Author's POV:

The morning light crept through the heavy curtains, scattering soft golden streaks across the bridal suite. Hiba stirred on the narrow couch, her body stiff from sleeping in such a cramped space. Her neck ached, and the weight of her wedding dress made her movements sluggish.

She blinked, disoriented for a moment, until reality came crashing down.

She was in her husband's house.
In her husband's room.
On her husband's couch.

Her fingers instinctively touched her tear‑stained cheeks. The events of the night-Hayaan's cold voice, his sharp words, the suffocating silence-flashed in her mind. A dull ache settled in her chest, heavy and unshakable.

She heard footsteps outside the door, followed by a firm knock.

Before she could respond, the door opened, and a woman walked in.

Tall, elegant, and exuding authority, Mrs. Malik-her mother‑in‑law-surveyed the room with sharp, hawk‑like eyes. Her gaze fell on the couch where Hiba sat, and her lips curved into a thin, disapproving line.

"So this is where you spent your first night?" she said, her voice dripping with mockery.

Hiba froze, unsure how to respond. Her heart pounded as the woman's eyes flicked over her rumpled dupatta and the exhaustion etched into her face.

"You didn't even make an effort to look like a new bride," Mrs. Malik continued. "Other brides glow in the morning. They bring happiness to the house. But you..." She paused, her eyes narrowing. "You look like a... burden."

The words stung like a slap.

Hiba lowered her gaze, her fingers twisting together in her lap. She wanted to defend herself, to explain that she had barely slept, that she had been ordered to the couch like an unwanted guest-but her throat refused to cooperate.

"I can already tell," Mrs. Malik said, walking closer, her heels clicking against the marble floor, "that you won't bring this house any luck. My son deserves a strong wife, someone worthy of the Malik family name, not a trembling little girl who can't even stand properly."

Tears welled in Hiba's eyes, but she forced herself to stay silent.

The door opened again.

Hayaan stepped in, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, his presence commanding the room instantly. His expression was unreadable as his eyes shifted from his mother to his new bride, who sat on the couch with her head bowed.

"Hayaan," his mother said sharply, "I told you this girl is too soft. Look at her! She didn't even-"

"She's fine," Hayaan interrupted, his tone calm but distant.

Hiba's heart leapt for a moment, thinking he might defend her. But his next words crushed the small spark of hope.

"Mother, you handle her however you see fit. I don't have time for this."

He didn't even look at Hiba as he adjusted his cufflinks and grabbed his car keys.

Mrs. Malik smirked. "Exactly. I will handle her."

Hayaan walked out, leaving behind the faint scent of his cologne and a silence heavy with humiliation.

The moment the door closed, Mrs. Malik's voice sharpened.

"You heard him. He doesn't care. If you want to survive in this house, you better learn quickly. This isn't your parents' home. You're a Malik now, and Malik women don't cry. They endure."

Hiba bit her lip, fighting the sob building in her chest. She nodded silently, knowing that any protest would only bring more taunts.

By the time she dressed and walked to the lavish dining hall, the house felt colder than ever. The table was set with silver cutlery and steaming breakfast dishes, but the atmosphere was tense.

Mrs. Malik and Hayaan's younger sister, Areeba, were already seated. Areeba scrolled through her phone, her face bored but her eyes sharp when they flicked up to Hiba.

"So," Areeba said with a smirk, "how was the first night, bhabhi? Did my brother even speak to you?"

Hiba's cheeks burned. She didn't know what to say, and her silence was answer enough for the two women, who exchanged knowing looks.

"She couldn't even keep him in the room," Mrs. Malik scoffed. "What a disgrace."

Hiba swallowed hard, blinking back tears as she forced herself to take a seat. Her stomach churned, and the smell of food made her nauseous. She couldn't eat under the weight of their stares and whispered insults.

Half an hour later, she returned to the bedroom, collapsed on the couch, and hugged her knees. Her heart ached, her mind replaying every cruel word.

For the first time, the reality of her life sank in completely.

She wasn't just married.
She was trapped.

And she didn't know how long she could survive in the shadow of Hayaan Malik.

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