 1: The Shopping Scene
The luxury boutique glittered like a palace of diamonds. Crystal chandeliers bathed everything in golden light. Velvet carpets silenced even the boldest footsteps.
And in the center stood Zayan Malik—the man every businessman feared and every woman secretly desired. A black Armani suit hugged his tall frame, every line screaming money, power… control.
Yet today, that icy mask of his had cracked.
"Do you like this one?" His voice, usually cold as steel, softened dangerously as he held up a gown so white it made diamonds look dull.
Haniya smiled like a queen, flawless lips curving in smug delight. "It's beautiful," she murmured, her fingers brushing the fabric like it was spun from clouds.
Then, tilting her chin, she pointed to an even pricier gown. "But that one would look perfect on me."
Zayan's lips curved. "If you want it, you'll have it."
The boutique manager almost fell over herself rushing to fetch it.
Haniya's phone buzzed. Quick as lightning, she snatched it up, angling the screen away from him. For a second, her perfect smile cracked. A flicker of guilt… or something darker.
But Zayan didn't notice. Or maybe he didn't want to.
Because right now, his world was perfect. Two more days and she would be his wife. The media would scream:
"Zayan Malik Marries Haniya Rehman – The Perfect Power Couple."
He kissed her knuckles, his obsidian eyes softening. "Two days, Haniya. Then you'll be mine. Forever."
Haniya smiled. A smile that hid a thousand secrets.
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Scene 2: The Cheating Revelation
Two nights later, Zayan sat in his penthouse office, the city glittering beneath him like broken glass. He should've been reviewing wedding details.
Instead, his phone wouldn't stop buzzing.
Annoyed, he snatched it up. And froze.
Dozens of messages. Dozens of pictures.
Haniya.
In that royal gown.
In someone else's arms.
Kissing a man who wasn't him.
For a moment, Zayan couldn't breathe. The blood drained from his face… then came roaring back in molten rage.
His jaw clenched so tight it hurt. The phone cracked in his grip.
Then it rang. He answered on the first ring. "Where. The. Hell. Are. You?"
On the other end, Haniya's laughter tinkled like broken glass.
"Oh, Zayan… didn't anyone tell you? I don't do boring men anymore."
"You—"
"I found someone better. Someone who doesn't try to own me like a trophy."
Click.
The line went dead. So did the last shred of his control.
Glass shattered. Papers flew. The city lights blurred in a crimson haze of fury.
No. He wouldn't let her win. He wouldn't let the world laugh at Zayan Malik.
He dialed a number, his voice a deadly whisper.
"Prepare the wedding. Nothing changes."
Nothing—except the bride.
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Scene 3: The Wedding Day Disaster
The Grand Sapphire Hall dripped opulence—crystal chandeliers, cascading roses, a carpet softer than clouds. The city's richest glittered under flashing cameras.
But the bride?
She was missing.
"Where's Haniya?" whispers spread like wildfire.
"Didn't you hear? She ran away…"
Impossible. Not with Zayan Malik.
At the altar, Zayan stood like a storm, his black tux a second skin, his jaw cut from stone. The murmurs swelled, cameras hungry for blood.
His phone buzzed. A note.
Four words: "I'm not coming. Bye."
Silence. Then chaos.
Haniya had fled. With his rival. On his wedding day.
The press would shred him alive. His empire would bleed humiliation.
Unless…
His gaze swept the hall. And landed on her.
Ayla Khan. Standing by the door, clutching lilies like a shield. A wedding planner's helper—nothing more.
But right now? She was his salvation.
He strode toward her, each step a warning. She stumbled back, heart pounding.
"You." His voice was a velvet blade. "What's your name?"
"A-Ayla… Ayla Khan."
His lips curved—not in a smile, but something darker. "Congratulations, Ayla Khan. You're about to be my wife."
"What? No—I can't—"
"Yes, you can." His hand clamped around her wrist like steel. "And you will."
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Cameras flashed like lightning as he dragged her to the altar.
The priest stammered. "M-Mr. Malik, this is—"
"Do it," Zayan snarled, shoving a diamond ring forward. "Now."
And before Ayla could even breathe—
The vows were spoken.
The papers signed.
Ayla Khan, nobody, became Mrs. Zayan Malik.
The world exploded into chaos. Reporters screamed. Guests fainted.
And Zayan?
He leaned down, his breath scorching her ear.
"You ruined my day, Ayla. Now you'll pay for it—by being my wife."
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Scene 4: The Aftermath & Cliffhanger
The limo door slammed. Ayla sat frozen, silk gown trembling in her fists.
"What have you done?" Her voice broke.
Zayan slid in beside her, his obsidian eyes burning. "What I had to."
"I don't even know you!"
"You don't need to." His fingers gripped her chin, forcing her to look at him.
"You're mine now. Every breath you take belongs to me."
Her tears blurred the city lights. But his next words turned them to ice.
