Chapter 1
The grand wedding gates stood open beneath a canopy of golden lights, as though the night itself had been dressed for royalty. Beyond them stretched a path illuminated by hundreds of flickering diyas, each little flame casting a warm glow upon the marble walkway. Strings of fresh flowers descended from the arches while chandeliers glittered overhead, ensuring every corner of the sprawling estate whispered the exact same promise: tonight, a legacy would begin.
The air was alive with sheer grandeur. Women arrived draped in magnificent lehengas, some shimmering with intricate mirror work, others embroidered with delicate zardozi, velvet, pearls. Their heavy jewellery caught every passing light, turning the gathering into a moving sea of gold and diamonds. Beside them stood men in impeccably tailored royal suits, bandhgala jackets, and embroidered sherwanis. They carried the effortless authority of families whose names had belonged to boardrooms, palaces, and history books for generations.
It was a gathering where royalty stood shoulder-to-shoulder with industrialists. Business magnates exchanged greetings with political dynasties, and old aristocratic families arrived alongside India's newest billionaires. Every name on the guest list carried immense prestige, and every single entrance seemed worthy of a photograph.
Yet, despite all the wealth surrounding the evening, the true centre of it all remained remarkably simple. At the heart of the mandap burned the sacred fire. Its flames rose quietly beneath a canopy of flowers, surrounded by silver lamps, scattered rose petals, and fresh garlands. The fire waited patiently—an ancient witness to promises that were meant to survive not merely a lifetime, but seven consecutive births. Around the flames, everything had been meticulously prepared: the sacred offerings, the garlands, the ceremonial seats, and the priest's chants waiting to fill the night air.
Soon, the seven vows would be spoken. Soon, two distinct lives, and two incredibly powerful families, would become one. Tonight, the entire estate had gathered for one name: Nikhil Hooda, the heir of the Hooda Empire, whose presence commanded absolute attention without ever demanding it.
The woman waiting to become his wife was Anika Oberoi. The name she had carried all her life belonged to her for just a few more hours. By the end of this ceremony, she would walk away with another: Anika Hooda. This was not merely a change of surname; it was a completely new chapter, a new family, and a new identity woven into one of the country's most powerful corporate legacies.
Suddenly, the music softened and the scattered conversations slowly faded as hundreds of eyes turned towards the entrance. The diyas flickered against the night breeze as the first sound of the wedding procession echoed through the estate. For a moment, even the grandeur seemed to pause. Beneath the diamonds, the royal suits, the silk, the wealth, and the prestige was something far older than any empire—love.
The fire burned brighter, the wedding bells began to ring, and as the couple stepped towards the mandap, a new chapter of the Hooda legacy quietly began. It was a legacy built not on wealth, power, or a family name, but on love.
Anika did not simply look like a bride; she looked like centuries of tradition woven into one woman. Her crimson-and-gold lehenga shimmered beautifully beneath the lights, while her jewellery completed her transformation into a classic Hindu bride. A delicate maang tikka rested on her forehead right above a small red bindi, symbols traditionally associated with awareness, auspiciousness, and the sacred union she was about to enter.
Kajal framed her eyes, carrying the old, protective belief against the evil eye, while her ornate nath curved gracefully beside her face, its delicate chain reaching back towards her ear. Around her neck, heavy layers of gold, diamonds, and precious gemstones gave her the unmistakable grandeur of royalty. Ornate bajubands rested tightly on her upper arms to symbolise strength, while intricate mehendi covered her hands with patterns associated with love, joy, and prosperity. Stacks of bridal bangles chimed softly whenever she moved, filling the hall with a delicate music of celebration. A fine haath phool connected her bracelets to her rings, beautifully adorning her hands as they prepared to join another's in sacred vows. Hidden beneath the heavy folds of her lehenga were silver bichiya, the toe rings traditionally worn by married Hindu women to symbolise womanhood and marriage.
Every single ornament carried its own unique story. Yet beneath every jewel, she was still Anika. As she approached the mandap, the sacred fire reflected beautifully in her diamonds and the mirrors of her lehenga. The priest's chants rose all around her, and the diyas trembled in the night breeze. She was not merely changing her surname; she was entering a marriage, a family, a promise, and a new life. Before the sacred fire, Anika was entirely ready to begin.
And then came the groom. Nikhil Hooda looked like heritage given human form, just as Anika looked like tradition transformed. He entered beneath the golden lights in an ivory-and-gold sherwani, its intricate embroidery glowing beneath the massive chandeliers. His regal safa was crowned with a jeweled kalgi, while an embroidered stole rested elegantly across his shoulders. Traditional mojaris, a layered mala, and a simple kada completed his ceremonial attire.
Every detail perfectly reflected his heritage, dignity, and responsibility. But the most important thing he carried tonight was not his jewellery; it was responsibility. Nikhil was not simply arriving to marry Anika. He was preparing to take sacred vows—to stand beside her through every joy and hardship life could possibly bring.
Across the mandap, his eyes found hers. Anika stood beneath the flowers and golden lights, her lehenga shimmering as brightly as her jewellery. For a brief moment, everything else completely disappeared—the guests, the families, the flashing cameras. There was only Nikhil and Anika.
The priest called them forward, the bells rang out, and the sacred fire rose steadily between them. His attire represented the heritage he carried, her jewellery represented the traditions she embodied, and together, they represented something far greater than family names or fortune: a marriage. Nikhil extended his hand towards Anika, and the legacy of the Hooda’s and Oberoi’s officially began to become one.
The priest's voice rose high above the background music as the sacred fire burned brighter, signals that the moment everyone had been waiting for had finally arrived: the seven sacred rounds. Nikhil and Anika stood tall before the fire, their garments securely connected by the ceremonial knot—the gathbandhan—symbolising that from this moment onward, their paths would no longer belong to two separate lives.
It was an arranged marriage. Their families had brought them together, their parents had trusted the match, and their elders had wholeheartedly blessed it. But now, beneath the ancient fire, the ultimate choice belonged entirely to them. The priest began chanting the sacred mantras. Nikhil looked at Anika, Anika looked back, and together, they took their first step
