Chapter 3: The Shattered Reflection
1032 Words
The yellowed paper in Aryan’s hands was like a burning coal. His eyes were bloodshot, as if years of suppressed lava were about to erupt today. Riya was pinned against the wall, panting for breath. A piece of her broken bangle lay near her feet, shimmering like a sharp weapon in the occasional flash of lightning. She wanted to speak, she wanted to scream, but the sheer terror of Aryan had paralyzed her.
"Why don't you look at it?" Aryan’s voice thundered, overpowering the storm outside. "These are your father’s signatures, Riya! Because of this single piece of paper, my mother begged for justice until her last breath. Your father framed mine for embezzlement just to seize his properties. My father rotted in jail, and my mother... she was reduced to ashes, burning in the fires of sickness and disgrace! Can you even imagine the agony she felt?"
Aryan moved even closer. The heavy scent of his perfume was now suffocating her. He grabbed Riya’s hand with a jerk and pulled her toward the paper. "Speak! Do you still have anything left to say? Is your 'humanity' still awake? Say something! Why are you silent? Has someone sealed your lips?"
Riya looked at the paper through blurred eyes. She couldn't read the letters; she could only feel the profound pain etched on Aryan’s face. She choked back a sob and said in a trembling voice, "Aryan... if this paper is real, then my father might be a criminal. But please believe me... I knew nothing about this. Until today, I considered him my idol. I had no idea..."
"Idol?" Aryan laughed cruelly. "You idolize a thief? That’s why they say blood always shows its true colors. Your blood holds the same cunning as your father’s. You want to melt me by wearing this mask of innocence? That will never happen."
Suddenly, Aryan pulled Riya into a tight grip. The open buttons of his shirt rubbed against her velvet bridal dress. Riya felt an icy shiver travel down her spine.
"Tonight is a night of celebration, Riya," Aryan whispered near her ear. "But this is not the celebration of your wedding night; it’s the celebration of your ruin. You said I was a beggar, didn't you? Fine, let’s see what you have to offer me today."
He wiped a tear from Riya's cheek with his finger, but the touch wasn't of love—it was of possession. Riya closed her eyes tightly, feeling that everything was about to end. But just then, an old photo frame on the right side of the room fell from the wall and shattered into pieces— Crash!
Aryan froze. It was a photo of his mother, perhaps knocked down by a gust of wind. Seeing the fallen photograph, the hatred on Aryan’s face was replaced by a deep, piercing ache. He shoved Riya away and moved toward the broken frame.
Glass shards were scattered across the floor. Aryan sank to his knees and picked up the faded picture of his mother with trembling hands. "Ma..." only one word escaped his lips, and he broke into a sob.
Riya saw that the stone-hearted man who was terrifying her a moment ago had broken down like a helpless child in an instant. Her fear turned into compassion. Adjusting her heavy lehenga, she slowly took steps toward him, her anklets making a soft, melodic chime.
"Aryan..." Riya gathered the courage to place a hand on his shoulder.
"Get away from me!" Aryan shouted, but his voice lacked its previous strength. "This is all because of you. Even your shadow is tainting my mother’s picture."
Riya didn't stop. She sat on the floor beside him. She moved a large shard of glass, which cut her own finger, and a drop of blood fell onto the floor, but she didn't care.
"Aryan, hate me, punish me, keep me prisoner in this mansion. But don't burn yourself in this fire," Riya said through her sobs. "If my father has wronged your mother, I am ready to spend my life atoning for it. But do you think your mother would be happy seeing her picture fall in the shadow of such hatred? Answer me, Aryan!"
Aryan turned his head. His eyes no longer held the predator's glint; they were filled with tears. He saw the blood flowing from Riya’s finger, touching the edge of his mother’s photograph.
"Blood..." Aryan whispered. He suddenly grabbed Riya’s hand. "You... why are you acting like this? You should hate me. I turned your wedding night into hell, and you... you're pitying me?"
Riya looked directly into his tearful eyes. "Because I was taught about relationships, not deals, Aryan. Even if this marriage is built on a foundation of hate, for me, these seven vows were real."
Aryan let go of her hand. He stood up and walked toward the large window of the room. It was still raining outside, but it no longer seemed as terrifying as before.
"Go from here, Riya," Aryan said without turning around. "I am sparing you tonight. But don't think I have forgiven you. This is just the beginning of my revenge. Tomorrow morning, when you cross the threshold of this house, you will realize the real price of being 'Mrs. Aryan Malhotra'."
Riya stood up, her body shivering. She picked up the piece of her broken bangle from the floor and walked with heavy steps toward the sofa. She didn't have the courage to go to the bed.
The room fell silent once again, but this time, the silence held a question—will Aryan’s hatred lose to Riya’s innocence? Or will the morning sun bring a new and terrifying ordeal for Riya?
Is there another truth hidden behind that paper that Aryan cannot see?
What 'game' is Aryan going to play with Riya in the morning that will take her outside the mansion?
Is Riya’s father truly a killer, or is someone else the mastermind behind this entire destruction?
Stay tuned for the next episode!
- Writer
