The air was thick with tension, suffocating in its weight.

Anaya stood in front of the full-length mirror, her reflection staring back at her—a bride in name only. Dressed in a deep red lehenga, embroidered with gold, she looked regal, powerful… and yet, beneath the surface, she was a storm barely contained.

This wasn’t a wedding.

It was a war.

The heavy wooden doors creaked open behind her, and she didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

She could feel him.

Aarav Malhotra.

His presence was a force—dark, suffocating, inescapable. He moved closer, the faint scent of his cologne—smoky, intoxicating—invading her senses.

"You’re running out of time, Sharma," his deep, velvety voice drawled behind her. "Unless you plan on walking down the aisle in chains."

Anaya met his gaze through the mirror, her hazel eyes burning with defiance. "You wouldn’t dare."

His lips curled into a smirk, dark amusement dancing in his piercing brown eyes. "Wouldn’t I?"

Slowly, he closed the distance between them, his towering 6’3” frame looming over her. She refused to step back. She refused to show weakness.

But her heart pounded when he reached out, his fingers grazing her bare shoulder, trailing up the curve of her neck, his touch deliberate.

"You hate this, don’t you?" he murmured, his voice low, taunting. "Hate that you can’t stop this. Hate that you’re about to be mine."

Anaya swallowed, refusing to let her body betray her. "I’ll never be yours, Malhotra."

His smirk deepened.

"Keep telling yourself that, Mrs. Malhotra."

Her breath hitched. He was already claiming victory. Already asserting control.

But he underestimated her.

With a slow, deliberate movement, she turned, her hands pressing against his chest, pushing him back. "Enjoy this moment, Aarav," she whispered, her lips barely inches from his. "Because the second this wedding is over, I will make your life a living hell."

Aarav chuckled, dark and amused. He reached up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear before tilting her chin up, forcing her to hold his gaze.

"You think you can fight me, Sharma?" His voice was a dangerous whisper, sending shivers down her spine. "You’ve been trying for fifteen years. And yet, here we are."

Her nails dug into his shirt. "I will destroy you."

His smirk was pure sin. "Then do it as my wife."

And just like that, the war began.

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