3. The Forced Vows

The wedding hall glittered, a monument to a celebration that would never be. Marigolds hung heavy with scent, silk drapes shimmered, and the sacred fire in the mandap crackled, waiting. Guests murmured, their polite smiles starting to falter as minutes stretched into an ominous silence. The bride, Naira, was nowhere to be found.

Avya stood to the side, a silent, grim spectator. She had watched the whispers turn to panicked glances, the nervous coughs turn to stifled gasps. She knew. She had begged Niara to tell the truth, but Naira had been too afraid. Now, the cost was about to be paid, and Avya felt a cold dread settle in her stomach. It wasn't her fault, yet she was tied to it.

Just as the whispers escalated into outright distress, a figure strode into the hall. It wasn't the runaway bride. It was Riaan Malhotra.

His expensive sherwani was slightly dishevelled, his hair falling across his forehead, and his eyes... his eyes were wild, blazing with a fury that silenced the entire room. He bypassed the worried Malhotra family, bypassed the gasping guests, and walked straight to the mandap. His gaze, colder than ice, swept over the empty space, then landed on Avya.

A collective gasp went through the hall as he stalked towards her, his footsteps echoing in the sudden, cavernous silence.

"Where is she?" His voice was a low snarl, barely audible but vibrating with menace.

Avya met his gaze, her own eyes unwavering, a flicker of defiance burning in their depths. "She's gone," she said, her voice steady despite the tremor in her gut. "Just like I told her to be, if her heart wasn't in it."

Riaan's jaw clenched, a muscle twitching furiously. "You knew?"

"I knew her heart belonged to someone else," Avya confirmed, her voice a quiet, pointed accusation. "And I told her to be honest. To you. To her family. She chose not to."

Riaan's hand shot out, grabbing her arm with bruising force. He pulled her forward, dragging her towards the mandap. The air crackled with shock. His parents rushed forward, horrified.

"Riaan! What are you doing?!" his mother cried, her voice laced with terror.

"This marriage will happen!" Riaan roared, his voice echoing through the stunned silence. He spun Avya around, pushing her roughly towards the sacred fire. His hand, subtly, almost imperceptibly, slipped into his inner jacket pocket. Avya's eyes, sharp and trained, caught the glint of metal. A gun. Tucked just out of sight, but undeniably there. The unspoken threat was a cold, hard knot in her stomach.

He leaned in, his voice dropping to a furious, chilling whisper meant only for her. "She made a fool of me. You knew everything. Now, you will pay the price."

Avya stared at him, her chest heaving, not with fear, but with an inferno of rage. "I will not!" she hissed back, her voice low but fierce. "You think you can just claim me because she ran? You think I'm a replacement? I am not a pawn in your games, Riaan Malhotra!"

But he ignored her words, his eyes daring the trembling pandit to object. "Continue the ceremony!"

The pandit, pale and shaking, stammered out the Sanskrit verses. Riaan forced Avya through each sacred step. He grabbed her hand, making her offer the rice to the fire. He twisted her arm, making her walk the seven steps around the flames, each circuit a fresh layer of humiliation. Avya moved like a marionette, her face a mask of stone. Her heart hammered with a desperate, icy rage. She wouldn't break. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

When it came time for the sindoor-the vermillion powder signifying a married woman-Riaan snatched the small box from the pandit. His eyes locked with Avya's. They were no longer wild with just fury, but with a terrifying, desperate finality. He smeared the sindoor roughly onto her hairline, his thumb pressing too hard, grinding it into her skin.

Then, he took the ornate mangalsutra-the sacred necklace-from the pandit's trembling hand. He clasped it around her neck, the gold cold against her skin, the black beads a stark contrast to her pale throat. Each bead felt like a chain tightening around her freedom.

"Now," Riaan said, his voice raw, "you are my wife."

Avya didn't speak. She didn't scream. She didn't cry. She just stared at him, her eyes burning with a silent, terrifying promise: You will pay for this. I swear, you will pay.

The moment the last vow was uttered, the final blessing mumbled, Riaan released her, his chest heaving. The stunned silence of the guests finally broke into a frantic uproar.

But Avya didn't linger. Her gaze, still locked on Riaan, was a silent vow. With a slow, deliberate movement that held the weight of an approaching storm, she lifted her hands. Her fingers, trembling slightly from adrenaline but precise in their purpose, went to the mangalsutra at her neck. She unclasped it, the delicate gold chain glinting in the temple light, and placed it carefully on the empty seat beside the sacred fire. Then, with her thumb, she wiped the sindoor from her hairline, leaving a faint, angry red smear on her skin. She didn't wipe it off completely; it was a mark, a wound, a reminder of what he had done.

She looked at Riaan one last time, a cold, dangerous fire in her eyes that promised absolute ruin. Then, without a word, she turned and strode out of the hall, her silk saree rustling like a vengeful whisper. She didn't look back at the horrified faces, the shocked family, or the man she was now bound to.

She left them all stunned. Because not only could a man storm out of a wedding, but a woman could too. And this was just the beginning. This was her leaving him with a clear reminder: a storm, in the form of Avya, was about to cross them, one he had invited himself.

“What do you think Avya is going to do next?”

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