The Raichand mansion wasn’t just a house.

It was a kingdom.

Marble floors gleamed like still water, chandeliers spilled golden fire across the halls, and the silence of power hung in the air, sharp enough to cut. Men in black suits lingered near the walls, their eyes trained, hands near their jackets — bodyguards, not butlers.

Meher Singhania’s heels clicked against the polished marble as she walked inside with her parents. Every sound echoed, loud enough that she wanted to rip the heels off and run.

She hated it already.

Her father’s hand rested on the small of her back, steering her forward like she was a pawn in his business game. And in truth, she was.

“Behave,” he whispered under his breath. “Tonight is important.”

Important. Right. What he meant was: Tonight, I’m trading my daughter’s freedom to the Raichands to save my empire.

Her jaw clenched. She didn’t reply. If she opened her mouth now, she’d explode.

A movement across the hall caught her eye.

The heir himself walked in.

Aarav Raichand.

Tall, broad-shouldered, a black suit hugging his frame like sin itself. His tie was loosened just enough to make him look indecently casual, as though he didn’t have to try. His jaw was sharp, lips curved in the faintest suggestion of a smirk, and his eyes… his eyes were dark, bottomless, the kind that could drown you if you weren’t careful.

And they were fixed on her.

Meher’s spine stiffened. She hated the way her heartbeat stuttered for half a second.

Aarav’s lips moved first. A lazy, arrogant drawl.

“So,” he said, voice low and deep, “this is the girl my parents want me to marry.”

Meher’s chin tilted upward instantly. “Girl? I think you mean woman. But I suppose when you’re used to ordering people around, you don’t bother with details.”

The hall went dead silent.

Her mother gasped softly. Her father shot her a warning glare sharp enough to cut. But Aarav? Aarav didn’t flinch.

Instead, his smirk deepened.

“Fiery,” he murmured, eyes glinting. “Good. That will make things interesting.”

Meher’s nails dug into her palm. “Don’t flatter yourself, Mr. Raichand. I’m not here to entertain you.”

He stepped closer, slow, deliberate. His cologne — dark spice, smoke, something intoxicating — curled around her senses.

“Then why are you here?” he asked softly.

Her heart skipped, but she forced herself to meet his gaze. “Ask my father. He’s the one selling me.”

Something dangerous flickered across his face, gone as quickly as it came. Then his smirk returned, sharper than ever.

“Don’t worry,” he leaned down just enough that his breath grazed her ear, his words sinful, “I don’t buy things I can’t break.”

Her eyes widened. “You arrogant—”

“Meher.” Her father’s voice cut in, stern. “Control yourself.”

She swallowed her retort, every muscle trembling. Aarav, though, looked like he was enjoying every second of her rebellion.

Later, after the parents finished their “alliance discussions,” both families agreed the couple should “talk alone.”

Which really meant: Go out there, fight, flirt, or kill each other, we don’t care — just make this look good for the deal.

Aarav didn’t object. He simply stood, hands in his pockets, and walked onto the balcony like a king expecting his queen to follow.

Meher considered running. But she knew her father’s warning look too well. So she followed.

The night was cool, the city spread out below them in glittering lights. Aarav leaned against the railing casually, sleeves rolled just enough to show strong wrists and veins. The man knew exactly what he was doing.

“Let’s set rules,” he said without looking at her.

Meher crossed her arms. “Excuse me?”

“Rules.” He turned, eyes locking on hers, his smirk maddeningly slow. “Rule one: you don’t interfere in my work. Rule two: you don’t question my whereabouts. Rule three: you don’t try to run. In return…” He tilted his head, voice dropping suggestively, “I’ll give you anything you want. Clothes. Cars. Freedom — to an extent.”

Her jaw dropped. “Wow. You make it sound like you’re negotiating with a pet.”

His eyes darkened. He pushed off the railing, stepping closer, so close she could feel his body heat.

“Maybe I am,” he murmured, gaze dropping briefly to her lips.

Her breath hitched, but she quickly snapped out of it. “Well, bad news. I bite.”

That sinful smirk spread again. He leaned in, voice husky, double-edged.

“Oh, sweetheart,” his words dripped filth and promise, “I like when they bite.”

