“This year’s Best Businessman Award goes to Mr. Arnav Singh Rathore, the rising star of India’s entrepreneur world!”

The anchor's voice echoed through the grand hall, lights flashing, cameras rolling.

A tall figure in a black suit emerged.

Light brown skin, sharp jawline, perfectly combed hair, and a presence that made the air heavier. His walk was unbothered, calculated. Eyes followed him like magnets—girls practically melted in their heels, guys stiffened with envy.

He walked up, received the award with a nod—no big speech, no forced smile. Just a quiet thank you and done. Photos? Clicked. Interviews? Denied. And then, with his security wall trailing him, he disappeared.

But not into the night.

The car cruised beneath the city—into the underground no one dared whisper about.

Where light feared to shine, the Black Viper Syndicate ruled. And their king?

Not Arnav Singh Rathore.

But Tiger.

Cheers erupted, not the polite claps of high society, but raw chants of madness.

“Tiger! Tiger! Tiger!”

He walked in—white shirt, half-buttoned, tattoos coiling down his chest like venom, his gaze colder than ice. Before him, a man lay bloodied, begging. Pathetic. Without a blink, Tiger raised his gun,

Bang.

No mercy. No regret. Just silence.

He wiped off the blood like it was dust, switched to black—his true color—and vanished into the night, his black Thar roaring to life.

12:00 AM

A girl ran barefoot, her white wedding dress torn and dirtied.

Isha.

Eighteen. Innocent. Lost. Fair skin glowing under the moonlight, hazel eyes wide with terror, wavy hair clinging to her face. She had fled her fate, her forced wedding, her so-called home… only to land in a city that didn't sleep—it hunted.

And tonight, it hunted her.

Street goons cornered her, their eyes greedy, cruel.

She ran. Breathless. Heart screaming.

And then—screech—a Thar slammed the brakes before her.

Lightning cracked.

Their eyes met.

Tiger’s grip on the wheel tightened.

A rose in a storm. A doll in a devil’s path.

But God… she was his kind of trouble.

She trembled, trying to speak.

Then the goons appeared. But they froze. Because even street dogs know—when the Tiger arrives, they don't bark…

They run.

And they did.

She collapsed into his arms, unconscious.

He caught her like she weighed nothing.

The underworld froze.

The cold-blooded king walked into his dark palace with a fragile girl in his arms.

No one dared speak. No one dared breathe.

Because if Tiger brings someone in…

She isn't just anyone.

He took her to the biggest room in that palace

placed her in the bed and call his family doctor. When the doctor said she is perfectly ok he finally started breathing. He took a chair and sat besides her and he couldn't take his eyes from her.

But now the question remains—

What will happen to the sheep that landed in the Tiger’s den?

Will she be crushed?

Or will she tame the beast?

Isha sat curled on the bed, lost in the pages of her book when the door creaked open. A middle-aged woman walked in, holding a decorated thali — red lehenga, gold jewelry, and shagun.

“Isha, get up and get ready. It’s your wedding today,” the woman said, her voice stern.

Her heart skipped a beat.

“What?! Maa, what are you saying? I just turned eighteen! I want to study… I want to live my dreams—”

SLAP.

Her hazel eyes snapped open with a gasp.

It was just a dream.

A nightmare.

Sweat clung to her forehead. Her breath came in short, shaky gasps as the memory of last night came rushing back — the escape, the strangers, the mansion.

This mansion.

Silent.

Huge.

Dangerously beautiful.

Isha grabbed a vase for safety — just in case — and tiptoed out. The marble floors were cold beneath her feet, the chandelier above almost blinding. Is this even real? The place looked like something out of a royal fantasy. She wandered through its never-ending corridors, both amazed and terrified.

Until a few startled servants found her.

Moments later…

The man of the house stormed in.

Still drying his hair, shirt half-buttoned, yet still managing to look like he stepped straight out of a K-drama.

“Are you okay, Miss…?”

“Isha. My name is Isha. And yeah… I’m fine.”

She stared at him, expecting an introduction.

After a pause, his deep voice rumbled, “I’m Arnav. Arnav Singh Rathore.”

There was something magnetic about the way he said it. Dangerous. Powerful.

When he asked her why she had run in a wedding dress, her lips trembled. At first, she hesitated — but when he promised he’d help…

She broke down.

“My adoptive family… they sold me. In the name of marriage. I don’t even know the guy. They just wanted money. I just… I just want to study. That’s all I ever wanted.” Her voice cracked, tears glistening in her eyes.

Before he could respond, a bodyguard walked in and whispered something in Arnav’s ear.

“There’s an emergency. Stay here until I’m back,” he said, his tone clipped.

And just like that, he was gone.

He rushed straight to his lawyer.

“Tell me it’s not true, Varun,” Arnav growled.

The lawyer didn’t flinch. “It is. If you don’t get married now, your late mother’s property will go to charity.”

Anger boiled inside him.

No. Never. That property was his mother’s last memory.

He clenched his fists. Stormed to his mafia base.

Pulled the trigger again and again at the shooting wall until the entire domain trembled.

“The Tiger is angry…” his men whispered in fear.

Later that night, Arnav stood still, calm… deadly calm. He dialed Varun.

“Prepare a contract. I found the girl. I’m sending the details. I’m not letting go of what’s mine.”

Isha was growing restless in the mansion. A maid kept her company, but it didn’t help.

She just wanted to leave.

But when Arnav returned — he returned with purpose. And a file.

“Sign this,” he said. “Let’s get married.”

Her eyes widened.

“What the hell?! Are you out of your mind?!”

