Fictional book name "WANTED ||18+"

The Nawab's haveli, the richest in Lahore, shimmered under the bright lights of the Eid celebration.  The grand estate was alive with laughter, chatter, and guests dressed in their finest attire. Amidst the festive atmosphere, three best friends stood out. Adil, known as the hawk of their trio, was sharp-eyed and always a step ahead, a master sniper and strategist.  Next to him was Zaid, the politician of the family and the leader of his political party. At 27, Zaid was tall and muscular, exuding authority in a black, glimmering kurta. His gold and diamond watch caught the attention of every woman who dared to glance his way. "Firse itni mehngi ghadi?" Rafiq's calm voice broke through, making Zaid smirk. "Kya bhaijaan, sirf 2 crore ki hai. Itna toh aap ek mahine mei kama lete hai," Zaid teased, nudging his older cousin with a playful bump of their shoulders. Adil chuckled, and they exchanged a bro-fist. Teasing Rafiq was routine, as he was the eldest and kno...

  Zaid’s POV The morning arrived with an unexpected surprise for me.  Last night, I had exercised my control over this delicate beauty and slept in her room.  Her warm breath brushed against my bare chest as she lay over me, her petite frame curled against mine, softly snoring in her deep slumber.  I enjoyed the peaceful moments, taking slow, measured breaths so as not to disturb her. A quiet chuckle escaped me, remembering her shyly calling me “Wazir Sahib.”  For the first time, I felt a strange sense of pride in my position as a politician—she saw me as a powerful wazir. As much as I wished I could stay there, enveloped in this quiet intimacy forever, I had duties to attend.  Slowly, I shifted her delicate body, carefully placing her back on her small cot. She clutched my hand like a child in her sleep, making my heart stir.  I bent down, pressing a gentle kiss to her soft fingers, and tucked her in, covering her with the threadbare duvet.  When...

  Jhilmil's pov   After being heartbroken from witnessing Yudhir’s wedding, I made the final decision to leave the village behind.  Every step towards the mandap had shattered my heart further, and I knew I couldn’t stay here anymore. I needed space, away from the memories, from the suffocating pain.  With my bags packed and dressed in a white saree, his favorite color, I walked out into the dark, leaving behind everything and everyone. It was 3 AM, right after the pheras. I hadn’t spoken a word to anyone. I couldn’t. The weight of my emotions was too much to bear. The path ahead was uneven and eerily silent. The air felt thick with foreboding. Dense trees surrounded me on both sides; this was the shortest but most dangerous route out of the village. I walked with no purpose, like a living corpse, my tears long dried, leaving only numbness behind. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I imagined him celebrating his first night with his new bride, while I was here, broken, ...

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  Her hands.  Her look.  Jhilmil's pov I walked through the largest haveli of the richest family in the village. My hands were still adorned with the dried mehndi, a symbol of the shagun I had received here.  Every corner of the mansion was alive with the preparations for the wedding of the great sarpanch. My Sarkar. After that day of engagement drama, he kept visiting me, always with some feeble excuse.  I knew, somehow, I was pulling him toward me. And though I wouldn’t say it aloud, I felt a small sense of pride. Four days had passed since his engagement, and tonight, many women from the local brothel had been summoned to dance and entertain the men during the *mehndi* night.  A voice broke into my thoughts, calling my name. "Jhilmil!"  I turned, startled, and quickly gathered the heavy skirt of my lehenga, making my way to the hall. It was my turn to dance. The music started, the rhythm pulling me along with the other dancers. I was not the center ...