The room was quiet after Ranvijay's departure, save for the faint rustling of the heavy bridal lehenga in Myra's trembling hands. She stood still, her chest heaving as if she had just run a marathon, the weight of her emotions pressing down on her.
The lavish suite around her felt suffocating, the opulence mocking her sense of freedom. She glanced toward the full-length mirror, her reflection catching her off guard. The dust-streaked makeup, the disheveled hair, and the anger in her tear-filled eyes—this wasn't her. This wasn't the girl who had dreamed of a life filled with laughter, love, and purpose.
She shook her head, determination flaring anew. No. He might think he's won this battle, but I'm not done yet.
Her gaze darted toward the window. Thick, impenetrable glass stared back at her, and she cursed under her breath. No escape there. She paced the room, scanning for anything that could help her. Then her eyes landed on the lehenga she had so angrily snatched. Its intricate embroidery glimmered under the soft light, a reminder of the lavish prison she was trapped in.
With a sigh of resignation, she began changing. The weight of the garment felt symbolic, a physical manifestation of the chains Ranvijay had placed around her life. Each layer she donned felt heavier than the last, her fingers fumbling with the jewelry as frustration and tears blurred her vision.
A sudden knock at the door startled her. She froze, her heart racing.
"Myra," Ranvijay's voice came from the other side, calm but firm. "Your time is up."
She swallowed hard, staring at the door as if it were a monster about to devour her. Her instinct was to defy him, to scream that she wasn't ready. But the memory of his warning lingered in her mind, the quiet threat in his eyes enough to remind her that resistance might only make things worse.
With trembling hands, she adjusted her dupatta, taking a deep breath to steady herself. "I'm coming," she said, her voice barely audible.
The door opened, and Ranvijay stepped in, his sharp gaze scanning her from head to toe. For a moment, he said nothing, his expression unreadable. Then, he took a step closer, his presence as overpowering as ever.
"You look…" His voice trailed off, and for the first time, Myra thought she saw a flicker of something softer in his eyes—admiration, perhaps. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by his usual commanding demeanor. "Perfect."
She didn't respond, her jaw tightening as she met his gaze with defiance. "What now?" she asked coldly, refusing to let him see how her heart pounded in his presence.
Ranvijay tilted his head, his dark eyes glinting with amusement at her tone. "Now, we go back. The ceremony awaits."
He offered her his arm, but she ignored it, brushing past him and walking toward the door with as much dignity as she could muster. She heard him chuckle softly behind her, the sound grating against her nerves.
As they stepped out of the suite and into the grand hallway, Myra's mind raced. This isn't over. There has to be a way to get out of this. I just have to find it.
The ride back to the venue was tense. Ranvijay sat beside her in the car, his presence dominating the space, but he didn't say a word. Myra stared out the window, her fingers gripping the edge of her seat as the city lights blurred past. Her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts—anger, fear, and an unshakable determination to take back control of her life.
When they arrived, the wedding palace was a sight to behold, its grandeur amplified by the glowing decorations and the hum of distant celebrations. Myra's stomach churned as she stepped out of the car, the weight of her fate pressing down on her.
Ranvijay extended a hand to her, his expression unreadable. "Shall we?"
She hesitated, her eyes darting toward the grand entrance. Every fiber of her being screamed at her to run, but she knew the guards stationed around the venue would catch her before she even made it out of the courtyard. Reluctantly, she placed her hand in his, her touch cold and hesitant.
Her jaw clenched, but she forced a tight-lipped smile, her heart aching with the effort. This isn't over, she thought again, her resolve hardening with every step they took.
The ceremony awaited, but so did her chance to fight back. She didn't know how or when, but she would find a way to break free from Ranvijay's grip. Until then, she would play along, biding her time like a caged bird waiting for the door to crack open.
Little did she know, that moment was closer than she thought.
Myra's heart pounded as she forced a shaky smile. "You go ahead. I'll follow you. I just need to use the washroom."
Ranvijay's dark eyes narrowed, suspicion flickering in his gaze. But after a long moment, he nodded. "Fine," he said, his voice firm. "I'll wait outside the door. Don't take too long."
As soon as he walked out, Myra locked the door and turned to scan the room frantically. Her gaze landed on the small, high window above the toilet—a narrow outlet to freedom. Without hesitation, she climbed onto the toilet seat, her lehenga tangling around her legs as she reached for the glass panel. Her fingers trembled as she struggled to remove the slab, sharp edges biting into her skin and leaving small cuts.
Her breathing was labored, her pulse racing as she finally wrenched the glass free and set it on the floor. With one last glance over her shoulder toward the door, she gripped the window frame and hoisted herself up, her body squeezing through the narrow opening.
The cold night air hit her face as she teetered on the edge, her hands gripping the frame tightly. She closed her eyes and leapt, her lehenga billowing around her as she braced for the impact.
Pain shot through her ankle as she landed on uneven ground, and she cried out, clutching her foot. Her ankle throbbed, and she realized with horror that she had sprained it in the fall. Tears pricked her eyes, but she forced herself to push through the pain, her heart pounding as she limped forward. Just keep moving, she urged herself. You're almost free.
But before she could take more than a few unsteady steps, strong arms caught her from behind, lifting her off the ground with ease. Myra gasped in shock, her wide eyes meeting Ranvijay's furious gaze.
"I knew it," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "I knew you'd try to pull another stunt." His arms tightened around her as he hoisted her effortlessly into his grasp. "Do you have any idea how reckless that was?"
Myra squirmed, her fists pounding against his chest. "Let me go!" she demanded, her voice trembling with frustration. "I'm not going back with you!"
Ranvijay's lips curled into a bitter smile. "Oh, you're going back, Myra," he said coldly. "And since you've clearly decided to make this as dramatic as possible, I'll carry you to the wedding hall myself."
Her heart sank as he turned toward the glowing lights of the hall, her sprained ankle now throbbing in his arms. "Ranvijay, please," she pleaded, her voice shaking. "I can't do this. Just let me go."
But he didn't even slow his stride. "I warned you," he said, his tone brooking no argument. "This ends here."
As they entered the grand hall, all eyes turned toward them. Guests gasped and whispered, their murmurs filling the air as Ranvijay strode down the aisle, carrying his defiant bride in his arms. Myra's cheeks burned with humiliation, but she glared at the crowd, refusing to let them see her despair.
"Put me down," she hissed under her breath, her voice quivering with anger and desperation.
Ranvijay glanced down at her, his smirk sharp and unrelenting. "Not a chance," he said softly. "You tried to run, and now you'll face the consequences."
As they reached the mandap, Myra's heart ached with defeat, the weight of her choices pressing down on her. She glanced up at Ranvijay, her eyes burning with unshed tears. This isn't over, she vowed silently, determination sparking in her chest. It can't be over.