Chapter 5 : Fire in Chains

The Raichand mansion was quiet, but Meher’s blood still roared in her ears. The image of crimson roses drowning in blood wouldn’t leave her mind. The sound of Aarav’s gunshot echoed inside her skull.

She hated him. She hated this place. She hated the heavy gold around her neck, the red sindoor that mocked her in every mirror.

And yet—she wasn’t broken.

When Aarav dragged her back to their chamber, his grip was unrelenting, his expression calm as if he hadn’t just ended a man’s life. He didn’t flinch when she tried to pull away, didn’t react when her nails clawed his wrist hard enough to leave marks. He only smirked, that infuriating smirk that felt carved into his face.

The bedroom doors slammed shut behind them. He finally let go of her arm. She stumbled, spinning around, chest heaving.

“You’re sick,” she spat, her voice shaking. “Killing a man like that—like he was nothing—”

Aarav loosened his collar, walking past her, casual as if she wasn’t even yelling. “Correction, Mrs. Raichand.” He poured himself a glass of whiskey from the crystal decanter, his back to her. “He was nothing.”

Her fists trembled. “Do you feel nothing? Do you not even—”

He turned then, glass in hand, eyes glinting with something dark. “Feel?” A humorless chuckle left his lips. “I felt satisfaction. Watching him bleed in my garden. Knowing you saw what this world really is.”

“You’re a monster.”

“Mm.” He took a slow sip, never breaking eye contact. “And yet, sweetheart, you married me. Now you wear my name. My ring. My chain.”

Her hand flew to the mangalsutra around her neck, rage burning in her chest. “This isn’t a chain. It’s a curse.”

He stepped closer, slowly, deliberately, until her back hit the wall. His hand braced beside her head, trapping her in. The whiskey in his other hand swirled, amber liquid catching the light.

“Call it whatever you like.” His voice was a whisper, velvet and steel. “But when you look in the mirror, when you see that mark of sindoor, when you feel that necklace… remember one thing.”

His face dipped lower, his breath fanning her lips.

“You belong to me. And no matter how much you hate it—hate me—you’ll choke on my name before anyone else’s.”

Her breath stuttered. Her body tensed, anger and an unfamiliar burn twisting in her stomach. She shoved his chest, hard. He didn’t budge.

“Stay the hell away from me,” she hissed.

He smirked, sipping his whiskey again, stepping back as if letting her win. But his eyes never lost that sharp glint.

“Relax, wife. I’m not touching you… yet.”

His pause was deliberate. Sinful. His tongue brushed the rim of the glass as he added, almost lazily:

“But when I do, it won’t be gentle.”

Meher’s face burned scarlet, fury and shame clashing inside her. She stormed past him, slamming into the bathroom, locking the door.

On the other side, she could hear him chuckle. Low. Dark. Amused.

 ---

Across the city, in a dimly lit warehouse, Kabir's patience snapped like glass.

He slammed his fist into the table, startling the men gathered around. “Useless idiots! She was in our hands, and you let him take her back!”

The man who had survived limped forward, sweat beading on his brow. “Raichand was faster, boss. He came with an army—”

Kabir’s jaw ticked. His dark eyes narrowed, but then, slowly, a smirk tugged at his lips.

“Faster, maybe. Stronger, for now. But I saw her.”

The room fell silent.

Kabir leaned back in his chair, remembering her eyes—fire, even in fear. Her voice, sharp enough to cut. Her defiance when she bit his man.

Not weak. Not meek. Not like the women he’d known.

“She isn’t like the others,” Kabir murmured. “She has fire. And fire… once you touch it, you can’t forget the burn.”

His men exchanged uneasy looks. Kabir’s smirk deepened.

“I’ll take her,” he said softly, almost like a vow. “Not for leverage. Not for power. For me.”

He lifted a glass of wine, swirling it lazily. “Let Aarav think he’s won. Let him think she’s his little bride. But one day soon, she’ll come to me. She’ll learn what real freedom feels like.”

His men shifted uncomfortably, but no one dared speak. Kabir’s obsession had taken root, and they all knew—once their boss wanted something, he wouldn’t stop.

 ---

Back in the Raichand mansion, Meher stood in front of the mirror, fingers gripping the edge of the vanity so hard her knuckles turned white. Her reflection mocked her. Red bridal bangles clinked on her wrists, heavy jewelry weighed her down, and behind her eyes—the fire refused to die.

He thought he had broken her tonight. He thought showing his beastly side would terrify her into submission.

He was wrong.

If anything, she hated him more.

Her escape attempts had been reckless, emotional. She realized that now. Running blindly was suicide—not just because of Aarav, but because of men like Kabir waiting outside these walls.

If she wanted freedom, she’d need to be smarter.

She started watching. Listening.

When Aarav left the mansion at dawn for meetings, she memorized the time. When guards changed shifts at midnight, she counted the gaps. She learned which servants looked away, which doors creaked, which hallways echoed.

Every detail became a weapon.

And as days passed, her resolve sharpened.

The mansion wasn’t just her prison. It was her map. And she was learning how to escape it.

But even as she planned, his shadow haunted her.

Every time she stepped into the hall, she felt his gaze. Every time she sat at the dining table, his smirk lingered like poison in the air. At night, she could hear his footsteps in the corridor outside her locked door, slow, deliberate—as if reminding her that no lock in the world would stop him when he decided to come in.

And yet, in the dark, her hatred whispered to her heart—

Don’t break. Don’t bend. Outwit him. Outrun him. Outlive him.

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