Chapter 1: The Unlikely Rescue

HIS UNWANTED QUEEN

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Chapter 1: The Unlikely Rescue

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### New York City — St. Mary's Orphanage

St. Mary's Orphanage stood in the heart of Brooklyn, a crumbling four-story brick building that time had forgotten. Its walls were cracked, its windows foggy with age, and its iron gates rusted like old wounds. Inside, the narrow hallways smelled of cheap detergent and boiled cabbage — the scent of poverty that clung to everything like a second skin.

The children's dormitories were small, with four beds crammed into each room. The playground was nothing more than a patch of concrete with a few rusty swings and a broken slide. This was where **Meram Smith** had spent the last nineteen years of her life.

At twenty-three, she was the oldest resident of the orphanage, a fact that Mrs. Anderson reminded her of every single day.

Meram moved silently through the hallways at five in the morning, her bare feet padding against the cold floor. Her worn-out dress hung loosely on her thin frame. She had learned long ago that silence was her only armor.

"Meram! Hurry up!" Mrs. Anderson's voice echoed from the office. "Important guests are coming today! Everything must shine!"

Meram said nothing. She simply picked up the mop and began her work. The kitchen was her responsibility every morning. She scrubbed the pots, washed the dishes, and prepared the breakfast for the children.

By midday, she was in the courtyard distributing food to the younger children. She smiled at them softly, her honey-colored eyes warm with affection. Despite everything, she loved these children. They were her only family.

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### Trouble in the Courtyard

Meram felt eyes on her before she saw them. A cold shiver ran down her spine. She looked up and froze.

**Samuel** was standing near the gate, watching her with a predatory smile. He was a new employee at the orphanage, a tall, broad-shouldered man with dirty hands and an uglier soul. He had been harassing her for the past few days, and she had been avoiding him as much as possible.

"Hey, pretty girl," Samuel said, walking toward her. "You look nice today. Why don't you smile for me?"

Meram ignored him, keeping her head down. "Please leave me alone."

"Aw, so cold?" Samuel stepped closer, his breath hot against her ear. "You know, the more you resist, the more I want you."

He grabbed her wrist.

Meram's heart stopped. "Let go of me!"

"Come on, sweetheart," Samuel tightened his grip. "Just one conversation. Is that too much to ask?"

Meram tried to pull away, panic rising in her chest. Her eyes darted around the courtyard, searching for help. But everyone was busy — the staff, the children, everyone. No one was watching.

No one was coming.

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### Ehan's Entrance

At that exact moment, a black Range Rover pulled up in front of the orphanage.

The door opened, and **Ehan Zadran Khan** stepped out.

At thirty-three, Ehan was a man who commanded attention without trying. He was over six feet tall, with broad shoulders that filled his expensive Italian suit perfectly. His jet-black hair was styled to perfection, and his dark brown eyes held the coldness of someone who had never needed anyone. A sharp jawline, straight nose, and thin lips gave him an intimidating aura that made people step back instinctively.

He was a billionaire, a Pathan from a traditional Pakistani family living in New York. But despite his wealth and power, there was no warmth in him. He was rude, cold, and emotionless. He had no patience for people, no time for emotions, and absolutely no interest in anyone's problems.

His driver and a few bodyguards stood behind him. In the distance, a media van was parked — several news agencies had followed him here, eager to cover the charity event.

Ehan checked his watch. "Five minutes," he told his driver. "Then we leave."

He walked inside, his eyes scanning the building with visible disgust. He hated places like this — poverty, misery, sadness. His grandfather, Mr. Khan, had forced him to come here. Otherwise, he would never have stepped foot in such a place.

As he entered the courtyard, a sound stopped him.

A girl's voice — desperate, frightened.

*"Let go of me!"*

Ehan turned his head sharply. His eyes narrowed as he spotted a tall man grabbing a thin girl's wrist near the far wall. She was struggling, her body trembling, but no one else seemed to notice.

No one else cared.

Ehan didn't care either. He had no reason to care. But something — some strange impulse — made him move toward them.

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### The Rescue

Ehan reached them in seconds, his footsteps firm and commanding.

