Rathore Manor, The Grand Staircase Time: 8:00 PM
The noise of the party drifted up the staircase like a warning.
I heard the clinking of crystal glasses, the hum of polite, expensive conversation, and the soft strains of a live violin. To anyone else, it sounded like a celebration. To me, it sounded like the noise of a courtroom waiting to judge the prisoner.
I stood at the top of the marble staircase, my hand gripping the railing so hard my knuckles turned white. The heavy Kanjeevaram saree felt like armor against my skin, stiff and unyielding. The gold necklace—my mother's necklace—burned against my throat, a heavy reminder to keep breathing.
Dhruv stepped up beside me.
He looked devastating in a black tuxedo, the very image of a perfect, powerful husband. His hair was styled back, his jaw sharp enough to cut glass. But when he looked at me, his eyes were glacial.
He didn't offer his arm gently. He reached out and clamped his hand around my waist. His fingers dug into the silk, pulling me flush against his side with a force that knocked the wind out of me.
It wasn't a hug; it was a shackle.
"Walk," he commanded, his voice low and vibrating against my ear. "And smile."
I forced the muscles in my face to comply, pasting on a fragile, trembling smile.
As we began to descend, Dhruv leaned in closer, his lips brushing my temple. To the hundreds of guests below, it looked like a moment of whispered intimacy between newlyweds. A secret shared between lovers.
"Listen to me carefully," he whispered, the warmth of his breath contrasting with the absolute chill of his words. "Everyone down there is a shark. They are waiting for you to slip up. If you don't know what to say, keep your mouth shut. Nod. Smile. Look shy. But do not embarrass me."
"Okay," I breathed out, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.
We reached the bottom of the stairs.
The room went silent. All eyes turned to us.
I felt the physical weight of hundreds of gazes landing on me at once. I saw envy in the eyes of the women, assessing my jewelry. I saw calculation in the eyes of the men, assessing Dhruv's new asset.
And in the corner, I saw Suhana, watching like a hawk, waiting for me to trip.
"Mr. Rathore!" A man in a grey suit approached, beaming fake warmth. "Congratulations! She is stunning."
Dhruv's grip on my waist tightened—a silent warning to behave. He smiled—a practiced, charming mask that didn't reach his eyes.
"Thank you, Mr. Mehta. Meet my wife, Katha."
I folded my hands in a traditional namaste, just as I had been taught. The crowd seemed to approve of my submission.
"So beautiful," a woman whispered nearby, loud enough for me to hear. "Where did he find her? She looks so... innocent."
If only you knew, I thought. He found me in the dirt.
Dhruv guided me through the crowd like I was a trophy he had won. He didn't let me go for a second. He was marking his territory.
I felt suffocated, yet strangely anchored. His hand was heavy and possessive, but it was the only thing keeping me steady in this sea of strangers.
Then, the crowd parted.
A man walked toward us. He was handsome in a slick, oily way, holding a glass of champagne. His smile was wide, but it didn't reach his eyes.
Vikram Oberoi.
I felt Dhruv's body go rigid against mine. The tension radiated off him instantly, sharp and dangerous.
"Well, well," Vikram drawled, his eyes raking over me with a boldness that made my skin crawl. "The rumors are true. The Shark has finally been tamed."
He stepped into our personal space, ignoring Dhruv and focusing entirely on me.
"I must say, Dhruv," Vikram smirked, sipping his drink. "You have outdone yourself. She is exquisite."
He extended a hand toward me. "I don't believe we've been introduced. I'm Vikram. An... old friend of your husband."
I hesitated. I looked at Dhruv, but his face was a stone mask. I didn't know what to do. Should I shake his hand? Is that what rich people do?
Nervously, I began to lift my hand.
Vikram grinned, reaching out to grab my fingers, perhaps to kiss my knuckles.
Snap.
Before Vikram's skin could brush mine, a hand shot out.
Dhruv intercepted him.
He didn't shake Vikram's hand. He crushed it.
Dhruv grabbed Vikram's hand in a vice-like grip, squeezing with a force that made the other man's eyes bulge. The champagne in Vikram's other hand sloshed dangerously.
The air around us turned freezing cold. The music seemed to stop.
"Dhruv..." Vikram winced, his smile faltering as the bones in his hand ground together. "Easy... I was just introducing myself."
Dhruv didn't let go. He stepped closer, towering over Vikram. His eyes were dark voids of pure menace.
"She didn't ask for an introduction," Dhruv said. His voice was not loud, but it carried a terrifying weight that silenced the guests nearby.
"I was just being polite," Vikram tried to pull his hand back, but Dhruv held him fast. "She is a beautiful woman, I just wanted to—"
"You wanted to touch," Dhruv cut him off. He squeezed harder. Vikram's face turned red.
"Let me make something very clear to you, Vikram," Dhruv whispered, lethal and calm. "Keep your fucking hands away from my wife."
He shoved Vikram's hand away with a look of utter disgust.
