Chapter -1
The sharp crack of a gunshot pierces through the mansion, freezing my breath for half a second before adrenaline takes over. My hand flies to the drawer by instinct, fingers curling around the cold steel of my gun. My pulse is a steady roar in my ears as I rush toward the main hall, my mind racing with the worst possibilities.
But nothing—nothing—could have prepared me for the sight that greets me.
A man lies motionless on the marble floor, blood pooling beneath him like a grotesque piece of art. And yet, the room is unnervingly calm. Abeer Suryavanshi, my father’s rival, sits across from him, completely at ease, as if a body hadn’t just dropped in front of him.
He tilts his head slightly, barely sparing the corpse a glance. "I apologize for his ruthlessness, Vikrant," he says smoothly, his voice carrying a weight that makes the air feel heavier. Then, as if the matter of death had been nothing more than an inconvenience, he continues, "So, we're settled. We end the feud with a relationship—a marriage. Your family's daughter to my son, Sairaj."
The words barely settle in the room before every gaze shifts to Alekha, my sister—the eldest, the one everyone expects to be chosen. My father doesn’t hesitate, nodding his agreement.
But then—
"Her."
One word, spoken with quiet authority, shifts everything.
I feel it before I even process it—the weight of his stare pinning me in place. My head turns, almost reluctant, and that’s when I see him.
Sairaj Suryavanshi.
I knew the name too well.
I knew the eyes too damn well.
It's been years since that one night but those eyes have never left my memories.
He sits at the head of the room, his posture exuding effortless dominance, his dark eyes trained solely on me. He looks younger in person—twenty-six, maybe twenty-seven—but there’s nothing young about the way he carries himself. Six-foot-three of lethal elegance, draped in a sleek black tailored suit that fits his frame too perfectly to be anything but custom-made. If not for the tattoos creeping up from his collar, I might have doubted he was the same man who had just pulled the trigger.
But the piercing intensity in his gaze tells me otherwise.
His expression is unreadable, his gaze dark, heavy, unmoving—as if he’s already decided, as if there was never another choice.
My father looks at me, considering the statement for only a moment before nodding at Abeer Suryavanshi. Just like that.
Just like that, my fate is sealed.
I don’t move. I don’t breathe.
Because for the first time in my life, I don’t understand what just happened.
And the man still staring at me like he owns me already—he sends a shiver down my spine.
Sairaj slips his gun back into his holster with the same ease as breathing, as if ending a life and arranging a marriage in the same breath is nothing out of the ordinary.
My grip on the gun slackens, my fingers numb. The metal clatters against the marble floor, but I barely hear it over the rush of blood in my ears.
Clatter.
My fingers flexed. His gaze falls to the gun and then to me, he tilts his head just a little, as if he's about to hunt. And I was the prey.
He gets up with smooth elegance, he walks towards me, my heart thuds against my chest but then he bends and before i realise I try to pick up my gun on my own, my fingers brush against his. I want to kill him this very moment, to think I'm some pawn in his game.
I get up, instead of giving me the gun, he pulls the waistband of my jeans and tucks the gun inside, his fingers brushing ever so slightly against my skin, burning it. His eyes never left mine. Not for a second. "See you soon, wife" he whispered to me." He wasn't asking, it was a statement, it was true. And before I could come up with a reply, he's gone.
But just before he steps out, he glances back.
His dark gaze clashes with mine, heavy, unreadable. A silent warning? A claim? A promise? I don’t know. I don’t know anything except that the world I knew has just shattered in front of me.
The handshake between my father and Abeer Suryavanshi seals my fate. Their men walk out, and I stay behind, frozen.
And then, one by one, the sympathetic stares settle on me.
I hate it.
My mother steps forward, her eyes softening. I don't want her sympathy. I want an answer. I want to know why.
"Kyu, Maa?" My voice cracks. "Papa ne mana kyu nahi kiya?"
Why didn’t he stop this? Why didn’t he fight for me?
She wraps me in her arms, but I can’t even lift my hands to hold her back. I feel nothing. Nothing but the numbness spreading through my veins.
Then, my father walks back in.
He doesn't bother to acknowledge what he just did. As if it is another one of his business deals, cold, calculated, authoritative.
He raised me to be so many things but not a pawn, yet here I was just another girl, who became an asset for ending years of animosity. The same story every girl in our world has become mine, I swore that would never be my destiny.
I walk away from my mother's embrace, following him to his study.
My lips tremble,
My father moves with nonchalance. His calmness makes my rage burn in my throat.
He turns, pours himself a glass of whiskey, and sinks into his chair, completely at ease—as if he hasn’t just thrown me to the wolves.
Then, finally, his eyes meet mine.
"People are dying, Amber. More than we expect." He takes a measured sip, his voice even, emotionless. "The outside forces are weakening us, and we need to work together to fight them. To trust each other, we need a bond, and nothing is stronger than marriage in our world."
I stand frozen, fists clenched at my sides. He speaks like this is some well-thought-out strategy, not my damn life.
"I taught you well, Amber."
A bitter laugh almost escapes me. He taught me how to fight, how to lead, how to survive. But not how to be sold off in the name of peace.
"And the fact that your to-be husband—or our enemy, as you put it—chose you?" He exhales, his expression unreadable. "That is much better than Alekha being the one sacrificed. Her innocence would be the end of her sanity. And you, my dear," his voice drops, quieter but sharper, "I raised you to be strong. If anyone can handle this, it's you."
I feel the sting before the words even register.
"Sacrificed."
That’s what this is. That’s all this is.
My nails dig into my palms, but my face stays blank. Years of control, years of training, all leading to this moment.
"I know you're worried about your boyfriend back in Iravelle," he continues, swirling his drink lazily, "but sweetheart, this world is a cruel place for love."
The words slice through me.
Love
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