Her cheeks flushed crimson. “You—”

But before she could finish, he whispered, almost like a vow:

“You can hate me, Meher. You can fight me, scream at me, even despise me. But in the end, you’ll still have my name on your lips.”

Her pulse raced violently. She wanted to slap him. She wanted to… she didn’t even want to name the other thing.

So she squared her shoulders, glaring up at him. “You might own this city, Aarav Raichand. But you will never own me.”

He tilted his head, studying her like she was the most fascinating puzzle in the world. Then, with a slow, dangerous grin, he whispered:

“Challenge accepted.”

The wedding drums pounded like gunfire inside the Raichand mansion. Guests were drunk on music, champagne, and the prestige of being invited to the grandest wedding of the year.

But Meher Singhania stood in her bridal chamber, gasping for air as if the walls were closing in.

The lehenga weighed on her like a prison. Red silk, heavy embroidery — chains disguised as fabric. Gold jewelry clinked with every breath. She stared at her reflection in the mirror: a bride painted in submission.

Her lips trembled. No. This isn’t me. I’m not a pawn. I won’t be traded like cattle.

Her hand shot up and ripped the veil off her head. It fluttered to the floor like a crimson flag of rebellion.

“Fuck this wedding,” she hissed.

She shoved her feet out of the heels, kicked them aside, and strode to the balcony doors. The curtains swayed like an invitation. Her pulse roared in her ears. If she stayed, she’d suffocate. If she ran, maybe she’d die — but at least it would be her choice.

She pushed the balcony doors open and slipped into the corridor. Everyone was too distracted by the chaos of guests to notice the missing bride. Chandeliers glittered overhead like watchful eyes, but no one stopped her.

The night air outside bit her skin, cool and alive. She ran. The garden thorns snagged her lehenga, tearing threads, but she didn’t slow. She found the servant’s gate and shoved it open with both hands.

She was free.

Or so she thought.

A figure leaned against a car across the street, half-hidden in shadows. His rolled-up sleeves showed strong forearms, and a cigarette glowed between his fingers.

Kabir Malhotra.

Enemy of the Raichands. A man whose name alone made rivals bleed.

But Meher didn’t know him. To her, he was just a stranger with dark eyes that watched too closely.

“Miss?” His voice carried across the street — smooth, warm, almost protective. “You look… lost.”

Meher stopped dead, her chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. Suspicion clawed at her gut, but desperation made her reckless.

“I just… I need to get away,” she admitted before she could stop herself.

Kabir straightened, flicking the cigarette away. His gaze raked over her — torn bridal silk, wild hair, fury burning in her eyes. She was a vision. A fire. A weapon.

His pulse throbbed. Perfect.

“I’ll help you,” he said gently, walking closer. “You’re not safe alone. Come with me.”

Her chin tilted high. “I don’t need saving.”

His lips curved faintly. Fiery. God, she was even better than he imagined.

“Maybe,” he said softly, “but wolves hunt fire. And they’ve already seen you.”

He nodded slightly, and she noticed shadows moving in the alley. Two large men stepped out, their eyes locked on her.

Her heart stopped.

They lunged.

Meher’s scream cut the air as one man grabbed her arm. She thrashed, nails digging into his face until her hand came back bloody. He cursed, shoving her against the car.

The second man wrapped an arm around her waist. She slammed her elbow into his ribs, fury sharpening her strength.

“Let me go!” she shrieked.

The man laughed. “Fiesty little bride—”

Her head snapped forward. She bit down on his hand with everything she had, teeth sinking into flesh.

The man howled in pain, shoving her off. She spat blood onto the ground, chest heaving, eyes blazing.

“I’m not your prey,” she growled.

Kabir’s heart thundered. His men were doing their job — pretending to attack her — but he hadn’t expected this. She wasn’t weak. She wasn’t soft. She was fire made flesh.

He stepped forward, slamming a punch into one attacker’s jaw. “Back off!” he barked, playing the hero.

Meher’s chest rose and fell rapidly. Her body shook, but she still raised her chin. “I can fight my own battles.”

Kabir’s lips twitched into a dark smile even as he shoved another man back. “I can see that.”

But before he could press closer, before he could lure her fully —

Engines roared. Black SUVs screeched to a halt at the gates. The air crackled with danger.

Raichand men spilled out, guns drawn, eyes blazing. And at the center of them, stepping out like the devil himself, was Aarav Raichand.