Vikram stumbled back, nursing his throbbing fingers. He looked around, realizing people were staring. His ego was bruised.
"Possessive much, Rathore?" Vikram laughed nervously, trying to salvage his pride. "Relax. I wasn't going to steal her."
"You couldn't," Dhruv said flatly. "Because what is mine... stays mine."
He placed his hand back on my waist—possessive, heavy, claiming.
"Now get out of my sight before I have security throw you out."
Vikram glared at us, hatred burning in his eyes, but he knew he had lost. He muttered a curse and disappeared into the crowd.
I stood frozen, my heart racing so fast I felt dizzy.
I looked up at Dhruv. His jaw was clenched so hard a muscle feathered in his cheek. He was furious.
He defended me, I thought, confused. Why? He hates me. He treats me like a servant in the bedroom. But out here... he looks ready to kill for me.
Dhruv looked down at me. The anger in his eyes didn't vanish, but it shifted. He pulled me closer, so close I could smell the danger on him.
"Why did you raise your hand?" he hissed, low enough that only I could hear.
"I... I thought I was supposed to shake hands..." I stammered.
"You touch no one," Dhruv ordered, his dark eyes locking onto mine. "No one touches you. Do you understand? You are Mrs. Rathore. You don't offer your hand to filth like him."
He leaned down, his lips brushing my ear again.
"You belong to me, Katha. And I don't like other people touching my property."
I shivered.
The warmth I had felt earlier when he gave me the necklace evaporated. The illusion of the "Prince" shattered again.
He hadn't protected me because he cared about my dignity. He had protected me because he didn't want scratches on his new car.
"Yes, Dhruv," I whispered, lowering my eyes.
"Good." He straightened up, the mask of the charming host sliding back into place. "Now smile. The photographers are here."
Camera flashes erupted around us, blinding and bright.
I smiled. It was a perfect, practiced, plastic smile.
Dhruv's Bedroom / Terrace Time: 11:30 PM
The last guest had left. The music had died. The mask could finally come off.
Inside the bedroom, I unpinned the heavy pallu of the Kanjeevaram saree with trembling fingers. I let the silk pool at my feet, stepping out of the role of "Mrs. Rathore."
I quickly changed into a simple, worn-out cotton salwar kameez—my own clothes. I felt lighter, yet the weight in my chest remained.
I looked around the vast room. It was empty. The bathroom door was open and dark.
Where is he?
I looked at the floor near the sofa. My "bed." The rug lay there, waiting for me.
I should just sleep, I told myself, sitting on the edge of the rug. I survived the day. I got Maa's necklace back. I should be happy.
But the room felt suffocating. The air conditioning was stale. I felt like the walls were closing in, pressing against my ribs.
I can't breathe in here.
I stood up. I needed air. Just for five minutes.
I walked toward the glass doors that led to the private terrace attached to the bedroom. I slid the door open quietly and stepped out.
The night air was humid, carrying the scent of the sea and rain. I took a deep breath, closing my eyes.
"So you decided to show up."
The voice was rough, slurred, and dangerous.
I froze. My eyes snapped open.
Dhruv was there.
He was leaning against the stone balustrade at the far end of the terrace, his back to me. His tuxedo jacket was gone. His white shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his chest, sleeves rolled up haphazardly.
In one hand, he held a crystal tumbler filled with amber liquid. A half-empty bottle of expensive scotch sat on the ledge next to him.
My heart skipped a beat. I hadn't realized he was out here.
He is drinking, I thought, panic rising. Rich people drink to celebrate. But looking at his slumped shoulders... this doesn't look like a celebration.
"I... I am sorry," I stammered, taking a step back. "I didn't know you were here. I just wanted some fresh air. I'll leave."
I turned around to go back inside.
"Stop."
It wasn't a shout. It was a low growl that vibrated through the night air.
"Right there."
I stopped, my hand hovering over the door handle.
"Come here," Dhruv commanded. He didn't turn around. He took a long, burning swig of his drink.
I hesitated. Every instinct screamed at me to run. But the command in his voice was absolute.
I walked slowly toward him, my bare feet silent on the terrace tiles. I stopped a few feet away.
"Yes?" I whispered.
Dhruv spun around.
The movement was sudden and violent. He tossed the glass onto the floor—it shattered into a thousand pieces with a loud crash.
Before I could flinch, he grabbed me by my upper arms. His grip was like iron, pulling me forward until our bodies collided.
"Dh... Dhruv?" I gasped, my breath hitching. I looked up at him.
His eyes were bloodshot. His hair was messy, falling over his forehead. He smelled of strong alcohol and agonizing grief.
He looked wrecked.
"What... what happened?" I asked, my voice trembling. "Did I do something wrong? The party..."
"You liked it, didn't you?" Dhruv hissed, searching my eyes.
"What?" I blinked, confused.
"When that bastard Vikram was trying to touch you," Dhruv sneered, shaking me slightly. "You liked the attention. You liked him smiling at you."
