Marrying Mr Unpredictable (COMPLETED✅️)

Prologue

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Arya:

The grand mansion loomed before me, its walls echoing with secrets and shadows. This was the palace of Mr. Ishaan—a man as enigmatic as the moon on a cloudy night. I, Arya, now legally bound to him as his wife, stood at the threshold, my heart a tempest of uncertainty.

Ishaan was a puzzle wrapped in indifference. He believed understanding others was superfluous, a luxury he could do without. As for me, I grappled with my role in his life. Was I merely a pawn in this elaborate game, or did destiny have other plans? Can I ever find a place in his heart, or am I just a mere responsibility to him?

And what if he discovers the tangled threads of our shared past? The man who wed me, a desperate escape from the clutches of my ex-husband Varun, could transform into my tormentor if he unravels the truth. Amidst the haunting echoes of our painful past and the unforeseen twists of the present, could I find a place in his heart irrespective of the painful past we shared and the unexpected situations of the present? What if he comes to know that he married his enemy?

My past haunted me—the shards of broken memories, the tears I'd shed silently having no one to ease the pain, or to understand me. Had I stepped into another hell, or was my existence solely meant for enduring pain?

The door creaked open, and I flinched. His footsteps, heavy and deliberate, drew closer. I turned away, avoiding his gaze. Sweat beads clung to my skin, a testament to the danger that radiated from him.

"Turn this way," Ishaan's voice sliced through the air. I obeyed, meeting his eyes.

"Look at me while I speak," he commanded. His eyes bore into mine, unyielding.

"You know the reason behind our marriage," he said, his words sharp as shards of glass. "Our marriage is a mere arrangement. We are not a couple. But as long as you reside here, this must remain intact."

I nodded, my silence an agreement to the unspoken pact.

"And Arya," he continued, "don't keep any expectations. You're not my wife, nor will you ever be."

Before he could finish, a soft patter of footsteps interrupted us. A child's laughter danced in the air.

"Dad."

Ishaan froze, his stern expression melting. A smile curved his lips as he knelt, arms open. Eira, my daughter, rushed into his embrace.

Eira's words hung in the air, a fragile hope wrapped in her question. "Mom said that I can call you 'Dad' from now. Is it true?" she asked, her eyes wide and searching.

Ishaan hesitated, his expression guarded. "No," he replied, and Eira's face fell. My heart clenched; I had hoped for a different answer. But then, unexpectedly, Ishaan's stern facade softened.

"Eira," he said, his voice gentle, "Not just in name, but in every way—I am your dad. You are my daughter." His words held a quiet strength. "From now on, if anyone questions it, tell them you are Ishaan's daughter. They won't dare to challenge that."

He leaned down, cupping Eira's face, and kissed her forehead. She beamed up at him, her eyes shining. "I love you, Dad," she whispered.

"I love you too, my sweet girl," Ishaan murmured.

Eira's next request was predictably innocent. "Dad, I want ice cream."

"It's late, Eira," I interjected, not wanting to test Ishaan's patience. "No ice cream. Just go to bed."

But Ishaan surprised me. "We'll go out for ice cream," he declared, scooping Eira into his arms. "I'm taking my daughter with me."

As they left, I set up the bed, my mind racing. Where would I sleep? Should I share the bed with him? Would he allow me to sleep in this room? When they returned, Eira chattering excitedly about flavors, I watched Ishaan closely. Would he be annoyed by her endless questions?

"Why are you standing there?" Ishaan asked, amused. "Aren't you sleepy?"

"I just...don't know where to sleep," I admitted.

"Sleep here," he said, patting the bed. "Eira will be in the middle. No more discussion on it. "

I climbed in beside him, my heart fluttering. Eira settled between us, her voice a constant stream. I feared Ishaan's patience might wane, but he surprised me again. He listened to every word, weaving a bedtime story for her until her eyelids drooped.

As I lay there, I realized my fate hadn't changed. But Eira's had. She had a good father now, and that was enough—for both of us.

The following day, I found myself standing outside Ishaan's personal gym, clutching a cup of coffee. His mother had ordered that I deliver it to him. Nervously, I knocked on the door.

"Who's there?" Ishaan's voice echoed from inside.

"It's Arya," I replied.

"Come in."

As I stepped into the gym, my eyes widened. Ishaan stood there, shirtless, sweat glistening on his skin from an intense workout. I felt oddly uncomfortable, my gaze darting away.

"Why are you here?" Ishaan's tone was curt.

"Cof...coffee," I stammered.

"Who told you to bring it? I've made it clear—you're not my wife, and you never will be. Don't interfere in my affairs. Unless it's about Eira, don't bother meeting or talking to me. Understood?" His words stung, and tears welled up. I was nothing to him—a mere inconvenience. My life seemed to follow a pattern: abandoned by my parents at birth, left by Varun after our child was born, and now, Ishaan's indifference.

I placed the coffee cup on his table and retreated to my room. As I got ready, I heard Ishaan's mother summon me to the kitchen.

"Aunty," I addressed her hesitantly.

She fixed me with a stern look. "Our reputation is already tarnished because of this marriage. My son, married you- the mother of a six-year-old, I still can't fathom why. From now on, follow my instructions. Be a good daughter-in-law, and perhaps our reputation can be salvaged."

For my daughter's sake, I swallowed my pride and remained composed. The weight of my past clung to me, but I resolved to endure for Eira's future.

"In this house," Auntie's stern voice echoed through the kitchen, "everyday food should be prepared by the daughter-in-law. You must learn the taste of each family member, adapt, and cook accordingly. Here, we don't rely on grinders or mixers. You'll grind the masalas for curries and handcraft chutneys for breakfast. Only then will the flavors truly sing."

I nodded, my heart racing. The list she handed me was extensive—a culinary marathon. Were they planning to feast or perhaps sell this bounty? I wondered.

Today, I had an interview and that's important for me. How could I possibly cook this huge list of dishes, and still make it to the interview on time? And what if his mother demanded lunch preparations afterward? Saying no would be a direct affront to her authority, and my husband's wrath was a tempest I couldn't weather.

I had married him to flee one misery, only to find myself ensnared in another—a web of tradition, status, expectations, and silent suffering.

Hi Friends, how is the first episode and bonding between Eira and Ishaan? Can Arya ever find happiness in her life?