Cold Billionaire

Shadows of a Vow

The soft morning haze draped itself gently over the city, casting a delicate silver-blue glow that mingled with the blossoming sunlight filtering through towering oaks lining the church’s winding driveway. The church, an elegant colonial-era structure, stood proudly amidst well-manicured gardens, its whitewashed stone walls weathered by time but resilient, much like the traditions it symbolized.

Inside, the soft murmur of guests dressed in vibrant, festive attire floated faintly through the grand oak doors, all eagerly awaiting the union that was meant to celebrate love. But for one young woman, the moment was weighted with a thousand unspoken doubts, a fragile hope slowly being drowned beneath the creeping shadow of obligation.

Anaya Maheshwari walked slowly toward the church. Her footsteps were light but deliberate, echoing faintly against the cobblestones strewn with scattered rose petals. The soft rustle of her veil brushed against her elaborately embroidered crimson lehenga, which shimmered under the gentle caress of morning light. The lehenga was adorned with intricate golden zari patterns—a timeless design with peacocks and lotus flowers woven with lavish precision. Her dupatta, sheer like gossamer, framed her delicate face with an ethereal quality.

Her eyes, a deep hazel, seemed distant, reflecting a storm of emotions beneath a serene surface. Long lashes cast shadows on her pale cheeks, where faint streaks of tears threatened to spill. Around her neck, a heavy kundan necklace lay snugly—cool against her warm skin—a symbol of tradition, but also of the expectations weighing down her heart.

Her father, a tall man with salt-and-pepper hair and a strong jawline softened by years of worry and love, came up beside her. He wore a classic cream sherwani with subtle gold embroidery, giving him an air of dignified elegance. His hand reached out, gently taking hers into his large, reassuring grip. Together they moved slowly toward the church doors.

Anaya stole a glance ahead. There he stood, the man who awaited her on the other side—the groom. Tall and poised, his black sherwani was impeccably tailored, a royal blue silk stole draped over his shoulder. His expression was unreadable, a mask of calm that gave nothing away. For a moment, their eyes met, and she saw in him no warmth, no spark of joy that brides and grooms usually shared on a day like this.

There was no glow lighting up Anaya's face either—no blush of happiness or anticipation. Instead, she felt like a ghost in a vivid dream, an actor playing a part no longer believed in.

Yet, all around, the world was watching, waiting for this union to ignite a celebration.

Anaya's mind wrestled with a cascade of questions no words could answer. Would this loveless marriage survive? Could she learn to love a man who felt like a stranger? Would he ever care for her in return? Or was this solemn ceremony just a facade, a binding contract stitched together by duty rather than desire?

In the quiet corners of her heart, she yearned to recall happier days—moments made vivid by laughter, sunlight, and a love that had once felt like the world itself.

Her thoughts drifted back to a memory more radiant than the silks she wore, a moment from a time when her heart was unburdened, and dreams felt within reach.

The backyard of her childhood home was a haven of tranquility, shaded by an ancient mango tree whose thick, leafy boughs swayed lazily in the summer breeze. The swing hung from rugged branches, creaking faintly with the weight of memories. Anaya sat perched upon it, savoring a modest cone of vanilla ice cream, a blissful contrast to the sharp heat around her.

She was casually dressed in a soft cotton kurti in pastel pink, paired with light blue jeans—simple, carefree clothing that spoke of youthful innocence rather than royal weddings. Her hair was loose, sun-kissed strands escaping their confinement to frame a radiant, smiling face.

Her fingers danced lightly over the screen of her phone as she texted her closest friend, Shreya, the words flowing easily in the warmth of afternoon light.

Suddenly, a voice, warm and teasing, cut through the stillness.

“Oh, so my shorty has grown up so much,” He said playfully.

Startled, Anaya turned to see a figure standing casually against the backyard door’s wooden frame. A tall young man, unmistakably handsome, with piercing eyes that shimmered with an unusual hue — a mix of emerald green softened by hints of blue, like the ocean under a cloudy sky. His impeccably tailored formal shirt was complemented by tailored trousers, his sleeves rolled up with a casual elegance.

For a heartbeat, Anaya wondered. Could it be him?

She had nurtured a quiet, unspoken crush on her brother’s best friend—Arjun—who had gone abroad at eleven, to study. Years had passed, but his image had remained vivid in her mind, a perfect memory frozen in time.

“Arjun?” she murmured, disbelief mingling with a rush of excitement.

The young man broke into a warm smile. “Yes, of course.”

Relief and joy swept through Anaya as she rushed forward, wrapping him in a tight, heartfelt hug.

“Oh my God, you’re back!”

He laughed softly, the sound like a balm to her scattered thoughts.

“Finally, you’ve come out of your dreamland,” he teased.

Anaya thought,

He’s even more handsome than I remembered. How can someone stay so perfect through the years?

“Hey, earth to Anaya. What happened? You seem lost in the clouds.” His tone was gentle but grounding.

“Nothing. Have you met Mum, Dad, and Haider yet?” Anaya asked eagerly.

“No, your hallway was empty, so I wandered out here,” he replied with a smirk.

“Come on, Mom would love to see you,” Anaya called, her voice rising.

Suddenly a voice from inside the house answered sharply,

“Why are you shouting? How many times do I have to tell you not to yell? And who’s this? Your new boyfriend?”

Her mother’s words echoed resolutely through the open windows.

Anaya’s smile faltered, the sting of rejection flashing in her eyes. Her mother’s disapproval was a constant shadow she longed to escape.

“It’s not like that,” Anaya hurriedly explained,

“This is Arjun. Remember? Haider’s best friend.”

Her mother’s tone softened slightly.

“Oh God, you’ve grown up so much,” she said, embracing Arjun.

“Hello, Aunty. I hope you’re well. And where is Haider?” Arjun asked politely.

Soon enough, the entire family had gathered, smiling and chatting with the returning friend. Haider, Anaya’s older brother, was visibly overjoyed at the reunion.

After a few hours passed, Haider and Arjun left together to visit Kabir’s house—their childhood friend’s. But before Arjun left, he turned to Anaya and said softly,

“Hey, Anaya?”

“Yeah?”

“I want to tell you something. Meet me tomorrow at Daniella’s Cafe. Okay?”

Her heart leaped with excitement. “Yes, of course,” she replied, unable to suppress a hopeful smile.

“Goodbye, then,” he said, walking away with a promise lingering in the air.

Anaya’s mind swirled with possibility. Could today be the beginning of a new chapter—one written with love and intention?

The reverie shattered against the harsh reality of her current path.

How naïve she had been, she thought bitterly. How could she forget the words that had shaped everything? Those fleeting moments of innocence now seemed like a cruel jest played by fate.

Anaya’s gaze sharpened, the weight of her resolve settling like a stone in her chest.

Would she allow herself to be bound by tradition and duty, or would she fight to forge her own destiny?

As the church bells tolled softly in the distance, announcing the impending ceremony, Anaya’s heart beat with a quiet strength—one that promised change, no matter the cost.