"She was promised in silence, sold without consent—now she's chained to a king who only knows how to conquer, not love."

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: ( 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫, 𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠)

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"She was promised in silence, sold without consent—now she's chained to a king who only knows how to conquer, not love."

The rain had come late this monsoon—violent, unrelenting, and cold like a warning wrapped in silver thunder.

Meher Rathore sat by the carved jharokha, her books clutched tightly to her chest, the smell of wet mitti rising from the garden below. A solitary lamp flickered beside her, its flame restless, like her. The sky wept quietly over Udaipur, but inside her heart, a storm far older was waiting to break.

She heard them before she saw them—her parents whispering, footsteps soft with guilt. Her mother’s gold bangles barely made a sound tonight. That alone was enough to make Meher stand.

“Come here, beta,” her father called softly.

Meher’s brows furrowed. His voice was too polite. Too careful.

Her mother’s eyes glistened with something unsaid.

She stepped into the room like a lamb into a slaughterhouse, and within seconds, her life was torn in two.

“Your… rishta has been fixed,” her mother said, voice trembling.

“With whom?” Meher asked, though her bones already knew.

A silence thicker than the rain followed.

“Raunak Pratap Singh,” her father finally said. Each word fell heavy, as though it cost him blood to speak them.

The name nearly knocked the breath out of her.

Raunak Pratap Singh.

Udaipur’s golden prince and its darkest nightmare. Heir to the Singh estate and rumored king of its underground empire. A man whispered about behind closed doors and cursed by fathers who owed him money. Rich beyond comprehension, cold beyond belief. A man of silk kurtas and blood-stained hands.

He was twenty-nine.

She had turned nineteen three months ago.

“No.” The word escaped her lips before thought. “No. You can’t.”

Her father’s face hardened. “I must.”

“For what? For money?” she spat, her voice unrecognizable to her own ears.

“For your uncle,” her mother whispered, eyes downcast. “He borrowed from them… from Raunak. And we can’t repay the debt.”

“And so you sell me?” Her voice cracked. “To a man like him?”

“It’s not selling,” her father said, almost gently. “It’s protection. This is the only way to keep our family alive.”

Meher backed away like she’d been struck.

She thought of her college, her books, the dreams stitched into poems that had never seen the light of day. She thought of freedom, of evenings on rooftops, of laughing with her best friend beneath mango trees. Of the quiet ambition to live a life not extraordinary—but her own.

Now, she was being handed to a man who was both legend and terror.

That night, Meher packed nothing. What could you carry into a prison built of silk and gold?

When the black SUV arrived at dawn, the city was still asleep. Only the sky, swollen with secrets, watched her leave.

The man who opened the door didn’t speak. He just nodded once.

And behind the tinted glass sat Raunak Pratap Singh.

Tall. Immaculate. Dressed in a dark sherwani embroidered in blood-red thread. His hair was slicked back, sharp jawline carved by shadows. But it was his eyes that froze her—obsidian cold, watching her like she was prey, not bride.

Not a flicker of a smile.

Not a trace of warmth.

Just one sentence, spoken in a voice like velvet and venom.

“Get in. You’re mine now.”

_________

"Draped in red, wrapped in silence—she walked into a palace, not knowing it was a cage gilded in her own blood."

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Meher had always imagined her wedding. Like every Indian girl, she'd dreamed once—soft jasmine garlands, the sound of laughter, the sacred fire warming her skin, a man who looked at her like she was made of dreams.

Reality was colder.

Raunak’s haveli rose like a monster in the hills outside Udaipur. Ancient stone, sprawling balconies, jagged domes. It looked like a palace built on secrets—and power.

As she stepped through the massive iron gates, Meher felt her soul shiver.

Her bridal lehenga was crimson, almost black in certain lights, heavy with zardozi so intricate it cut into her skin. Her hands were weighed down with gold she did not ask for. Her lips were painted, her eyes lined, her body wrapped like a gift in chains she couldn’t see.

Everything looked beautiful on the outside.

But inside, she felt buried alive.

The wedding was swift—efficient, almost surgical.

The pandit spoke his mantras, but no one wept.

There were no cousins giggling, no sisters adjusting her dupatta. No father with misty eyes. Only guards, guests who didn’t smile, and a man beside her who didn’t flinch when the fire roared.

Raunak’s presence was thunder wrapped in velvet. Silent. Immovable. Dangerous.

He hadn’t spoken a word since the car ride.

When he tied the mangalsutra around her neck, his fingers brushed her skin.

She didn’t shiver. She froze.

The vermilion he filled in her parting was too red—like fresh blood, not sindoor.

And when he looked at her during the final vow, there was no affection.

Only ownership.

After the wedding, they said she was the luckiest girl in Udaipur.

Married to wealth. Married to power.

