Chapter-3
Amber
I turn on my heels and walk back, conflict flickering in my eyes, but I know better. My fate is sealed. I would be a fool to think otherwise.
Marriage was inevitable, but if I had to surrender to it, I wanted to do it on my own terms. And yet, here I was-powerless, cornered.
My family watches me, sympathy etched on their faces.
"Koi mar gaya hai kya?" (Did someone die?)
Then my gaze shifts to Viren's lifeless body.
Figuratively, someone did.
"Clean it up," I say to my brother, my voice void of emotion. "They didn't have it in them to take their own dead man. Send it to my future husband."
I feel the gun burning against my skin, but what burns more is his touch. What burns even more is that I didn't punch that smugness off his face when I had the chance-that I didn't kill him with the same gun.
I ignore my family's futile attempts to comfort me and head upstairs. I don't need comfort. I need a solution.
Digging through files for hours, I search for anything-anything that might end this misery without a marriage. But the Suryavanshis are clean. Too clean.
For the world, they are businessmen. Abeer Suryavanshi and his three sons-Atharva, Kabir, and him.
My father might know what he's doing, but there has to be another way.
By 2 a.m., frustration coils in my veins. There's only one place left to look.
I head to the parking lot, straddle my monster of a bike, and pull my helmet over my head. The engine roars beneath me as I ride straight into enemy territory.
Am I safe? No.
Do I care? No.
Am I going to kick ass? Definitely.
The towering steel gates of their estate loom ahead. I don't bother with the entrance. Instead, I move toward the side security wall.
An old gardener I had tipped earlier watches the guards carefully. When the moment is right, he signals me.
"Thank you, Kaka."
"Jaldi karo, bibi. You don't have time."
"Which one is Sairaj Suryavanshi's room?"
"Chhote baba? Woh wala," he points toward a balcony eerily similar to my own. The curtains billow, the doors left slightly open.
"He's not home?"
"Pakka. Unki gaadi abhi nikli hai." (For sure. His car just left.)
Without hesitation, I throw my rope hoop over the railing. The cemented edges make it tricky, but I manage, climbing swiftly, my shoes gripping the intricate carvings on the pillars.
One leg hooks onto the railing, and I swing myself over, landing silently inside his room.
Dark.
The walls are painted in black and the deepest shades of green-just like him. Dark. Silent. Dangerous.
The furniture is rich, old, and meticulously organized. Too meticulous.
My gloved fingers move through the files stacked in the adjoining room, scanning for anything I can use.
Then-
A touch.
Fingers brushing my hair, tucking a loose strand behind my ear.
A whisper.
"Mujhe dhoond rahi ho, biwi?" (Looking for me, wife?)
I snap away from his touch, my knife between us in a heartbeat. The tip of the knife near his jaw.
But he doesn't move.
Slowly, his fingers clench around the blade, blood sliding down the steel, dripping onto the floor.
Yet he doesn't budge.
"I will not marry you," I say, my mask still intact.
He smirks.
That arrogant, insufferable asshole smirks.
"Toh mat karo shaadi," he says, mocking me.
Challenging me.
I twist the knife further, pushing against his palm, but he doesn't flinch. Not even a wince.
"You're too brave for your own good, little bird."
His voice is smooth, almost amused.
"Khud pinjre mein aa gayi ho tum."
You have welcomed yourself to the cage.
He takes the knife from me, placing it on the side table with deliberate ease. I don't wait-I turn, ready to run.
But his hand catches mine.
His grip shifts from my wrist, his fingers lacing through mine. Blood smears over my skin-his blood.
I freeze.
He watches me, his gaze dark, unreadable.
"Our gardener is loyal," he murmurs.
Realization slams into me.
My eyes twitch.
I was conspired against.
He told him to let me in.
"You-"
I don't finish. I swing.
The cold metal of my knuckle duster slices through the air, aimed straight for his smug face.
But he's faster.
His hand catches my wrist mid-strike, twisting me effortlessly. A sharp pull, a step back-and I'm trapped.
My back flush against his chest, his grip firm but calculated.
"We'll have to work on your attacks, little bird."
His whisper drags against my ear, his lips barely brushing my skin.
His scent engulfs me-smoke, sin, and something so dangerous it makes my pulse stutter.
I use his own strength against him.
Pushing off his body, I jump, twisting midair, landing behind him with a sharp pivot. Free.
Before he can react, I kick the back of his knee, sending him crashing forward. He catches himself on his palms, but I'm faster-I pull a knife from my boot and press it right under his jaw.
His pulse is steady beneath the blade. Unbothered. Amused.
"You've grown to be hot, little bird."
My grip tightens. "Not a word." My voice is a seethe of frustration. "Why me? Why can't you just settle for a basic deal? Why a marriage?"
His lips curve-wicked, cruel."Because what I want is for you to suffer with the thought of bearing my name for the rest of your life."
And then-I'm the one on my back.
He flips me in a breath, hovering over me, the knife long gone from my grasp. His breath is hot against mine, his weight caging me in, his hands pinning me down.
As if he'd just let me play for a while. As if control had never truly left him.
Something cold, a ring, cold metal burns against my skin, the ring looks familiar...the cravings of a little bird on it...it's.. it's mine.
He gets up, bracing himself, then offers me a hand.
I slap it away.
"Fiesty," he muses, eyes dark with something unreadable.
He steps closer. I step back.
"Next time you wanna desperately see me, use the front door, wife. This is your own house now."
His voice is thick with mockery, his smirk taunting. "Mai nahi chahta meri jaan ko koi takleef ho."
My fingers curl into a fist. I almost slap him. Almost.
He catches my wrist mid-air, his grip firm but lazy. Then, as if he has all the time in the world, he brings it to his lips-pressing a kiss there.
Heat rushes up my spine. I yank my hand away, disgust curling in my stomach-disgust at him, disgust at myself.
I turn, storming toward the balcony, but his voice filters through the night air.
"You tryna die, wife?"
"Well, death is better than marrying you, asshole."
A low chuckle. "Death will be too easy a punishment for you, sweetheart."
Punishment.
The word lingers in my mind.
"Use the door. There won't be anyone out there."
I move swiftly, not glancing back.
I hate it.
I hate that I let him touch me. That I didn't hate it.
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