An Arranged Marriage

Beneath the Neon Lights

The music in the club was deafening, pounding against the walls like a heartbeat gone wild. Misha was in the center of the dance floor, her arms raised high, swaying to the rhythm, lost in the haze of alcohol and flashing lights. Sanaya, Riya, Vivian, Pari, and Pranjal were with her, but Misha hardly registered their presence. She was too far gone, too consumed by the chaotic mixture of frustration and helplessness that had been building inside her for days.

“I just don’t care anymore!” she yelled over the music, laughing as she stumbled and nearly tripped over her own feet. Sanaya caught her arm, steadying her, but Misha shrugged her off.

“Girl, you need to slow down!” Sanaya warned, but Misha ignored her, grabbing another drink from a passing tray and downing it in one go.

Her friends watched, concern written all over their faces. Pranjal, who had been watching Misha closely the whole night, stepped forward, his hand gently resting on her shoulder. “Misha, maybe we should get you some air. You’ve had too much.”

Misha’s drunken eyes landed on him, unfocused. “I’m fine! I don’t need air. I need more drinks!” she slurred, throwing her head back and laughing again.

Pranjal’s heart clenched. He had been in love with her for as long as he could remember, but she never seemed to notice. Tonight, though, she was too vulnerable, too lost, and he couldn’t leave her like this.

“Misha, please. Let me help you,” he insisted, gently guiding her toward the back of the club where it was quieter. She resisted at first but then stumbled against him, too drunk to fight anymore.

As Pranjal carefully held onto her, a figure in the crowd caught his eye—Kartik.

Kartik was leaning against the bar, his arm casually draped over the shoulder of a woman who was obviously flirting with him. His expression was unreadable, but the second his eyes landed on Misha and Pranjal, something dark flashed in them. He straightened up, letting go of the woman without a second thought, and moved through the crowd toward them.

Pranjal felt Kartik’s presence before he even saw him. The energy shifted, and suddenly, Kartik was standing in front of him, towering, his jaw clenched, his eyes cold.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Kartik’s voice was low and dangerous, barely audible over the music.

Pranjal straightened up, keeping his grip on Misha as she swayed in his arms. “She’s drunk, Kartik. I’m just trying to help her.”

Kartik’s gaze flicked to Misha, who was barely conscious, her head lolling against Pranjal’s chest. His expression hardened. “She doesn’t need your help.”

Pranjal met Kartik’s eyes, defiant. “She’s my friend. I’m taking her home.”

Kartik stepped forward, his presence intimidating, his fists clenched at his sides. “You’re not taking her anywhere.”

Before Pranjal could respond, a couple of guys who had been eyeing Misha earlier moved in closer, laughing and making crude remarks. One of them reached out to touch her, but before he could, Kartik snapped.

Without hesitation, Kartik’s fist collided with the guy’s jaw, sending him stumbling backward. The other guy tried to jump in, but Kartik was faster, slamming his fist into his stomach. Both men crumpled to the floor, groaning in pain.

The commotion drew attention, and a small crowd began to gather. Pranjal stepped back, his face tense with shock and anger. “What the hell is your problem, Kartik?”

Kartik didn’t answer immediately, his gaze focused solely on Misha. He moved closer, pulling her out of Pranjal’s grasp and into his arms. “You stay the hell away from her,” Kartik growled, his voice sharp. “She’s coming with me.”

Pranjal’s fists tightened at his sides, his eyes blazing with frustration. “She doesn’t want to be with you! She doesn’t even want to marry you!”

Kartik turned, his expression unreadable but his grip on Misha firm. “She’s my fiancée, and whether you like it or not, she’s coming home with me.”

Pranjal opened his mouth to argue, but the look on Kartik’s face stopped him. There was no point. Kartik had made up his mind, and Pranjal knew there was nothing he could do to change it.

Kartik, without another word, cradled Misha’s unconscious body against him and made his way out of the club, ignoring the curious glances and whispers from the onlookers. He carried her effortlessly, his jaw clenched as he pushed open the doors and stepped into the cool night air.

---

The ride to his villa was silent, save for Misha’s soft breathing. She was completely knocked out, her head resting against his shoulder as the driver sped through the streets of Ahmedabad. Kartik stared down at her, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts. She was still wearing the same glittering dress from the club, her hair slightly disheveled, her makeup smudged.

And yet, even in this state, there was something about her that stirred something deep inside him. She wasn’t just beautiful. She was… complicated.

Kartik sighed, running a hand through his hair. This wasn’t how he had imagined the night going. He hadn’t even planned on seeing her here. He had come to the club for something else entirely—a distraction, a quick fling to keep his mind off everything that had been happening lately. But seeing Misha with Pranjal had ignited a fire inside him, a possessiveness he hadn’t expected.

He wasn’t used to feeling jealous. He wasn’t used to caring this much.

When they reached his villa, Kartik gently lifted Misha out of the car and carried her inside. His home was modern and spacious, far from the traditional mansion his parents lived in. He preferred his privacy, his space. And tonight, he was thankful for that.

He laid Misha down on his bed, covering her with a blanket. She shifted slightly, mumbling something incoherent before falling still again. Kartik stood over her for a moment, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest.

She was his fiancée. Soon, she would be his wife.

Whether she wanted to be or not.