𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠..
𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐧? 𝐇𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠.
She became his wife by fate.
Loving him? That was never part of the deal.
Veer Malhotra doesn't believe...
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I walked into the grand hall of the venue, the sound of shehnai and guests’ chatter echoing all around. The space shimmered with golden lights and floral decor, but my eyes weren’t admiring any of it. I was searching.
For someone.
For him.
No, not the groom.
Someone who would listen. Someone who mattered.
My eyes landed on Papa.
Yes—him. The right person.
The only one I think who could stop this before it went too far.
I walked straight to him, my heart racing. “Papa,” I said, pulling him slightly aside, “I need to talk to you. It’s important.”
He looked at me, concerned but calm. “What is it, Radhika?”
“She’s not marrying him for the child, Papa,” I said quietly, urgently. “She doesn’t care about the boy. She’s doing it for the name, the status, the money. That’s all. We can’t let this happen.”
His expression changed—shifting from calm to firm in seconds.
“Radhika, no. I trust my brother’s decision. And if he approved this match, then there must be a reason. I won’t go against him.”
I shook my head, frustration rising. “But Papa—”
His voice cut through mine, sharper now. “That’s final. No more talking about this. I don’t want any drama. This is a wedding, not your stage for some moral crusade.”
He turned and walked away, his decision echoing louder than the music around me.
I stood there, stunned. Alone in a crowd that didn’t even know a storm was coming.
But I knew one thing for certain—I couldn’t disobey my father’s word.
------
Soon, the time came to bring the bride to the mandap. The music changed, the priest called out for the bride, and the guests turned their heads in anticipation.
And for my bad luck, it had to be me.
“Radhika,” my aunt Urmila said, adjusting the pleats of her saree, “go bring Priya. The groom is waiting.”
I forced a smile and nodded. “Sure, Aunty.”
My feet dragged as I made my way back to the bridal room. I took a breath, preparing myself for another round of fake smiles and tension—but the moment I opened the door, my stomach dropped.
The room was empty.
No bride. No dupatta trail. No clinking bangles. Just silence.
Panic surged. I stepped inside quickly, checked the bathroom. “Priya?” I called out.