"Run, Ayla… and I'll destroy everything you love."
Ayla's heart stopped. Her nightmare had just begun.
[To be continued…]
Episode 1: The Bride Who Ran Away – Part 2
Scene 5: The Ride of Silence (Extended Aftermath)
The limo glided through the rain-slick streets, black as sin, silent as a grave.
Ayla's pulse thundered in her ears. The diamond ring on her finger felt like a shackle, each facet cutting into her soul.
"This is crazy," she whispered, her voice cracking. "You can't just marry someone like that! People don't do this!"
Zayan turned his head slowly, obsidian eyes locking on her like twin blades.
"People," he said softly, almost tenderly, "don't humiliate me."
Her throat tightened. "You don't even know me."
"I know enough." His gaze swept over her, slow and deliberate, making her shiver. "You were there. You were available. And now, you're mine."
She tried to grab her phone from the seat. His hand shot out—iron fingers closing around her wrist.
"No calls," he said, voice a velvet snarl. "No texts. No crying to anyone."
His grip tightened, not painfully, but with a promise.
"You think this is a mistake?" His tone dropped to a whisper, lethal and calm.
"Yes!" she shot back, fire flashing through her fear.
"Wrong." His lips curved into a smile that wasn't a smile at all.
"Mistake? No, Ayla. You're my revenge. My bride. And now, my cage for your freedom."
Ayla's breath hitched. She yanked her hand free, pressing herself against the door as if the leather could swallow her whole.
"Please," she whispered, tears spilling over. "Let me go. I can't… I can't do this."
Zayan's jaw flexed, a muscle ticking like a countdown to destruction.
"You already did," he murmured, leaning in until his breath scorched her cheek. "And there's no going back."
The rest of the ride was silence—thick, suffocating, the kind that screams louder than words.
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Scene 6: The Mansion of Shadows
The limo stopped in front of a mansion that didn't look like a home. It looked like a fortress—towering gates, steel, and shadows swallowing the moonlight.
Ayla stepped out on trembling legs. Cameras flashed from a distance. Reporters screamed questions from behind the gates.
"Mr. Malik! Who is the bride?"
"Did Haniya Rehman run away?"
"Is this marriage even legal?"
Ayla flinched, shrinking under the firestorm of light and voices. Zayan's hand landed on her back, firm, possessive.
"Smile," he whispered, lips grazing her ear. "Or I'll give them something to really talk about."
Her breath stuttered. She forced her lips into a trembling curve as he guided her inside.
The doors slammed shut, muting the chaos. But inside was no better. The mansion breathed power and menace—gleaming marble floors, endless hallways, art that looked like it cost more than her entire life.
She spun to face him, panic clawing through her chest.
"You can't just… own me like this!"
Zayan's eyes glinted like midnight steel. He stepped closer, each stride deliberate, controlled.
"Watch me."
He signaled to the staff, his voice a whip-crack. "This is Mrs. Zayan Malik. Treat her accordingly."
Dozens of eyes lowered in instant obedience. Ayla felt the walls close in like a golden cage.
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Scene 7: The Bedroom Battle
He took her up the grand staircase, past doors that probably led to rooms bigger than her entire apartment, and stopped at the last one. He pushed it open.
Her breath caught. The room was a kingdom—vast, draped in black and silver, a bed that looked like a throne.
She stumbled back. "I—I'm not staying here."
"This isn't a hotel," Zayan said coolly. "It's your home now. Learn to love it—or hate it. I don't care."
"You can't make me!" she snapped, fire flashing through the fear.
He turned slowly, his gaze like a blade sliding under her skin.
"Can't I?"
He closed the distance in two steps, his shadow swallowing hers.
"Either you play the role of Mrs. Zayan Malik," he said, his voice low and deadly, "or I make sure your life outside these walls becomes hell."
Ayla's chest heaved. Her hand shook. And before she could stop herself—she slapped him.
The sound cracked through the room like a gunshot.
For a heartbeat, silence.
Then—he smiled. Slow. Dangerous.
"You've got spirit," he murmured, his tone a promise and a threat. "Good. I like breaking things with spirit."
He turned and walked out, leaving her trembling in a room that smelled like power and danger.
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Scene 8: The Midnight Promise (Cliffhanger)
Ayla curled on the edge of the massive bed, hugging her knees. Her mind screamed: I have to get out. I have to escape.
The door opened. Her head jerked up.
Zayan stood there, his silhouette a storm against the moonlight.
"I forgot to tell you something," he said softly, walking toward her like a predator stalking prey.
She scrambled back, heart pounding. "Stay away from me."
He stopped inches from her face, his breath a lethal whisper.
"Run, Ayla…" His eyes burned like obsidian fire.
"And I'll destroy everything you love."
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving her in darkness—where nightmares begin.
[To be continued in Episode 2: A Marriage Signed in Fire]
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