Mafia's possessive love 3

Chapter 114

Ibrahim stood at the door of the dimly lit room, his sharp gaze fixed on the figure lying peacefully on the bed. Mehak was asleep, her features softened in the gentle glow from the bedside lamp. For a moment, the hardness in his eyes faded as he looked at her, his wife—yet a stranger in so many ways. The girl he had loved brought into his life was now sleeping as if she had no care in the world, unaware of the storm brewing inside him.

Slowly, Ibrahim stepped closer, the cold marble floor muffling his footsteps. He stopped at the edge of the bed, watching her breathe softly. Her long hair was splayed across the pillow, framing her innocent face. A part of him wanted to reach out, to touch her face, to feel the warmth of her skin, but that part was quickly drowned by the simmering anger that had been festering inside him since the day he’d brought her into his home.

Without another thought, Ibrahim picked up the glass of water from the nightstand. His grip tightened around the glass as he stared at her one last time, then, with a swift motion, he tilted the glass and poured the water onto her face.

Mehak gasped, jolting awake in a shock as the cold water splashed over her face and drenched her hair. She sat up abruptly, her wide eyes darting around in confusion until they landed on him. She wiped her face with trembling hands, her heart racing as she saw the cold, unyielding expression on Ibrahim’s face.

"I-Ibrahim?" she stammered, her voice shaky from the sudden wake-up call.

Ibrahim crossed his arms over his chest, his dark eyes boring into her. "With whose permission are you sleeping?" His voice was low, but there was an edge to it that made Mehak feel even smaller than she already did.

Mehak blinked, her mind still trying to catch up to the situation. "I… I was tired," she whispered, her voice almost apologetic, though she didn't know why she was apologizing. She wiped her face again, still feeling the cold droplets clinging to her skin.

"Tired?" Ibrahim’s lips curled into a mocking smile. He let out a short, humorless laugh, then took a step closer to the bed. "I’m feeling weak. Do you see me sleeping like some pampered princess?"

Mehak lowered her eyes, feeling a lump form in her throat. She knew better than to argue with him, but there was something in his tone that made her feel a surge of indignation. "I didn’t mean to—"

"Silence!" Ibrahim cut her off, his voice sharp as a blade. The smile was gone, replaced by the cold fury she had grown so accustomed to. He stared at her for a long moment, his silence louder than any words.

Mehak’s heart pounded in her chest, and she could feel the weight of his anger pressing down on her. She swallowed hard, feeling helpless under his gaze. What had she done this time? Why was he so angry?

Ibrahim finally broke the silence, his tone commanding and filled with irritation. "Go and bring tea for me."

Mehak blinked, caught off guard by the sudden demand. "Tea?" she repeated, her voice barely audible.

"Yes, tea." His voice was clipped, as though he was already annoyed by her hesitation. "Or do I need to explain everything to you?"

Mehak shook her head quickly and slid out of the bed, her feet hitting the cold floor. She wiped her damp face again and took a step toward the door, but then she stopped. She turned back to him, her voice tentative. "I-I don’t know how to make tea."

The admission hung in the air between them, and for a moment, there was complete silence.

Ibrahim’s expression darkened, his fists clenching at his sides. "You don’t know how to make tea?" His voice was dangerously low, as though he was struggling to keep his temper in check.

Mehak shook her head, her heart sinking as she saw the anger flare in his eyes. "No, I don’t. I’ve never—"

"You don’t know how to do anything, do you?" Ibrahim's voice rose, his frustration boiling over. He took a step toward her, and Mehak instinctively took a step back, her back pressing against the wall. "You don’t know how to cook, you don’t know how to clean, you don’t even know how to make a simple cup of tea!"

Mehak felt her throat tighten as his words cut through her like a blade. She had never been taught these things, never needed to, but explaining that to him seemed pointless. His anger was like a raging fire, and she knew anything she said would only make it worse.

"I’m sorry," she whispered, her voice trembling as she kept her gaze on the floor, unable to meet his eyes.

"Sorry?" Ibrahim laughed again, this time louder, more mocking. He shook his head, his eyes flashing with disdain. "You think sorry is going to make up for your uselessness?"

Mehak felt tears prickling at the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them back, refusing to cry in front of him. She had already cried too many times in front of Ibrahim, and it never changed anything. She knew better by now.

"Go to the kitchen," Ibrahim ordered, his voice cold and commanding. "Ask someone how to make tea and learn. And from now on, you’ll cook for me. You’ll clean. You’ll do everything a wife is supposed to do."

Mehak opened her mouth to protest, to say that she had never been trained for such things, that she didn’t know how, but the words caught in her throat. She saw the warning in his eyes, the barely restrained fury, and she knew that arguing with him would only make things worse.

"Do you understand?" Ibrahim’s voice cut through her thoughts, his tone icy.

"Yes," Mehak whispered, nodding slowly, though the word felt like a heavy weight in her chest. She had no idea how she was going to fulfill the expectations he was piling on her, but she knew that refusing or arguing would only lead to more anger, more punishment.

"Good," Ibrahim said, his voice softer now but no less menacing. He turned away from her, walking toward the door. Just as he was about to leave the room, he paused and looked back at her over his shoulder.

"Don’t ever let me find you sleeping without my permission again."

With that, he walked out, leaving Mehak standing by the wall, her heart pounding in her chest, her hands shaking as she tried to steady herself. The room felt colder now, emptier, as though all the warmth had been sucked out the moment he left.

She wiped the last drops of water from her face, her mind racing. The reality of her situation was beginning to sink in deeper. Ibrahim was not a man who would bend, who would soften. He was a man of control, and she was just another piece in his life that he intended to control completely.

Tears threatened to spill from her eyes again, but she took a deep breath and pushed them back. Crying wouldn’t help her now. Nothing would.

"I have to survive this," she whispered to herself, her voice trembling. "I have to find a way."

Author's Note:

Hey my beautiful readers! 🌸

I just wanted to take a moment to say a big thank you to all of you who wished me on my birthday. Your sweet messages and warm wishes truly made my day extra special. I'm so grateful to have such wonderful readers like you, and your love and support mean the world to me. Thank you for being part of this journey with me!

Much love,
Author Mehak ❤️