Shadow Of Love

Copyright Notice

© 2025 Ira. All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author.

Introduction of characters

Rehan

In the world of billionaires, Rehan Mehra was a name that echoed like power. Thirty-two years old, ruthlessly successful, and dangerously handsome. A man who never smiled without a reason, never loved without a profit, and never trusted without a contract.

People called him arrogant. Women called him a fantasy. But Rehan? He called it survival. After all, love was nothing but a lie he had seen ruin lives.

For him, marriage was just… another deal.

Neha

On the other side of the city, Neha Sherma lived like an ordinary girl with extraordinary scars. At twenty-three, her beauty was soft, almost fragile, but her heart was armored.

She didn’t believe in happily-ever-afters. Not after watching her parents destroy each other in a broken marriage. Not after the shadows of her past made her flinch from the simplest touch — something even she couldn’t understand.

To the world, she was cheerful, innocent, alive. To herself, she was trapped.

And marriage? The word itself was poison.

Two strangers.

Two lives.

Two completely different definitions of love.

Yet destiny had already signed their names together

The Wedding Night

The room smelled of roses and incense, every corner glowing with soft lights. The bed was decorated like a dream, but for Neha it felt like a cage.

She sat on the edge, her bridal lehenga weighing heavier than her heartbeat. Her fingers clutched the fabric tightly as if holding herself together.

Her lips trembled as she whispered into the silence:

Neha (thoughts):

Kya maine yeh decision le kar sahi kiya?

Main un sab cheezon ko phir se repeat hote nahi dekhna chahti… jinko pehle bhi dekh chuki hoon.

Her chest tightened. The echoes of her parents’ fights, their hatred, their broken promises — it all came rushing back.

Just then, the door creaked open.

Neha’s head snapped up, eyes wide.

And there he was.

Rehan Mehra.

He stepped inside, tall and commanding, his presence swallowing the room. Dressed in a crisp white kurta instead of his wedding sherwani, he looked effortless — but his eyes… those dark, unreadable eyes, sharp as glass, were fixed only on her.

He closed the door behind him with a soft thud. The sound made her flinch.

For a moment, silence stretched between them — heavy, suffocating.

Rehan’s gaze lingered on her trembling hands. His jaw tightened, but his expression didn’t soften.

He walked closer, every step measured, like a man used to control.

Finally, his voice cut through the silence — low, steady, yet not unkind:

Rehan: “Ab tum meri wife ho, Neha. Aur mujhe ek baat bilkul pasand nahi hai… kamzori.”

Her throat went dry. She wanted to answer, to tell him she wasn’t weak, but the words refused to leave her lips.

When his hand reached for her veil, brushing it back slowly, Neha’s entire body stiffened. Her heart thundered in her chest.

He paused, noticing. A flicker of something unreadable passed through his eyes — not concern, but calculation.

Rehan (quietly, almost curious): “Tumhari aankhon mein dar hai… lekin tum chup rahi. Interesting.”

The distance between them shrank. Neha’s mind screamed to run, but her body betrayed her — frozen under the weight of his gaze.

And then — she pushed him back.

Not softly. Not by mistake. Intentionally.

Rehan stilled, his brows arching slightly. For the first time in years, someone had dared push him. His pride should have burned, but instead… his lips curved into a faint, dangerous smirk.

Rehan (low): “Zyada log meri taraf dekhne ki himmat bhi nahi karte… aur tum mujhe chhoo kar hata rahi ho.”

Her voice broke out, fragile but steady:

Neha: “Main koi khel nahi hoon, Mr. Mehra.”

For a moment, silence cut the air like glass. Then his eyes narrowed — not in anger, but in recognition.

Rehan (leaning closer, a whisper laced with intrigue):

“Tum alag ho, Neha. Aur mujhe yeh samajhna hoga… chahe tum chaho ya nahi.”

The room was silent when he stepped closer. His shadow fell over her, making her grip her dupatta tighter.

Rehan: “Ab tum meri wife ho, Neha. Koi mamooli ladki nahi.

Aur mujhe pasand nahi… ke mujhse judi hui koi bhi cheez kamzor ho.”

He slipped the ring back in place, smirked faintly, and turned toward the door.

Neha (whisper, trembling): “Main kamzor nahi hoon…”

He stepped back, his commanding presence finally retreating. With one last lingering glance at her trembling form, he turned and walked out of the room.

The door clicked shut.

Neha collapsed against the headboard, tears slipping free, her chest heaving.

And for the first time since the wedding, she allowed herself to admit the truth—

She wasn’t afraid of Rehan.

She was afraid of what he could make her feel.