Chapter 29 — The Masked Bride

Chapter 29 — The Masked Bride

The Rathod mansion shimmered under an ocean of golden lights.
Fairy lights hung like stardust from towering trees. The massive lawn was draped in satin and roses, the air thick with perfume and power. Guests arrived in droves — judges, politicians, businessmen, media personalities. Cameras flashed. Champagne flowed. The Rathod name guaranteed opulence, but tonight, it promised spectacle.
At the heart of it stood Vedika.
Dressed in a deep maroon lehenga embroidered in gold thread, her hair pinned elegantly with jasmine, diamonds hugging her throat like shackles — she looked like the perfect bride. A goddess sculpted from tradition and expectation.
But beneath the heavy makeup and forced elegance, she was barely breathing.
“Smile,” Abhimaan whispered in her ear as they stood by the floral backdrop, greeting a queue of guests. “You’re the queen tonight. Act like one.”
His hand rested possessively on the small of her back. Not affectionate. Territorial. Like a man showing off his most prized acquisition.
Vedika curled her lips into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
They posed for pictures. She didn’t blink. She didn’t cry. She didn’t scream. But inside, her soul trembled with every flash.
The media swarmed them.
“Mr. Rathod, how does it feel to finally be married?”
Abhimaan grinned. “Exactly as I planned. Perfect.”
“And Mrs. Rathod — you’re marrying into such a powerful legacy. Overwhelmed?”
Vedika opened her mouth. Her voice got stuck. She felt Abhimaan’s fingers tighten slightly at her waist — a silent warning.
She forced a smile. “Yes. But I feel… safe.”
Safe.
The irony of that word nearly made her choke.
Abhimaan chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to her temple in front of the cameras. It was the gentlest gesture he had made in days — and it was for the world, not for her.
Inside, her skin crawled.
The reception moved into the main banquet area. Velvet-draped tables. Crystal chandeliers. Laughter, music, clinking glasses. And at the center table — the bride and groom, a royal portrait of privilege.
But Vedika sat frozen.
Every now and then, someone approached to congratulate her. She smiled. She thanked them. Her rehearsed lines played on a loop.
“You’re glowing, Vedika.”
“Such a lucky girl!”
“He’s madly in love with you.”
If only they knew.
After the fifth round of greetings, Abhimaan leaned close, his voice laced with steel beneath the smile. “You’re doing well. Keep it up. We’re not done yet.”
Vedika turned her head slightly. “How long do I have to keep pretending?”
“As long as it takes,” he said smoothly, “for the world to believe what I already know — that you belong to me.”
She looked away, jaw clenched.

Later in the evening, Abhimaan led her to the dance floor.
The music turned soft. Romantic.
People applauded as the newlyweds took center stage.
He held her hand, one arm around her waist, and began to sway.
Vedika stiffened in his arms. The entire world was watching, and yet she felt more alone than ever. His grip wasn’t bruising — but it was ironclad. She was his puppet tonight.
“You’re trembling,” he whispered against her cheek. “Don’t worry. I’ll hold you up.”
“Why are you doing this?” she murmured, trying to keep her lips moving with the rhythm so no one could tell they were arguing.
“Because I can.”
“I’m not your doll.”
“You are,” he said quietly. “And tonight, everyone is watching how perfectly you dance.”
She looked up at him, hatred flaring in her eyes. “You’ll never get my heart.”
His lips curled into a dark smile. “I don’t need your heart. Just your body. Your silence. Your submission. The rest will come.”
Vedika’s nails dug into his shoulder. “I will find a way to leave you.”
He chuckled. “Then you better start running. Because I don’t lose what’s mine.”
The music ended. Applause thundered. Cameras flashed again.
Abhimaan leaned down and brushed her forehead with his lips, like a doting husband.
Vedika wanted to vanish.

As the crowd began to thin, Vedika escaped to the guest powder room, locking the door behind her. Her fingers trembled as she wiped away her lipstick, her kajal smudging.
She looked at herself in the mirror — the bridal goddess everyone admired.
But she saw a prisoner.
A woman stolen from her life, draped in velvet chains.
She slumped against the wall, gasping. Just a few moments to herself. Just a breath of air without him.
A knock shattered the moment.
“Vedika.” His voice.
She froze.
“Come out. Now.”
She didn’t respond.
“I said come out.”
His tone dropped. Dark. Dangerous.
Vedika opened the door slowly.
Abhimaan stood there, cold and composed. “You will not disappear like that again.”
“I just needed space.”
“There’s no space between us anymore. You’re mine — every minute, every breath, every move.”
“You’re suffocating me.”
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Good. Maybe if you can’t breathe without me, you’ll stop dreaming about escape.”
His fingers curled around her wrist again.
“Let’s go.”
She yanked her hand back. “Don’t touch me.”
For a moment, the mask slipped from his face. His jaw clenched, his eyes flared.
He moved so close she was backed into the wall again.
“You want to scream, Vedika? Go ahead. Tell this crowd outside how your loving husband terrifies you. See how many believe you.”
Her throat tightened.
He smiled cruelly. “You wear the mask so well, my darling. Keep wearing it. It suits you.”

By midnight, the reception ended.
Vedika stood silently beside Abhimaan as they saw the last guests off.
Smiles. Namaste. Thank you.
And then, the doors shut.
Silence fell.
Abhimaan turned to her. “You did well.”
Vedika said nothing.
He stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Tomorrow, we fly to for our honeymoon.”
Her eyes widened. “No.”
“Yes.”
“I won’t go with you.”
“You will,” he said simply. “Because if you don’t, your mother may receive a visit. Or Pranav. Or anyone else you love.”
Vedika swallowed hard, panic rising.
“You can keep hating me, Vedika,” he murmured, tilting her chin up. “But you will keep pretending. Because the world is watching — and you have no one left to run to.”
She looked away, trembling.
“Rest now,” he said, pressing a light kiss to her forehead. “Tomorrow, we begin the next chapter.”
Vedika stood still as he walked away, her limbs cold, her mind spinning.
The mask had held tonight. But how long before it cracked?
And when it did — would she still be herself beneath it?
Or would she be completely his?