MY FUTURE HUSBAND

If you had told me that one day I'd witness a murder and fall for the murderer, I would've laughed and said, “Where do I sign up for this?” But today? Today, it was my reality.

My name is Zainab Ahmed. Eighteen years old. The youngest daughter. And notoriously sharp-tongued.

I like shopping, drama, and pretending I'm the main character in a romance novel — but no one warned me the hero would be a literal Mafia king.

Sitting in the backseat of the car, I tried to calm my shaking hands by gripping the cold cup of mango juice like it was a lifeline. My siblings were nowhere to be seen — they’d rushed into a boutique, telling me to “stay in the car.” Easy for them to say.

Perfect moment to do what I do best: scroll through my phone and daydream about dark romance heroes.

Because, let’s be honest, who doesn’t want a bad boy who rides in on a motorcycle and takes care of business?

Instead, I got him.

And trust me, that's way worse than any Wattpad fantasy.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

The shots shattered the calm like a thunderclap. I blinked, ducked instinctively, my heart hammering in my chest. Peeking through the window, my breath caught in my throat.

There he was. Dark suit, dark eyes, dark everything a walking, breathing mystery.

He didn’t even flinch as he pulled the trigger, sending a man’s life spiraling to an end.

And then, he looked at me.

I stared back. Not because I was brave, but because my brain short-circuited.

I whispered, “He’s so handsome. I want one.”

Spoiler alert: I said that out loud.

He walked toward the car.

Panic clawed its way up my throat.

“YA ALLAH, ZINDAGI MEIN PEHLI DAFA KOI ITNA HANDSOME KILLER DEKHA!” I whispered desperately.

(Oh God, for the first time in life I've seen such a handsome killer.)

Closer he came. My heart screamed “run,” but my hands hesitated — what if he kidnaps me?

My panic peaked. This was it. I was going to die with chapped lips and unfinished Wattpad chapters.

He spoke, his voice low and commanding:

“Kımıldama.” (Don’t move.)

I blinked. “Haan? Kya kaha? (What did you say?)

And just when I thought it couldn’t get worse — he leaned in, closer to the car window.

His dark eyes locked with mine.

Then he smirked slightly and whispered:

“Şeytanı yakışıklı diye çağırma, küçük kedi.”

(Don’t call the devil handsome, little kitten.)

Wait. Küçük kedi?

Choti si billi?! (A Little cat?!)

I was stunned.

Then, as if swallowed by the shadows themselves, he turned and vanished into the alley just gone.

Still shaking, I sat back, sipping mango juice like it was holy water.

Then Rameen, my older sister, scrambled into the car, eyes wide and panicked.

“YA ALLAH ZAINAB! Are you okay?! Did anyone see you? Are you shot?!”

I was too stunned to answer. Finally, I whispered, “No... I just saw someone die. And the killer was hot. Why was he hot?!”

Before anyone could respond, Aayan, my brother, jumped in and locked the doors.

“Wait... what did he look like?” he demanded.

I described him like a walking romance novel: black suit, Turkish, strong jawline.

Rameen and Aayan exchanged a look the most dramatic desi sibling look ever.

In a tone dripping with soap opera intensity, Rameen said,

“Zainab. Oh my God. That was Orhan Karadense.”

I blinked. “...Okay? Sounds like a villain name, so what?”

She leaned in, lowering her voice, as if someone might be listening.

“Zainab... he’s not just some man.”

Her eyes darted around before she whispered,

“He’s a Mafia boss.”

I blinked. “…Mafia what now?”

“Only a few people know. Politicians, elite businessmen, criminal networks. The world thinks he’s a powerful Turkish CEO billionaire, cold, rich, untouchable. But underground... he runs Istanbul’s most feared mafia empire.”

I froze.

“You’re joking.”

Aayan shook his head seriously. “No. We’re not. People fear his name. They say he can make people disappear in hours. He doesn’t even leave evidence.”

Blinking again, I muttered, “And I called him handsome.”

Rameen nodded softly. “And he heard you.”

Gasping, I realized the nightmare was real.

“Oh my God.”

Aayan grinned, mischief playing in his eyes.

“This is your life now. Imagination has entered reality.”

I laughed, trying to convince myself it was a joke. “Are you serious? That sounds like my my imagination stories. This is not real.”

Rameen’s voice dropped to a whisper.

“It’s real, Zainab. And you know what’s worse?”

I swallowed hard. “…Worse than watching him kill a man and calling him handsome??”

He sighed deeply.

“Zainab... he’s your fiancé.”

I choked on my juice.

“Excuse me what?!”

Rameen’s face was grim.

“Baba and his father made a deal before you were born — a Mafia blood alliance or whatever. They swore on your birth that you’d marry his son one day. That’s him. Orhan.”

I felt the air leave my lungs.

“You guys knew?!”

Aayan shrugged.

“Baba said not to tell you until you were eighteen and mature. You turned eighteen two weeks ago.”

I blinked. “Mature?! I literally just called a murderer hot.”

Rameen gave a small, tired nod.

“Yeah. That’s why Baba wanted to wait.”

I sat there, numb.

What now?

How do you fall for a killer?

How do you marry a Mafia king?

And most importantly... how do you survive when your entire life has just flipped upside down?

The city lights outside blurred through my tears.

This was just the beginning.