Introduction
The rain lashed against the tinted windows of the SUV as it tore through the pitch-black night. Inside, the silence was suffocating, broken only by the sound of my own ragged, trembling breaths.
I pressed my back as far into the leather seat as I could, shrinking away from the terrifying shadow beside me. My hands were shaking so violently that I couldn't even keep them still in my lap. The heavy bridal lehenga—the one meant for my sister Janvi—felt like a lead cage around me. The red vermilion Arjun had brutally dragged through my hair was drying on my forehead, a burning mark of my sudden captivity.
Why me? The question screamed in my head, over and over again, choking me from the inside.
I hadn't done anything wrong. I was just nineteen. I was supposed to be preparing for my final college exams, not sitting in a luxury car as the prisoner of a man known across seven villages for his cold, unyielding cruelty.
My mind flashed back to the panic at home just hours ago. Janvi had run away. She had packed her bags and escaped with Sarang, leaving our family's reputation in ashes right before the procession arrived. My father had fallen to his knees, weeping, begging me to put on the crimson dupatta to save our family from total humiliation. I had agreed out of sheer duty, swallowing my own fear to save my parents' dignity.
And then he had walked in.
Arjun Thakur hadn't come to save anyone. He hadn't come out of pity or justice. He had walked into that mandap with a gun in his hand and pure malice in his eyes. He didn't care that Sarang was equally at fault. To Arjun, Sarang was his own blood, a Thakur. But Janvi was my sister. My family had produced the girl who dared to drag the Thakur name through the dirt.
“Izzat ke badle izzat,” his words echoed in my mind, sending a fresh wave of ice through my veins.
He didn't view me as a human being. He didn't even view me as a wife. I was just revenge. A living, breathing piece of compensation for the dishonor my sister had brought to his house. Janvi was gone, beyond his reach, so I was the one who had to pay the price.
I stole a quick, terrified glance at his side profile. His grip on the steering wheel was tight enough to turn his knuckles white. His jaw was clenched, his dark eyes fixed on the road ahead with absolute, merciless focus. There wasn't a single flicker of remorse in his face for dragging a crying girl out of her own wedding hall.
A heavy tear broke free and tracked through the heavy makeup on my cheek. I pulled the embroidered veil tighter around my shoulders, trying to hide my soft sobs, but the quiet gasp escaped my lips.
Arjun didn't even turn his head. He didn't offer a tissue. He didn't tell me it would be okay.
"Rona band karo," his voice cut through the dark, cold and sharp as a razor. "Save your tears, Taani. The night hasn't even begun yet."
My blood ran cold. As the gates of the massive Thakur haveli loomed into view through the rain, I realized with terrifying clarity that my life as I knew it was over. I wasn't entering a home. I was entering a prison, and my warden was a man who hated me simply for existing.
