Chapter 3 : The Warning

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.

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