"Take your hand off her," his voice boomed like thunder.

Samuel turned, startled. "Who the hell are you?"

"I said, take your hand off her," Ehan repeated, his voice colder than ice. He grabbed Samuel's wrist and twisted it sharply, forcing him to release Meram. Then with a powerful shove, he sent Samuel stumbling backward.

Samuel fell to the ground, his face contorted with rage. "Who do you think you are? Do you know who I am?"

"I don't care," Ehan said, looking down at him like he was a cockroach. "If I ever see you touch this girl again, I'll personally make sure you spend the rest of your miserable life in prison. Understand?"

Samuel's face went pale. He scrambled to his feet, looked at Meram, then at Ehan, and ran away without another word.

Ehan took a deep breath and turned toward the girl.

And then — **Meram looked at him.**

Her eyes were filled with terror, exhaustion, and something else — complete helplessness. She was trembling, her lips quivering, her body shaking uncontrollably. She tried to speak, but no words came out.

Then, without thinking — **Meram threw herself into Ehan's arms.**

She wrapped her arms around his neck, buried her face in his chest, and began to sob. Her shoulders shook with silent cries, her tears soaking through his expensive shirt. She clung to him like he was the only anchor in a world that had tried to drown her.

Ehan froze.

He hated being touched. He hated closeness. He hated vulnerability. He had never let anyone this close to him — not his family, not his friends, not any of the women who had thrown themselves at him over the years.

But this girl — this trembling, terrified, broken girl — had wrapped her arms around him, and he couldn't push her away.

His arms moved slowly, reluctantly, and then — without his permission — they wrapped around her back, holding her steady.

"You're fine," he said, his voice rough and cold, but with an unexpected softness underneath. "No one will touch you now."

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### The Media Storm

And then — **flashing lights.**

Cameras. So many cameras.

The journalists had stormed into the courtyard like vultures descending on their prey. Their questions flew at him like bullets.

"Mr. Khan! Who is this woman?"

"Is she your girlfriend?"

"Mr. Khan! Are you involved with an orphan?"

"Is this a secret romance?"

Meram panicked. Her body stiffened, and she tried to pull away, her eyes wild with terror. She wasn't used to this — the lights, the noise, the questions. She wanted to run, to disappear, to become invisible again.

But Ehan grabbed her hand.

His face was unreadable. His jaw tightened as the cameras flashed again and again. He looked at Meram — trembling, pale, drowning in fear — and a decision formed in his mind.

He pulled her closer to his side, wrapping an arm around her shoulders protectively. Then he looked directly into the cameras, his voice loud and clear:

**"She is my fiancée."**

Meram's head snapped up, her eyes wide with shock. She opened her mouth to protest, but Ehan squeezed her shoulder gently — a silent command to stay quiet.

The journalists went wild.

"Fiancée? Mr. Khan, is this true?"

"When did the engagement happen?"

"Does this mean the wedding is soon?"

Ehan spoke coldly, "This is my personal life, and I will not be answering any further questions. Now please excuse us."

He grabbed Meram's hand and pulled her quickly through the crowd. The cameras flashed, the journalists shouted, but Ehan did not stop. He reached his car, opened the door, and guided Meram inside. Then he got into the driver's seat and started the engine.

The car sped away, leaving the chaos behind.

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### The Drive — First Conversation

The car weaved through New York's busy streets. Silence filled the space between them — heavy, uncomfortable silence.

Meram stared out the window, her hands trembling in her lap. Finally, in a small voice, she spoke. "Why did you do that?"

"Do what?" Ehan asked without looking at her.

"Called me your fiancée. I'm not your fiancée. I'm not anything to you."

Ehan pulled the car over to the side of the road. He turned to look at her, his dark brown eyes cold and sharp. "Do you think I care about you? You're nothing to me. Absolutely nothing. But in that moment, I had no choice. The media needed an answer, so I gave them one. That's all this is. A lie to save my reputation."

Meram looked down at her lap. Her eyes glistened with tears. "So... you only did it for yourself?"