But that night, in the chambers of marble and silk, Meher felt like a lamb tossed into the lion’s den.

The room was silent when she entered.

Candles flickered along the walls. Rose petals were strewn across the bed like a cruel joke. The air was thick with sandalwood and anticipation.

She stood at the threshold, breath shallow, heart thrashing.

Raunak was already inside. Sitting near the window, his sherwani replaced with a crisp white kurta, sleeves rolled to his elbows. A glass of neat whiskey in one hand, silence in the other.

He didn’t turn.

“You’re not what I expected,” he said finally.

She said nothing.

“You’re quieter than I like. But prettier than I thought.”

Her hands curled into fists.

“I’m not a doll,” she whispered.

His head tilted, slowly. Like a predator studying its prey. “No. You’re not. Dolls don’t fight.”

He stood then—fluid, tall, far too calm.

And walked toward her with the confidence of a man who had never been denied.

Her back met the wall before she realized she was retreating.

“You’re scared,” he said, voice like silk dragged across steel. “Good. That’ll keep you from doing anything stupid.”

“You think fear is loyalty?” she asked, eyes locked on his.

He smirked.

“No, dulhan. But it's the best place to start.”

That night, he didn’t touch her.

But he did lean in, his breath ghosting her ear.

“One day, Meher,” he murmured, “you’ll beg me to want you. And I’ll enjoy every second of breaking you down.”

Then he walked away.

Left her standing, alone, as the vermilion in her hair began to feel like a burn she’d never scrub out.

"In the palace of power, her silence became her weapon—and every shadow whispered secrets she wasn’t meant to survive."

___________

"In the palace of power, her silence became her weapon—and every shadow whispered secrets she wasn’t meant to survive."

Morning arrived not with sunlight, but with shadows that slithered through ancient curtains like smoke.

Meher hadn’t slept. Not even for a moment.

She sat on the bridal bed untouched, her red dupatta draped like a shroud over her head, the heavy gold mangalsutra pressing into her collarbone as if trying to mark her from the inside out.

The silence was heavier now. Not peaceful, but watchful—like the walls of this haveli had eyes.

There was no knock. Just the creak of the door opening on its own.

A maid entered—eyes lowered, feet bare, voice mechanical.

“Breakfast is ready, bahurani. Malik saheb has left for Jaipur. He will return by dusk.”

Her first breath in hours felt sharp. The predator was away.

For now.

Meher wandered the halls of her new cage like a ghost in red.

The haveli was enormous—too quiet, too perfect. The chandeliers glistened like frozen blood. Ancient Rajput paintings stared down from walls with hollow eyes. The corridors echoed with secrets.

Every step she took, she felt it.

She was being watched.

The staff didn’t meet her eyes. The guards at every corner stood too still. The women whispered behind covered mouths. No one smiled.

There were rules, she realized. Unspoken ones. Ones she hadn’t been told but was expected to follow.

Don’t ask questions.

Don’t go beyond the east wing.

Never enter the locked library.

And never, ever speak Raunak’s name aloud.

She broke the first rule by noon.

In the courtyard, she stopped a younger servant girl carrying jasmine garlands.

“Why does no one go into the east wing?”

The girl flinched. “It’s… closed, bahurani. Has been for five years.”

“What’s there?”

“Ghosts,” the girl whispered. Then ran off like she had said too much.

Ghosts.

Meher’s eyes flicked toward the stone archway that led east. Covered with a thick velvet curtain and guarded like a tomb.

Something pulsed behind it. Not quite danger. Not quite death.

But something alive.

Later that day, she stood before a full-length mirror in her chamber. The bridal jewelry still weighed on her. The vermilion in her parting had faded but left a stain, like dried blood.

And for the first time, she asked herself:

Who is Raunak Pratap Singh really?

And what was she married into?

By dusk, he returned.

She didn’t hear the engine. Only the shift in the air. The silence that came with him.

He walked in as if the haveli bent around his presence.

This time, he didn’t ignore her.

He found her on the veranda, reading a book she hadn’t touched in hours.

“You’ve been exploring,” he said.

Her spine stiffened. “It’s my home now. Isn’t it?”

He smirked. “That depends. Are you planning to live here... or escape?”

Her eyes met his—unflinching for once.

“Maybe both.”

Raunak’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“You’re bold today.”

“And you’re used to obedience,” she shot back.

He stepped closer.

“Tell me, Meher,” he murmured. “Do you believe you’re clever? Brave? That I’ll fall for your fire eventually?”

She said nothing.

He tilted her chin up, his touch ice over flame.

“Let me give you a truth,” he whispered. “This haveli isn’t your home. It’s my kingdom. And every queen who stood before me eventually learned—love doesn’t live here. Only loyalty. Bought or broken.”

Then he turned away.

And for the first time, Meher didn’t tremble.

She burned.