The door slammed shut behind them.
Sanya stood in the dimly lit room, her heart pounding against her ribs. The scent of fresh roses and sandalwood filled the air—a cruel mockery of what this night was supposed to be. A night of love. A night of belonging.
But there was no love here. No tenderness.
Only hatred.
Aarush Rathore stood by the door, his broad frame tense, his jaw clenched. His sherwani was still pristine, his posture still composed, but his eyes—his eyes were burning with pure loathing.
He took slow, deliberate steps toward her, the soft rustle of his shoes against the marble floor the only sound in the suffocating silence.
Sanya's fingers curled around the edge of her dupatta, her breath uneven.
Then, without warning—he grabbed her wrist.
A sharp gasp left her lips as he yanked her toward him, his grip bruising.
"You must be happy now," he murmured, his voice eerily calm, but the storm in his eyes told a different story. "You finally got what you wanted, didn't you?"
Sanya flinched at the venom in his words. "I never wanted this—"
Aarush let out a bitter laugh. "Oh, really? Then why are you here, wearing my name, standing in this room as my wife?"
His fingers dug into her wrist, making her wince. "You took everything from me, Sanya. My family. My peace. My life. And now, you have the audacity to stand here and act like a helpless victim?"
Her throat tightened. "Aarush, please—"
"Don't say my name." His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper.
He reached up and, with a rough tug, ripped her bridal dupatta off her head. The delicate fabric fluttered to the ground, discarded like it meant nothing.
Just like how he saw her—as nothing.
Sanya swallowed hard, blinking back the sting of tears. But he wasn't done.
His fingers reached for the heavy jewelry around her neck, and before she could react—he tore it off.
The mangalsutra was the only thing he left untouched. The one shackle that bound her to him.
He leaned in, his breath warm against her ear, but his words were ice.
"You may wear my sindoor, Sanya, but don't mistake it for my love."
She held her breath as his fingers traced the cold gold chain of her mangalsutra.
"This?" He flicked it lightly. "This is not a symbol of marriage. It's a leash."
Aarush pulled away, his expression unreadable. "And you? You're nothing but my prisoner."
Sanya felt the floor beneath her disappear. This was worse than hate. This was degradation. A slow, merciless destruction.
But still, she stood tall, refusing to break in front of him.
"You can hurt me, Aarush," she whispered, her voice shaking but firm. "But you can't break me."
His eyes darkened. For a moment, she thought she saw something flicker in them—something dangerous, something unspoken.
Then, in the next second, he let go of her and stepped back.
Aarush exhaled sharply, running a frustrated hand through his hair. Without looking at her, he walked to the couch and threw a pillow onto it.
"You disgust me," he muttered, lying down with his back to her. "Now, get out of my sight."
Sanya stood frozen, staring at the man she had married. The man who hated her enough to destroy her, piece by piece.
The candles flickered, the shadows danced, and the night stretched before her like an endless abyss.
This was just the beginning of her suffering.
And she knew—the worst was yet to come.
Sanya locked the bathroom door behind her, her trembling fingers gripping the cold handle. The grand mirror in front of her reflected a broken bride—a girl wrapped in the weight of a fate she never chose.
The heavy sindoor in her hairline, the mangalsutra resting against her fragile collarbone—symbols of love, of belonging. But for her, they were chains. Shackles that bound her to a man who despised her very existence.
Her lips quivered as she touched her reflection, her eyes hollow, her soul weary.
What had she done to deserve this?
She had always been kind. Always pure. She never wished harm upon anyone. All she had ever wanted was a peaceful life, a love that felt like a warm sunbeam on a cold morning, like the first drops of rain on parched earth.
But what she got instead was a thunderstorm.
Her vision blurred as memories from the past came flooding back, dragging her into a time when life was innocent, untouched by pain.
She was nine years old when she first saw Aarush Rathore. It was his fourteenth birthday.
He was standing under the golden sunlight, laughing, his eyes filled with unfiltered joy as his mother lovingly ruffled his hair. His father was beside him, pride evident in his gaze. A perfect family. A picture of happiness.
She had watched him from a distance, her small heart beating fast. She didn't know why, but he fascinated her. Like a knight from a fairytale, strong, kind, and untouchable.
From that day, she admired him with the pure innocence of a child.
And then, one day—he became her savior.
She had accidentally broken an expensive vase in his house, fear clawing at her chest because she knew her father's anger was merciless. She had stood there, frozen, trembling. But before the punishment could fall upon her, Aarush had stepped forward and taken the blame.
"I did it." His voice had been firm, unwavering.
She had looked at him with wide, teary eyes.
"But—" she had whispered, guilt eating her alive.
He had only given her a small, reassuring smile.
"It's fine."
And that was the moment she fell in love.
With the boy who had protected her.
With the boy who had shielded her from pain.
That night, as she lay on her tiny bed, staring at the glowing stars on her ceiling, she had whispered a vow to herself.
"When I grow up, I'll marry Aarush."
It had been the innocent promise of a nine-year-old girl.
But she had never imagined that the marriage she once dreamed of—so full of love, warmth, and happiness—would turn into a living nightmare.
She clutched the edge of the sink, her breath coming out in shudders. The Aarush who had once saved her was now the one destroying her.
Tears slid down her cheeks, but she bit her lip to stop herself from making a sound.
Because no matter how much she cried, no matter how much it hurt—he would never look at her the same way again.
He would never see the little girl who had loved him unconditionally.
He would never know that her heart had always belonged to him.
And now, she was paying the price for a sin she never committed.