When Ruhi’s uncle, aunt, and cousin Ritika reached the mansion, her heart sank. Tears welled up in her eyes, yet somewhere inside she still held a fragile hope—that maybe they would change their minds and not marry her off to some old man.
Ritika smirked cruelly and said, “You’re really lucky, Ruhi. You’ve caught the attention of such a wealthy old man. If you manage to please him, he might even fulfill your every wish—as long as you’re good with him in bed.”
Ruhi’s face turned pale. Her body trembled as the horrifying truth unfolded piece by piece. Ritika continued mercilessly, “Do you know you’ll be his fourth wife? The last three… well, they couldn’t keep him entertained. He cast them aside like broken toys.”
Every word felt like a dagger stabbing into Ruhi’s chest. She staggered back, her hands shaking, and her breathing unsteady. The thought of being married off to such a man crushed every bit of hope she had left.
Terrified, she turned to her uncle and fell at his feet. “Uncle, please,” she sobbed, her voice trembling. “Don’t do this to me. I promise I’ll study harder, I’ll work, I’ll earn money. You can take my entire salary—I’ll do anything. Just don’t force me into this marriage.”
Her aunt’s face twisted in anger. With a sharp tug, she pulled Ruhi back up by her arm. “Enough of your drama, Ruhi! Do you think crying will change anything? Who do you think you are? A worthless girl with nothing to offer. No one would even look at you if it wasn’t for your luck that this man chose you. Instead of being grateful, you’re whining!”
Ruhi tried to protest, but her aunt didn’t let her speak. She went on, her voice dripping with venom. “You’ve always been a burden. Do you think books will feed you? Do you think a job will give you the respect that marrying this man will bring? Stop dreaming. Girls like you are meant only to be handed over when the time comes.”
Ruhi’s heart shattered at those words. She looked up desperately at her uncle, hoping for the slightest hint of compassion. But he just sat there, silent and unbothered, his eyes fixed on her with a cold detachment as though none of this concerned him.
Her aunt tightened her grip on Ruhi’s arm, her nails digging painfully into her skin. “Stop begging, Ruhi. The more you speak, the more shame you bring on yourself. Now keep quiet and do as you’re told.”
Ruhi’s tears flowed endlessly. The room grew heavier with every cruel word, while her uncle’s silence only made her feel even more abandoned. It was as if the entire world had turned its back on her.
After that, they dragged Ruhi to the makeup room while her uncle went to the courtyard to meet the man she was supposed to marry. Soon sanjay raj after, her aunt and cousin Ritika tried to enter the makeup room, but a few staff members stopped them politely.
Staff (firmly): “Ma’am, only the bride is allowed inside. Others can wait in the hall.”
Ritika (with a sharp, insulting look at the girl): “Why can’t we go in? Do you think we’ll steal something? Or are you assuming we have something else in mind?”
Staff (calmly): “It’s nothing like that, Ma’am. These are just the rules.”
Ruhi’s aunt rolled her eyes with irritation and snapped, “Fine! Let’s go to the hall then. Anyway, this unlucky girl will take ages to get ready.”
Ritika smirked, gave Ruhi a mocking glance, and finally walked out with her mother.
The moment they left, the atmosphere lightened a little. The makeup artists gathered around Ruhi, preparing their brushes and palettes. They worked on her hair, applied delicate layers of makeup, and adjusted her dress with careful hands. After a while, when they stepped back to look at her, admiration filled their eyes.
Staff (smiling): “You look so beautiful, dear. Just like a princess.”
Another staff member: “Your eyes are stunning. Once you step into the hall, everyone will be mesmerized.”
The room echoed with compliments and praise, but Ruhi sat there quietly, her gaze lowered. From the outside, she looked like a glowing bride, but inside, her heart felt heavy. Each compliment only deepened the ache in her chest. She wanted to smile, to feel happy, but the thought of her future, the marriage she never wanted, kept haunting her.
