Chapter 7
796 Words
“They dressed me like a bride, but I felt like a prisoner.”
I woke up to chaos.
Dozens of people swarmed the penthouse makeup artists, stylists, decorators, priests, bodyguards. The entire place smelled of roses, sandalwood, and betrayal.
A deep-red lehenga lay on the bed, shimmering under the soft sunlight. Heavy gold jewelry was neatly arranged beside it. My breath caught when I touched the fabric smooth, expensive, suffocating.
Kiara (whispering to herself):
“They’re dressing me for my own funeral…”
The head makeup artist, an elegant woman in a black saree, walked in briskly, clapping her hands.
Makeup Artist:
“Ma’am, sit. We don’t have time. Mr. Shah wants you ready in an hour.”
Her voice was firm, almost fearful, like someone too scared to disobey orders.
I stared at her reflection in the mirror, silent, while my heart screamed, Run.
An Hour Later
The transformation was complete.
The girl staring back at me wasn’t Kiara anymore she was a doll painted in crimson and gold, eyes rimmed with kohl, lips a blood-red promise.
The entire penthouse buzzed with hushed excitement and controlled chaos. I sat frozen, clutching my lehenga skirt, trying to stop my trembling.
And then… he arrived.
Rivan Shah
The door opened, and Rivan walked in, clad in an ivory sherwani with gold embroidery, radiating raw authority. He didn’t knock. He didn’t speak at first. He just stood there tall, sharp, terrifyingly composed watching me like I belonged to him.
My chest tightened. My nails dug into my palms.
Kiara (breaking the silence, voice shaking but sharp):
“There’s still time, Rivan… You can stop this. Stop ruining both our futures.”
For a second, his lips curved, almost amused, but his eyes… his eyes were lethal.
Rivan (low, dark):
“Sweetheart, the only future you have… is the one I choose.”
Before I could protest, his fingers wrapped around my wrist, pulling me up.
Kiara (yanking her hand back, shouting):
“Let me go! You can’t force me into this!”
Rivan (leaning close, whispering in my ear, chilling):
“I already am.”
The Mandap
When we entered the grand ballroom, my breath caught.
The entire penthouse had been transformed into a wedding palace — roses cascaded from the ceiling, golden drapes flowed across the walls, hundreds of guests glittered in silks and diamonds.
Laughter, clinking glasses, chanting priests…
It was surreal.
Rivan led me to the mandap and sat me beside him, his grip on my waist disguised as affection but really a warning.
The pandit started chanting mantras, his voice steady, rhythmic, detached.
I couldn’t take it anymore.
Kiara (screaming, standing abruptly):
“STOP THIS! He kidnapped me! He’s forcing me to marry him!”
Gasps echoed across the hall. I looked around desperately, scanning hundreds of faces, hoping someone , anyone would help me.
But nobody moved.
Nobody cared.
They just… stared.
Whispers rippled through the crowd.
Guest 1 (murmuring):
“Do you know who he is? No one crosses Rivan Shah.”
Guest 2 (whispering):
“She should be grateful. He chose her.”
Their indifference hit harder than any slap. My legs wobbled, my voice cracked.
Kiara (yelling, desperate):
“You’re all insane! This is a crime! Someone stop him!”
Rivan stood, towering over me, his jaw clenched. He leaned down, his whisper slicing like glass:
Rivan (quietly, for my ears only):
“Sit. Down.”
I swallowed hard, my chest heaving, and slowly, my body gave in not out of choice, but out of survival.
The chanting continued.
Garlands exchanged.
The red sindoor traced my hairline.
The mangalsutra clung to my neck.
And just like that, my freedom was burned to ashes in holy fire.
After the Ceremony
The ride was silent, except for the pounding in my head. When we reached his new mansion, it felt less like a home and more like a fortress towering gates, security cameras, guards at every corner.
Inside, everything screamed luxury and power black marble floors, crystal chandeliers, art worth millions. But all I saw were bars.
I was seated in the grand living room when an advocate approached, holding a file.
Advocate (respectfully):
“Mrs. Shah, your late father’s will.”
I froze.
My throat went dry.
The advocate opened the file and read aloud:
Advocate:
“As per Mr. Malhotra’s will, all his assets including properties, shares, and accounts are to be transferred to his daughter, only upon her legal marriage to Mr. Rivan Shah.”
I blinked, stunned.
Kiara (whispering, shaking):
“You… you planned this. From the start.”
Rivan smiled, slow and cruel.
Rivan (leaning back, voice soft but deadly):
“Welcome home, Mrs. Shah.
Everything your father built… is yours.
And you… are mine.”
- Writer