"No!" I shook my head frantically. "No, I didn't! I didn't know what to do... I was scared!"
"Stop lying!" Dhruv shouted, his voice cracking. "Everyone is a fucking liar! Everyone betrays you!"
He released my arms and stepped closer, invading my space. He was so close I could feel the heat radiating off him.
His hand slid up my neck, cupping my jaw. His thumb pressed hard against my bottom lip, silencing my protest. The touch was rough, possessive, and confusingly intimate.
"You all enjoy making me hate myself, huh?" Dhruv whispered, his eyes glazing over with tears. "You look so innocent... but you're just like them. Deceitful. Cruel."
He pushed me back, stumbling slightly.
"Go," he waved his hand weakly, turning his face away. "Go away. I don't need anyone. I don't need you."
I saw a single tear escape his eye, tracking through the stubble on his cheek.
I stood frozen. I had seen the Monster. I had seen the Billionaire. But I had never seen this.
He is crying, I thought, shock paralyzing me. The man who crushed a hand today... the man who bought me like cattle... he is broken.
I knew I should leave. He told me to go. This was my chance to escape his wrath.
But something in me—perhaps the same part of me that missed my mother, the part that understood loneliness—didn't let me move away.
I moved toward him.
"Get out!" Dhruv groaned, pushing my shoulder again, but his push had no strength. "Just... leave me alone."
He didn't sound like a businessman. He sounded like a boy lost in the dark.
I didn't listen. I stepped into his space. I raised my hands and gently cupped his face. My palms felt the rough stubble of his cheeks.
"Tell me..." I whispered softly, looking into his wet, tormented eyes. "Sir... tell me what happened. I will help you."
Dhruv froze at my touch. His eyes widened, staring at me as if seeing a ghost.
He covered my hands with his own, pressing my palms harder against his cheeks. He leaned into my warmth, desperate for it.
"You..." he choked out.
Slowly, agonizingly, he tilted my chin up. His gaze dropped to my lips.
My breath hitched. My heart hammered against my ribs like a drum. What is he doing?
Dhruv leaned down.
He closed the distance.
His lips crashed onto mine.
My world stopped.
It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was desperate. It was hungry. It tasted of scotch and salt tears. He kissed me as if I were the only oxygen in a room full of smoke.
His arms wrapped around my waist, crushing me against him, lifting me off my feet slightly.
I stiffened for a second, shock coursing through my veins. But then, the overwhelming intensity of his grief swept me away. My hands, which had been hovering, slowly slid up to wrap around his neck.
I kissed him back. Tentatively at first, then surrendering to the storm.
Dhruv groaned against my mouth, deepening the kiss, devouring me. For a moment, on that dark terrace, there was no contract. No deal. Just two broken souls colliding.
He pulled back just an inch, his forehead resting against mine, both of us panting for air.
"I love you..." Dhruv whispered, his voice broken and raw.
My eyes widened. My heart stopped beating for a second.
He... loves me?
Tears streamed down Dhruv's face, dripping onto my cheeks.
"Please... don't do this to me again," he begged, his voice cracking with unbearable pain. "I loved you more than anyone... I gave you everything..."
His grip on me tightened, painful and desperate.
"Please don't leave me... please..."
I was gasping for breath, my mind spinning. Is this real? Is the monster gone? Is this the Prince Maa talked about?
"Yes..." I whispered, my voice trembling with emotion. "I won't... I won't leave you."
Dhruv let out a shuddering breath. His body went heavy against mine. His knees buckled.
He fell forward, collapsing into my arms. I struggled to hold his weight, grabbing his shoulders as his head fell onto the crook of my neck.
He was losing consciousness, the alcohol finally winning.
But just before he slipped into the darkness, he mumbled one last word against my skin. A word that shattered my heart more than his cruelty ever could.
"Don't... leave me... Tara..."
Tara.
Silence fell over the terrace. The only sound was the wind and Dhruv's heavy, uneven breathing against my neck.
I stood frozen. My arms were wrapped around him, holding him up. My hand had been about to stroke his hair comfortingly.
It stopped in mid-air.
Tara.
The name echoed in my mind like a curse.
It wasn't for me.
A cold numbness spread from my chest to my fingertips.
The kiss... the tears... the 'I love you'... none of it was for Katha.
He was looking at me, but he was seeing her. He was kissing her memory.
I looked down at the unconscious man in my arms. He was heavy, warm, and vulnerable. But he wasn't mine.
How could I be so stupid? I thought, fresh tears burning my eyes—tears of humiliation. How could I even think for a second that a man like him would say this to me?
Who am I to him?
I am just a replacement.
I am just a body he bought to fill the empty space she left.
I slowly lowered him to the floor, my movements mechanical. I looked at his sleeping face, the tear tracks still wet on his skin.
He loved Tara. He still loved the woman who destroyed him.
And Katha? Katha was nothing.
I touched my lips, which still tingled from his kiss.
"I am nobody," I whispered to the darkness.