His black sherwani caught the golden lights, his face carved in rage. His dark eyes landed on her — his runaway bride, hair wild, lehenga torn, blood on her lips.

Something primal snapped inside him.

“Meher!” His roar shook the night.

She froze. Her stomach dropped.

Aarav stalked forward, every line of his body screaming violence. The guards closed in around her, forcing the attackers back. But his gaze didn’t leave her for a second.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” His voice was low, lethal.

Meher’s throat tightened. Fear stabbed through her chest, but pride made her stand taller. “Leaving.”

Aarav’s jaw flexed. In three strides he was in front of her. His hand wrapped around her wrist, iron and fire. “You think you can run? From this marriage? From me?”

She tried to yank back. “Let me go!”

His grip only tightened. His face was inches from hers now, his eyes black storms. “Never.”

She shoved at his chest, hatred boiling. “I’d rather rot in hell than be your wife.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. His breath ghosted over her ear as he hissed, “Then I’ll make sure hell feels like paradise compared to me.”

Before she could retort, he dragged her forward, his arm locking around her waist with brutal force. The guards formed a wall, pushing Kabir’s men away at gunpoint.

Kabir stood in the shadows, fists clenched so tight his knuckles bled. He watched as Aarav hauled Meher back like stolen property.

But Meher’s fire — her fight, her bite, her refusal to bow — burned into his skull.

His lips curled into a slow, dangerous smile.

She’s wasted on him.

As Aarav forced her into the SUV, her eyes darted back one last time. For a second, Kabir caught her gaze. She didn’t know who he was, but he knew what he saw in her eyes: hatred for Aarav, suspicion for him, and beneath it all… fear.

Obsession took root in his chest. He wanted her. Not just as a pawn against Aarav, but as his.

And Kabir Malhotra always took what he wanted.

Inside the SUV, Meher thrashed, slamming her fists against Aarav’s chest. “Let me go!”

He caught both her wrists, pinning them against him. His voice was silk over steel. “You think the streets are safer than me? You’d be dead by now if I hadn’t come.”

She glared at him, tears threatening but refusing to fall. “Then maybe I’d prefer death than belonging to you.”

His eyes darkened, his grip bruising. He leaned close, lips brushing her ear in a whisper that dripped venom.

“You can fight me, hate me, run from me a thousand times. But remember this, Meher—” his breath scorched her skin, “you’ll always crawl back to my name.”

She jerked her head away, but his words coiled in her mind like chains.

Outside, the city lights blurred past. Inside, the storm had only begun.

And somewhere in the shadows, Kabir Malhotra smiled to himself, already plotting his next move.

Because two men had seen Meher Singhania tonight.

And neither intended to let her go.

The ride back to the Raichand mansion was silent, but the silence wasn’t peace. It was a storm waiting to tear everything apart.

Meher sat in the SUV’s backseat, her torn lehenga gathered around her like bloodied chains. The faint metallic tang of blood still lingered on her tongue from when she had bitten that man. Her wrists ached where Aarav’s grip had bruised her, and her chest heaved with rage that burned hotter than fear.

Across from her sat Aarav Raichand, sprawled like a king who owned the air she breathed. His jaw was stone, his dark eyes locked on her with a weight that made it impossible to look away.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to claw his face. Instead, she sat in furious silence, every muscle trembling with the effort of not lunging at him.

Finally, the car slowed, pulling up to the mansion gates. The sight of the glittering lights, the swarm of guests, the pounding wedding drums—it made bile rise in her throat.

Her life was about to be signed away in gold and blood.

The door opened. Guards waited, rigid as shadows. Aarav stepped out first, adjusting his sherwani with calm precision. Then he turned, extending his hand into the car—not in an offer, but in a demand.

“Out.”

Meher’s teeth ground together. “I can walk.”

His lips curved faintly, dangerously. “I wasn’t asking.”

For a moment, she thought about refusing. But his eyes… those black, endless eyes… promised ruin if she did. So she slapped her hand into his, and he yanked her out, not gently, dragging her through the grand doors as though she were already chained to him.

The music of the wedding shifted into muffled echoes as they entered. Servants froze at the sight of their future bride — torn clothes, hair undone, eyes blazing like a cornered wolf.

