ABHAY'S POV

My grandfather has always been the man I look up to. His ruthlessness reflects in me, his history shaping every decision I take. But I've often gone further than he ever did—sometimes it even surprises him. He pats my shoulder at every new beginning, a silent approval.

He expected me to excel at politics. I did. More than excel. By eighteen I had already stepped into the underworld, building control over crime syndicates, local leaders, and eventually national ones. Politics was merely the next extension.

When I told him about my sudden marriage, he asked me what I was planning. I laid everything bare, already expecting his pat of approval. Instead, he sighed. His words still echo:

"Do not do any business at the cost of your soul."

I had only smiled and nodded. The warning lingered, but I chose not to dwell on it.

My father, unlike him, never went beyond the family's businesses—both legal and illegal. He and I never shared the bond my grandfather and I did. My parents were happy about the marriage. My mother was thrilled, convinced it was an arranged match to strengthen ties with Ankur Srivastav. She wasn't wrong—just unaware of the whole truth. Technically, I wasn't lying.

The wedding hall stood at the heart of Jaipur, one of my hotels. Everything was set. From morning, wishes poured in. I had arranged a private hall for the underworld elite—smugglers, dealers, bureaucrats, even foreign connections. Everyone who mattered was here. Music thundered, priests chanted, the fire blazed.

I sat at the mandap, performing the rituals when she appeared.

Sanjana Srivastav.

Draped in red, the lehenga drowning her frame, her face hidden under a ghoonghat. Her mehndi-clad hands trembled slightly, weighed down by bangles and kangan. She didn't bow her head, though—she carried it high. Her sadness spoke louder than her silence.

"Dulhan ko maang-tika lagayiye."

I picked the sindoor with a gold coin. The thought struck me: the plan I had set in motion was no longer a plan. It was happening.

I lifted her veil, the sindoor falling stark against her hairline, streaking down to her nose. I didn't bother wiping it. She did, silently. Her eyes were red—crying or sleepless, or both.

During kanyadaan, her brother Dheeraj stepped forward, following the pandit's instructions. He placed haldi in her palms, and as she lowered them onto mine, the turmeric smeared across both our hands.

The stained my hand along with hers

SANJANA'S POV

My nerves were frayed. Overwhelmed wasn't even the word. Everything was happening too fast—if someone gave me the chance, I would have run without looking back. I hadn't slept a minute last night. I begged myself to cry, to release the weight pressing on my chest, but even tears abandoned me.

When I sat beside him, I realized just how small I was in his world. At the pheras, as the pandit chanted promises, I clung to every word. I promised myself I would give my honest effort to this marriage.

My life had been pleasant, sheltered, blissful. One storm couldn't make me abandon everything. I reminded myself: at least he wasn't some reckless brat. He was capable. Respected. Feared. I told myself I should be thankful.

We touched the feet of our parents and grandparents. Faces surrounded us, eyes watching, but I kept mine high, refusing to read their expressions. Blessings. Smiles. Pictures. Again and again.

After lunch, the hall thinned. Only relatives lingered, children running about. The photographer beckoned us closer.

"Sir, just move in a little, maybe put your hand—" He stopped mid-sentence, retreating behind his camera as Abhay's glare cut through him. He didn't like displays of affection. Noted.

He turned his gaze to me instead. For the first time, we looked at each other properly. The camera clicked. I broke the moment by smiling at the lens.

Later, he left the stage to greet others. That was when my friends arrived. Tanya rushed toward me, her tone dripping with mischief.

"Got married to the man of dreams and still sulking?"

I shot her a look. 

I exhaled. "I'm sorry," I said. I hadn't told her anything—not about the sudden wedding, not about the mess leading to it.

She hugged me. "I didn't even know you were planning this. I mean, I know it's arranged..."

"That makes two of us," I muttered.

She grinned. "Just don't abandon me in your married life, princess. Oops—queen."

We laughed, the sound almost foreign after days of silence. Tanya knew me better than anyone. She'd been my escape, sneaking me into clubs, pulling me out of my comfort zone. Sitting with her, gossiping, felt like I could still be myself—for a little while.