The storm outside was only a reflection of the one brewing inside Malhotra Villa.
Aarika had stopped counting the nights when the walls felt like prison bars, but today was different. Today, she had decided she would leave. Even if she had nowhere to go, she would walk away with her broken self rather than die inch by inch here.
Her small suitcase was packed—just a few clothes, her mother's framed photo, and the sindoor box that now felt more like a curse than a blessing. Her trembling fingers zipped it shut when the door creaked open.
Armaan.
He stood there, an amused smile tugging at his lips as though he had caught a child stealing candy.
"Running away?" His voice was calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that made her bones freeze.
"I... I can't live like this anymore," she whispered, clutching the handle of her bag. "Please... let me go."
For a moment, silence stretched. Then his laughter cut through the thunder outside. "Let you go? Aarika, you're not a wife—you're an investment. And investments don't get to walk away."
Before she could react, Siya appeared from behind him, her crimson lips curling into a cruel smile. "Poor thing still believes she has choices," she mocked. "You should've seen her face when she found us in your office. Like a doll whose strings were cut."
Aarika's chest tightened. "Why are you doing this to me? What did I ever do?"
Siya stepped closer, her heels clicking against the marble. "You were born weak. That's enough."
The next few minutes blurred into chaos. Armaan grabbed her wrist, yanking her suitcase from her hand. "No one will believe you. Not your parents, not the world. To them, I'm a hero. And you? You're a silly little bride who doesn't know her place."
He dragged her to the staircase, his grip iron. Rain lashed against the tall glass windows, lightning illuminating his face—perfect, handsome, but twisted.
Siya leaned in, whispering venom. "End of the line, doll."
Then it happened.
A hard shove to her back. Her feet slipped. Her scream was swallowed by the storm.
She tumbled. Once. Twice. The marble staircase cut into her body, sharp and merciless. Her head struck the edge. Warm blood poured across the white floor like ink bleeding on paper.
The pain was unbearable, yet not as cruel as the betrayal above her.
Through blurred vision, she saw them. Armaan, standing at the top of the stairs with his hands in his pockets, smiled. Siya was by his side, her arms looped around his. They looked down at her as if admiring their work of art.
"She tripped," Siya said loudly, turning to the horrified maid who had just entered the hall. Her smirk was cold, practiced. "You saw that, didn't you? She lost her balance."
The maid froze, fear locking her voice. No one dared question the Malhotras.
Aarika coughed, blood staining her lips. Every bone screamed. Every breath was a war. She tried to call out, but her throat betrayed her.
Armaan descended a few steps, crouching beside her broken form. His cologne stung her nose, masking the coppery scent of blood. He leaned close, his words a dagger in her ear.
"You should've stayed quiet, Aarika. Now... you're nothing."
Her eyes blurred. Her body was no longer hers—it was weight, pain, and silence. She felt herself slipping, as though the storm outside was pulling her away.
And for the first time, she realized the truth:
No one was coming.
No one ever had.
And as the thunder roared, the world dimmed around her.
ESTÁS LEYENDO
REWRITING MY THRONE (Available on SCROLLSTCAK )
FanfictionShe died as a victim. She rose as a queen." At just 18, Aarika Verma was forced into a marriage to save her family's business. What she got in return was betrayal, abuse, and heartbreak. Her husband, the perfect man in public, was a monster behind c...