Meher’s father rushed forward, horror etched across his face. “Meher—what—”

“She tripped,” Aarav cut in smoothly, his voice coated in poisonous silk. His eyes flicked over the guests, who pretended not to stare. “Fix her up. We have a wedding to complete.”

He didn’t wait for questions. He dragged Meher up the staircase, his grip firm on her wrist. She twisted, tried to pull free, but his hand only tightened.

“You’re hurting me!” she hissed.

He didn’t look back. “Good.”

Her chest tightened. “You’re a monster.”

Finally, at the top of the stairs, he stopped. Slowly, he turned, and for the first time since they’d entered, his full attention dropped on her like a blade.

He leaned closer, so close his breath brushed her cheek. His voice was low, cruel, dangerous.

“No, Meher. Monsters hide in the dark. I don’t hide. I take.”

Her breath caught, her pulse tripping over itself. She wanted to spit in his face, but her body wouldn’t move. His presence pinned her in place like prey caught in a predator’s gaze.

Then, with terrifying calm, he dragged her into her bridal chamber and slammed the door shut.

The room still smelled of roses and incense, a sickly sweet perfume that made her stomach turn. Aarav pushed her into the vanity chair, his grip bruising.

“Sit.”

Her chest heaved. “I’m not a doll for you to—”

“Sit.” The word was sharp, cutting through the air.

Her body obeyed before her brain did, fury bubbling in her throat.

He stood behind her, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Her face looked foreign to her—wild hair, smeared kohl, lips red from the bite she had delivered earlier. A bride undone.

Slowly, Aarav reached forward. His fingers brushed her hair, gathering the loose strands. She stiffened.

“Don’t touch me.”

He ignored her, his movements deliberate. He twisted her hair, pinned it back with the golden clip discarded on the table, his dark eyes locked on her reflection.

“You thought you could run?” he murmured, voice too soft for the words it carried. “Do you know what happens to brides who run in my world?”

Her throat tightened. “Maybe I don’t care.”

His smirk curled. “You should. Because if anyone else had found you tonight…” His hand suddenly tightened in her hair, yanking her head back so she met his eyes in the mirror. “You’d already be in pieces.”

Pain shot through her scalp, but she refused to cry out. Her chest rose with sharp breaths. “At least then I’d be free of you.”

For a moment, silence stretched, heavy as a blade. Then Aarav chuckled—low, cruel. He bent, his lips brushing the shell of her ear.

“You think death frees you, sweetheart?” His whisper was venom. “Death only binds you deeper to me. Even in hell, you’d still belong to me.”

A shiver ran down her spine, unbidden, unwanted.

His grip loosened, and he continued fixing her appearance with calculated care, dabbing the smudged kohl from her lashes, straightening the torn veil, smoothing her lips with a thumb that lingered too long.

It felt wrong. It felt suffocating. It felt like possession.

“Smile for them,” he ordered coldly, straightening. “Let them think this is your choice.”

She whipped her head around, eyes blazing. “And if I don’t?”

His eyes darkened to black. He leaned down, his face inches from hers.

“Then I’ll show you what happens when a Raichand bride disobeys.”

The words dripped with threat and promise, each syllable heavy with violence.

Meher’s stomach churned, but she refused to look away. “I hate you.”

His lips twitched, a shadow of a smile. “Good. Hate me. It makes your eyes burn prettier.”

Minutes later, they descended the staircase. Meher’s family watched with forced smiles, relief plastered over shame. The guests whispered behind their hands, their curiosity sharp enough to cut.

Aarav walked beside her like a predator who’d tamed his prey. His hand never left hers, his grip iron.

The mandap glowed golden, fire crackling in its center. The priest droned sacred verses, but Meher barely heard them. Her world had narrowed to Aarav’s presence—his heat, his strength, the suffocating cage he carried around her.

When he tied the mangalsutra around her neck, she flinched, every cell screaming that this wasn’t a promise—it was a shackle.

When he smeared sindoor into her hairline, his thumb pressed hard enough to sting. He leaned closer, murmuring so only she could hear:

“Now you’re mine. Blood, fire, or ashes. All Mine.”

Her hands clenched into fists in her lap. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, but she stayed silent.

Because tonight wasn’t about choice. It was about survival.

And Aarav Raichand had just made it clear—he would rather burn the world than let her go.