Her reflection in the mirror felt like that of a stranger—dressed beautifully, but carrying a soul crushed under the weight of helplessness. While the staff admired her beauty, Ruhi’s mind screamed silently, reminding her that the next chapter of her life was not filled with dreams, but with despair—an unwanted life she could not escape.
After that, Ruhi quietly made her way toward the mandap, her dupatta weighing heavily on her head like a crown of thorns. Her body moved forward, but her heart resisted every step. The staff guided her carefully, adjusting the fabric that draped her face. She dared to lift her eyes for a brief moment, only to see the groom waiting with cold impatience. The very sight made her heart sink, and she quickly looked away, her gaze fixed on the floor.
The pandit’s voice grew louder as he began chanting mantras. Sacred words filled the air, but to Ruhi they sounded like the chains of fate binding her down. Family members had started to gather, showering her with blessings, while some of the staff whispered quietly in the corners, indifferent to her silent suffering.
Ruhi’s breath trembled. The walls of the mansion felt like they were closing in on her. She searched the crowd desperately, hoping for one sympathetic face, but everyone either ignored her fear or pretended not to notice.
And then, the atmosphere shifted.
The main doors of the mansion creaked open with a force that silenced the priest’s chant for a moment. A group of men stormed in—harsh footsteps echoing against the marble floor. Their presence was commanding, terrifying. Each one carried a gun.
Gasps filled the hall. Some women shrieked, while others covered their mouths in shock. The groom’s relatives scrambled to their feet, trying to make sense of what was happening. The pandit froze mid-chant, his hands trembling above the holy fire.
Ruhi’s eyes widened. Fear rooted her to the spot, her pulse thundering in her ears. She had been terrified of marriage only moments ago, but this—this was something darker, something she couldn’t comprehend.
The men spread out across the hall, their eyes scanning every corner, their weapons gleaming under the chandelier lights. Their sudden arrival shattered the illusion of celebration, leaving behind only fear and chaos.
Behind the curtains, whispers turned into panicked cries. Guests tried to move back, but the gunmen’s cold glares kept everyone frozen in place. Even the staff, who moments ago were busy arranging flowers and decorations, now stood paralyzed with terror.
The marriage that was supposed to seal Ruhi’s fate had now been interrupted by an even greater nightmare.
After the man ensured that everything was under control and everyone was frozen in terror at gunpoint, he made his entry like a true villain.
Abhimaan Singh Rathore walked in with a mocking smile, his presence heavy and commanding. On his right stood his most trusted man, Yash, gripping a gun steadily, while his left hand rested casually in his pocket, exuding calm authority.
Abhimaan dragged a chair and placed it right in front of the groom, Sanjay Raj. Yash raised his weapon, pointing it directly at Sanjay’s head, his eyes cold and unblinking.
Leaning back on the chair, Abhimaan spoke in a voice dripping with sarcasm, though his eyes burned with restrained fury.
Abhimaan (mocking): “Well, well… looks like we’re having a wedding function here. Yet I wasn’t invited. Strange, isn’t it, Mr. Raj? After all, I’m your good friend… right? Then why leave me out?”
Sanjay Raj’s lips trembled, his whole body shivering under the gun aimed at him. Beads of sweat rolled down his temple.
Sanjay Raj (stammering): “I–It’s just a normal wedding, Mr. Rathore. Nothing more.”
Abhimaan chuckled, the sound cold and sharp. His sarcasm cut through the silence like a blade, but inside, his rage boiled like fire.
Abhimaan (mocking again, but his voice hardening): “Normal? A normal wedding, you say? Yash… do you find this wedding normal?”
Yash smirked faintly, his finger steady on the trigger, but Abhimaan’s smirk slowly faded as his control slipped. His jaw clenched, his eyes darkened—his anger beginning to spill past the mask of sarcasm.
And then… for the briefest moment, as his gaze swept across the hall, it landed on the bride sitting quietly in her veil. He didn’t know who she was—her face hidden—but something within him stirred. His heart skipped a beat, an unfamiliar pull tightening his chest. Abhimaan quickly looked away, shaking the strange feeling off, but that one glance unsettled him more than he cared to admit.
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