Chapter 2 : The Escape

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.

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