"Yes," Ehan said without hesitation. "You are nothing to me, Meram Smith. You are just an orphan. A poor, helpless girl. Don't ever forget that."

His words cut deep, but Meram said nothing. She knew he was telling the truth.

Ehan started the car again, his voice flat. "Where do you live?"

Meram shook her head. "I have no home. The orphanage is my home."

"You can't go back there," Ehan said flatly. "The media knows you now. If you go back, they'll follow you. And you're not capable of handling that. You're nobody. You can't deal with people like them."

Meram looked up at him, her eyes searching his face. "Then where will I go?"

Ehan thought for a moment. He could drop her anywhere — a hotel, a restaurant, a shelter. Somewhere far away, where she would be someone else's problem. But then he thought about the media. They were following him, watching his every move. If they saw him dropping her off somewhere, questions would arise.

He wanted this girl to vanish from his life. But for now, he couldn't let her go.

"You'll come with me," he said at last. "To my apartment."

Meram stared at him in disbelief. "What?"

Ehan's face hardened. "Listen to me carefully, Meram. I have no interest in you. You are nothing to me. You are just a responsibility — a burden that I've been forced to carry. When the media's attention dies down, I'll send you away somewhere else. Another orphanage. A shelter. Anywhere. Until then, you will live in my apartment, stay out of my way, and not bother me. Understood?"

Meram nodded quietly, her eyes downcast.

Ehan looked at her one more time — her torn dress, her trembling frame, her tear-streaked face. Something flickered in his chest, but he crushed it immediately.

He started the car and drove toward Manhattan.

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### Ehan's Apartment

Ehan's apartment was on the top floor of a luxury high-rise in Manhattan. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcased a stunning view of the New York skyline. White marble floors, Italian furniture, expensive art on the walls — everything about the place screamed wealth and power.

Meram stepped inside and her breath caught in her throat. She had never seen a place so beautiful, so clean, so... untouchable.

"This will be your room," Ehan said, pointing to a door. "The bathroom is next to it. Kitchen is available, but don't come near me. Don't speak to me unless I speak to you. Stay out of my sight, stay out of my way, and stay out of my life. Understand?"

Meram nodded silently.

Ehan looked at her — her torn dress, her tired eyes, her trembling body. He felt an urge to say something kinder, but he pushed it away.

He pulled a thick wad of cash from his wallet and placed it on the table. "Take this. Buy yourself some clothes. Buy yourself some food. And remember — you are nothing more than a guest in my apartment. Nothing more."

Then he walked into his bedroom and closed the door, leaving Meram alone.

Meram stood in the middle of the living room, her arms wrapped around herself. She looked around at the luxury surrounding her — a world she had never belonged to.

She whispered to herself, "I'm nothing. I've always been nothing. And I will always be nothing."

Tears streamed down her cheeks, but she wiped them away quickly.

She had been alone her entire life. She could be alone a little longer.

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### The Next Morning — Mr. Khan's Arrival

The next morning, Ehan woke up to voices in the living room. He walked out of his bedroom and froze.

The front door was wide open.

**Mr. Khan** — his seventy-eight-year-old grandfather — stood in the middle of the living room, his face like thunder. Behind him were three little figures, all grinning like mischievous imps.

**Aryan**, eight years old, the most notorious troublemaker of the family.

**Sarah**, six years old, sweet but equally naughty.

**Zayn**, four years old, the baby of the cousins, adorable and completely unaware of his actions.

Aryan was already touching everything — the expensive vases, the remote controls, the fancy lamps. Sarah was running her tiny hands over the marble countertops. Zayn had found a cushion and was jumping on the sofa.

"Hello, Ehan bhai!" Aryan shouted, waving excitedly. "We came to see you! And your pretty girl!"

"Bhai jan!" Sarah giggled. "We heard you have a fiancée! Where is she?"

Zayn toddled forward, clutching his stuffed elephant. "Bhabhi?" he asked, looking around.

Ehan rubbed his temples. "Grandfather? What are you doing here?"

Mr. Khan's face was stone. "I saw the news yesterday, Ehan. Your fiancée? What girl? And why is she hiding in your apartment?"