She turned to storm off — but in one swift move, he grabbed her wrist, twisted her arm behind her, pulling her flush against his chest.

His eyes darkened as they locked with hers.

It made him… weak.

He looked away. “It’s not a real marriage. Just a contract. Once you graduate, you’re free. I’ll fund your studies.”

“I don’t need your pity,” she snapped. “I already have a seat in Little Flower College.”

He smirked. “How about Green Land College? You know, India’s No.1.”

She paused. Considered. “Let me read it first.”

He let go.

She scanned the contract. No loopholes. No tricks. Just a cold, clean deal.

She signed.

He grinned — not out of happiness, but triumph. His mother's property was finally his.

“I want my own room,” she said, chin lifted like a queen.

“You can choose any. You’re the mistress now,” he said, his smirk not fading.

“Good. Then I’ll pick the sunniest one.”

She walked off with a maid, chose the room with the most light, and slammed the door shut.

Then screamed into her pillow.

“What is happening?! Is this real?! Am I dreaming?”

She pinched herself. Nope. Real.

“Oh my god. I’m in a contract marriage. With a hot and rich CEO?! This is like my K-drama fantasy on steroids!”

She giggled. Then caught herself.

“No. I can’t be weak. I’m not going to fall for him. I’m not going to be one of those girls.”

She crossed her arms, determined.

“I’m just here to study. Graduate. And leave. No heart flutters. No love triangles.”

She stared at the ceiling.

“And definitely no falling in love with Arnav Singh Rathore.”

But fate?

Does it have any other plans.

Isha was in a deep sleep, tangled in her dreams, when a loud knock disturbed the silence of her room.

Again.

And again.

With half-lidded eyes and sleepy steps, she dragged herself to the door, yawning as she turned the knob open—only to be met with the tall, sharp frame of *Arnav Singh Rathore*, her new husband. The infamous businessman. The cold-eyed CEO. Her accidental husband.

Her mind, influenced by late-night dramas and novels, instantly ran wild.

‘Is this… our first night?’she mumbled herself.she blinked at him, dazed.

In a soft, innocent voice, still half-asleep, she mumbled,

“What are you doing here in the middle of the night?”

He raised an amused brow.

“Middle of the night? It’s 9 in the morning.”

Her eyes widened in horror as she turned around to see the room glowing with sunlight. Embarrassed, she let out a small gasp.

“Come down in five minutes,” he ordered with a smirk.

“Why?”

“Are you planning to wear that lehenga your whole life?”

Only then did she realise she’d been wearing her wedding lehenga for *two whole days*. She sniffed herself. Yeah... not cute.

Mortified, she rushed to freshen up and came down just in time. Arnav took her to a mall—her first ever visit, though she'd seen them countless times in dramas.

‘Don't tell me... it's his mall too,’ she thought, half-sarcastically.

Turns out, it *was*. She overheard the staff whispering respectfully about their *boss*—Mr. Rathore. Of course.

In the clothing section, he looked at her and said in his usual deep voice,

**“Buy whatever you want.”**

Her eyes sparkled. For the first time in her life, someone gave her the freedom to choose for herself. While she wasn't grabbing dresses some female employees eyes were on him, and his were on Isha and her's on the dress. After few minutes she grabbed a few dresses, carefully picked. He raised an eyebrow.

“Only these?”

For a second, she expected him to be like the drama CEOs—sweep the entire store for her. But no, he was *Arnav Singh Rathore*. He only bought the ones she picked.

Disappointed, she made a face but didn’t say anything.

They went on to buy essentials and even college supplies. Just when they were about to leave, her eyes landed on a **book stall**. Her heart jumped. Novels—her escape.

She didn’t dare ask him.

But he noticed. He always noticed.

He handed her some cash casually.

“Your pocket money for today. If you want something, buy it now.”

She grinned like a kid in a candy shop, grabbed romantic and horror novels, and thanked him silently with sparkling eyes.

Later, he drove her to Green Land College, fulfilling the promise he'd made the night they married. He kept their marriage a secret—for her sake.

She enrolled in **BA Hindi**. When he asked why she chose Hindi, her reply was simple yet charming:

“I don’t know. I just love it. I want to learn more, explore it.”

Their eyes locked.

Something *shifted* in him.

A crack in the ice.

So he did what any emotionally unavailable man would do—he *avoided* her.

At home, he turned distant. Cold. She didn’t understand the switch and started calling him ‘Mr. Beast’ in her head.

A few days passed. She made her place in his house. Everyone started loving her.She transformed his cold mansion into something warmer—filled the garden with life, added colors to the walls, and slowly, unknowingly, entered his world.

The ruthless CEO's home started breathing agan

The house was quiet. Dead silent. A high-stakes business meeting was taking place in the main hall. The top executives sat frozen, barely daring to breathe.

Then…

“Roshni hi roshni hai…”

A romantic song blared from upstairs.

All heads turned.

Fear spread like wildfire.

He was *not* going to like that.

Except… he paused the meeting, leaned back into his chair, and with a rare smirk, whispered,

**“Good taste, Mrs. Rathore.”**

The tiger was softening.

Isha, blissfully unaware, was dancing around her room, getting ready for her first college day in a white salwar, silver bangles, kajal-lined eyes, and a soft bindi. Pure, desi elegance.

She stepped out with a radiant smile.

And the man who never smiled, did.

---

**Is the beast falling for the beauty?**

**And what's awaiting her in the campus**

Stay tuned. The fairytale is just beginning—but in this world, not all fairytales come with a glass slipper. Some come with secrets and blood.