CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 28

Vedika had been married the night before. Now, a bride in name and shackle, she came to meet her mother — the first visit after the wedding.
She sat still in front of a mirror in her mother’s modest home, stripped of heavy makeup but cloaked in the same suffocating silence. Her bridal attire had changed into a simpler red saree, but the marks of captivity still lingered — in the glassy look in her eyes, in the way her fingers fidgeted with her bangles.
Her mother smiled, overwhelmed, touching her face gently. “You look tired, beta. But so beautiful… How is everything?”
Vedika offered a faint smile. “Everything is fine.”
She didn’t say more. Couldn’t.
She stayed only a short while. Long enough for neighbors to peek in and offer sweets, for her mother to fuss over her with chai and snacks, for her to sit like a statue and pretend this was normal. She wanted to scream. Instead, she sipped tea and listened to the hum of meaningless pleasantries.
When it was time to leave, her mother hugged her tightly. “Take care of yourself. Abhimaan seems like a strong man. I hope he keeps you happy.”
Vedika didn’t answer.

Back at the Rathod mansion, the memory of her mother’s warmth faded the moment the doors shut behind her. She returned to the bridal suite — a sprawling room with antique chandeliers and floor-length mirrors.
Silence again.
The door creaked open. Footsteps. Abhimaan.
He had changed into a black kurta. He stood at the threshold, watching her.
“You went to meet your mother.”
Vedika nodded.
He stepped inside. “Did you tell her anything?”
“No.”
“Good.”
He came closer, his voice low. “You’re mine now, Vedika. This home, this room, this life — it’s all yours. But only within the world I give you.”
She looked away.
He reached up and slowly removed the pin from her saree’s pallu, letting it fall.
Vedika stepped back. “Don’t.”
Abhimaan paused. “I won’t hurt you. But I will remind you. There is no escape.”
He turned to pour a drink, his tone casual. “Stay here. Rest. Adjust. You’re not going anywhere unless it’s with me.”
Vedika felt the weight of her new reality settle again. Her brief visit home — a taste of freedom — had only made the cage colder.
Abhimaan walked over and placed the glass near her.
“Drink.”
She didn’t move.
“The sooner you accept this, the easier it gets.”
Vedika clenched her fists. “You’re a monster.”
He smiled. “Maybe. But I’m your monster now.”
He walked toward her again — slower this time, controlled.
“You’re my wife now, Vedika. That means you belong to me — in every way.”
She stepped back until her back hit the edge of the carved four-poster bed. Abhimaan didn’t stop. He took her hand — not roughly, but with that suffocating dominance — and guided her to sit.
“This is your place now,” he said softly, but the threat in his tone was clear. “And as your husband, I have the right to everything you are.”
Vedika’s body trembled. “You don’t get to own me.”
“I already do.”
He knelt slightly before her, brushing the edge of her dupatta back over her shoulder. “You may not love me. But that doesn’t change the truth. You’re mine.”
“Love?” she spat the word. “You don’t know what love is. This is obsession.”
He smiled, cruel and certain. “Then let it be obsession. You’ll still be mine.”
Vedika stood up sharply. “Stop this. Please. Let me go.”
He grabbed her wrist—not hard, not enough to bruise, but enough to freeze her. “I gave you every chance to say yes willingly. You chose the hard way.”
His grip loosened, and he traced the red bangles on her arm. “You see these? You’re wearing them because you’re mine.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “You forced me.”
“But you said yes. The world believes we’re husband and wife. And now, it’s time you act like one.”
He leaned closer, his lips grazing the side of her cheek. Vedika flinched.
“I won’t take what you won’t give,” he whispered. “But I will make sure you don’t forget who you belong to.”
He stood up and walked away, turning at the door. “Tonight, you sleep here. And tomorrow… we begin our life.”
Vedika collapsed on the bed as the door shut behind him. Her body was unharmed, but her spirit bore deep bruises.
A bride. A prisoner.
A woman shackled not by love, but by possession.

The air was heavy that night.
The chandeliers in the Rathod mansion glimmered quietly, casting silver pools of light across the marble floors. A storm brewed outside — lightning crackling in the distance, thunder grumbling like a warning. But inside, the storm had already begun.
Vedika sat on the edge of the bed in the bridal suite, a shawl wrapped tightly around her. She hadn’t changed into nightwear. She didn’t want to. She hadn’t eaten either. Her stomach churned with dread, not hunger.
Her eyes kept darting to the door. The clock ticked past midnight.
She knew he would come.
She had been married to Abhimaan Rathod for less than forty-eight hours, and yet it felt like an eternity. Each second under this roof, in this prison disguised as luxury, carved away at her spirit.
The door creaked open.
She shot up, heart racing.
Abhimaan entered, dressed in a plain black kurta-pajama, sleeves rolled to his elbows, eyes sharp like a beast that had found its prey. There was a glint in his gaze — not of affection, but of ownership. Possession.
“Still awake?” he asked casually.
She didn’t answer.
He closed the door behind him. The click of the lock echoed like the snapping of a trap.
Abhimaan walked slowly toward her, deliberate in every step.
Vedika backed away. “Don’t.”
He paused, eyebrows raised, as if amused. “Don’t what?”
“You know what I mean.”
He tilted his head. “You’re my wife.”
Vedika’s voice trembled. “A wife is not a slave.”
His jaw clenched. “No, but a wife has duties. And mine has been playing a statue since the moment we married.”
“I will never be yours that way.”
He stepped closer. “You already are.”
Vedika turned to move away, but in a flash, Abhimaan grabbed her wrist and pulled her to him. His grip wasn’t painful, but it was unrelenting — like a chain she couldn’t break.
“You keep fighting what’s already decided,” he murmured, his breath brushing against her ear.
Vedika struggled. “Let me go!”
Abhimaan’s other hand cupped her face, forcefully turning it toward him. His eyes bored into hers — not with love, but with dark hunger.
“I’ve waited long enough, Vedika.”
His lips descended on hers — sudden, rough, invasive.
Vedika pushed at his chest, twisting her head away, but he was stronger. His grip tightened as he kissed her, not for connection, but for control — as if claiming land, not a person.
Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes.
She bit his lower lip.
Abhimaan hissed in pain and pulled back, the taste of blood sharp between them. His face twisted with rage, but also something darker — arousal laced with fury.
Vedika slapped him.
The sound rang in the silence between them.
“I said no,” she whispered, voice breaking.
He stared at her, chest heaving. The slap had left a faint red mark on his cheek. He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. And then — he laughed. Quietly. Menacingly.
“That fire,” he whispered. “That’s what I love. You think you can resist me? That you can shame me into stepping back?”
He caught her chin, tilting her face upward. “You will kiss me back one day. Not because I force you. But because your body will betray you. Because you’ll stop knowing where I end and you begin.”
Vedika shoved his hand away and stepped back, her breathing ragged. “You’ll never have me.”
Abhimaan didn’t follow. He just stood there, watching her — eyes gleaming with the promise of future conquest.
“You’re already mine, Vedika,” he said softly, dangerously. “I’ve marked you. You’ll carry my name, my control, and eventually… my touch.”
He turned and walked toward the door, unlocking it.
“Sleep well,” he said without looking back. “Tomorrow, we finalize the reception guest list. You will smile. You will pose. You will act like the happy bride.”
The door clicked shut.
Vedika sank to the floor, sobbing silently. Her lips burned. Her skin crawled. Her mind spun with terror.
The kiss was not a moment of intimacy. It was a declaration of war.
And she — she was still searching for a way out of the battlefield.