At that moment, Meram emerged from the kitchen, holding a cup of tea. She wore the same torn dress from yesterday, her hair messy, her eyes still tired from crying. She froze when she saw Mr. Khan.

Mr. Khan's eyes locked onto her. He looked at her torn clothes, her frightened face, her helplessness. His expression was unreadable.

"This is her?" Mr. Khan asked Ehan, his voice cold.

"Yes, Grandfather," Ehan said, his tone emotionless. "But she is not my fiancée. I lied to the media to protect my reputation."

"Then why is she in your apartment?" Mr. Khan demanded.

Ehan said nothing. He knew his grandfather was a traditional Pathan — a man who valued honor above everything. A man who would never approve of a stranger — especially an orphan — staying alone with his grandson.

Mr. Khan walked toward Meram. His sharp eyes studied her carefully. "What is your name, child?"

Meram's voice trembled. "M-Meram. Meram Smith."

"An orphan?" Mr. Khan asked. His eyes flickered to Ehan. "You brought an orphan into your apartment? A woman? Alone with you? Without marriage?"

"Grandfather, it's not what you think," Ehan said. "The media saw her with me. I had no choice."

"NO CHOICE?" Mr. Khan's voice boomed. "You always have a choice, Ehan! We are the Khan family! Our name carries honor, dignity, and respect! And you bring a stranger into your home and call her your fiancée for the whole world to see? What kind of disgrace is this?"

Aryan tugged at Meram's hand, grinning. "You are so pretty, Bhabhi! Are you really our Bhabhi?"

Sarah joined him. "Yes! Yes! Are you marrying our bhai jan?"

Zayn looked up at Meram with innocent eyes. "Mama?" he asked softly.

Meram's eyes filled with tears. She didn't know these children, but they had just called her "Mama" — a word she had never heard in her life.

Mr. Khan looked at the scene — his great-grandchildren clinging to this orphan girl — and his face grew even darker. He turned to Ehan, his voice final.

"Ehan. I have raised you with strict values. You are the heir of this family. Your marriage will not be to some random girl, and certainly not to an orphan. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Grandfather," Ehan replied, his voice cold and flat. "I understand."

Mr. Khan looked at Meram one more time. His eyes held no warmth, only cold judgment. "Send this girl away. I don't want to see her here tomorrow."

With that, he grabbed Aryan, Sarah, and Zayn and marched out of the apartment.

The door slammed shut.

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### After the Storm

Silence filled the apartment.

Meram stood frozen, tears streaming down her face. She hugged herself, her body trembling. Slowly, she turned to Ehan.

"I'll leave," she whispered. "I'll go somewhere else. Anywhere."

Ehan said nothing. He stood there, his jaw tight, his hands clenched into fists. He wanted to tell her to go. He wanted to be rid of her. He wanted his life back — clean, simple, empty.

But when he looked at her — this broken, helpless, beautiful girl — something in him wavered.

He clenched his teeth. He was rude. He was cold. He was indifferent. He had never cared about anyone in his life.

But somehow, in just one day, this orphan had made herself impossible to forget.

"No," he said at last, his voice rough and cold. "You stay here."

Meram looked up at him in confusion. "But your grandfather said—"

"I don't care what my grandfather said," Ehan snapped. "My decisions are my own. You stay here. Until I say otherwise."

Then he took a breath and softened slightly — just slightly. "Don't think for a second that this means anything. You are an orphan. A nobody. I'm giving you shelter because I have to. That's all. Stay out of my way. Stay out of my life. And don't ever forget who you are."

Meram looked down at the floor. Her voice was barely a whisper. "I know exactly who I am. Nothing."

Ehan looked at her one more time — at her resilience, her strength, her fragile beauty — and something tightened in his chest.

Without another word, he turned and walked into his room, slamming the door.

Meram walked to the window and looked at the New York skyline. The city was beautiful, but she had never felt more alone.

She whispered to the empty room, "Maybe... maybe this is my chance. A new beginning."

But deep in her heart, she knew the truth.

She was nothing to him.

And maybe — maybe — that was for the best.

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**To be continued...**

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