Twisted Devotion

Chapter-4

Her pov:
[Continued]

I plainly stared at him with burning fire in my eyes. I was about to say something when I saw the face of my sister, who was looking at both of us staring at each other intensely. She looked very terrified, as if worried for me. Not wanting to create a scene in front of her young self, I gently took her hand and led her away, telling her to get ready.

I wore a white anarkali and some oxidized jhumkas, cursing that hell of a man in my mind. When I went downstairs, I saw Ruhi and him having a talk, smiling. That was the first time I saw him smile fully, and not gonna lie, he looked devilishly hot.

We entered his black Audi R8, and I sat in the front seat while Ruhi was in the back. He was driving. The car was silent, a heavy tension filling the space between us. I could feel his eyes on me occasionally, a smirk playing on his lips.

"You look beautiful," he said, breaking the silence, his voice low and rough. "Too bad your personality doesn't match."

I shot him a withering glare, "And you look like the devil in disguise."

He chuckled darkly, "Perhaps I am."

The rest of the drive was silent, but charged with unspoken words. We finally arrived at his house, an imposing mansion that screamed opulence. All his family members were there, waiting to meet the woman he would marry.

As we stepped inside, his hand brushed against mine, sending an unexpected jolt through me. He leaned in close, his breath hot against my ear. "Play nice, sweetheart," he whispered. "Or I promise you, things will get very interesting."

I forced a smile, trying to keep my composure. "Don't worry," I whispered back. "I wouldn't want to disappoint your family."

He smirked, his eyes dark and full of promise. "Good girl.”

"Namaste," I said to an old woman in her 50s, assuming her to be his mother. She had a warm yet calculating look in her eyes.

"Namaste, dear," she replied, her voice soft but firm. "I'm Mrs. Veena Singh Agnivanshi, but you can call me Aunty. Welcome."

I then greeted the rest of the family, noting their keen interest in me.

"Hello," said a man in his early 60s, standing next to Mrs. Agnivanshi. "I'm Suryakant Singh Agnivanshi. Welcome to our home."

"Namaste, Mr. Agnivanshi," I responded politely, sensing his authoritative demeanor.

Next, a young woman in her late 20s approached with a friendly smile. "Hi, I'm Vadehi, his sister. It's so nice to finally meet you."

"Hello, Vadehi," I said warmly. "Nice to meet you too."

A teenage boy, around 17, stood slightly apart from the group, looking a bit shy. "Hey, I'm Aditya," he mumbled, looking at the floor.

"Hi, Aditya," I greeted him gently. "It's good to meet you “

As we exchanged greetings, I introduced Ruhi as my sister, and she graciously greeted everyone with a warm smile.

Finally, his two brothers, Rohan and Vihaan, whom I had met during the day of the tragic incident, extended their greetings.

"Namsate, bhabhi," Rohan said with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Hello, bhabhi," Vihaan echoed, holding the same glint in his eyes.

Their demeanor was completely different from that morning when their brother and they killed my parents. Then, they were emotionless, but now...

"I heard you are marrying my emotionless son. Thanks, beta," his mother said, her tone tinged with sarcasm.

I met her gaze evenly, offering a polite smile. "It's my pleasure, Aunty," I replied, my voice betraying none of the turmoil swirling within me.

His sister, Vaidehi, approached, her eyes sharp with curiosity. "What did you even like in him, di?" she asked, her voice tinged with skepticism.

I paused for a moment, considering my words carefully. "Oh, you know," I began, a bitter edge creeping into my tone. "His ordering demeanor makes me kil– sorry, love him." My voice dripped with sarcasm, a subtle jab that only he would understand.

What she wore: [picture credits to their respective owners]