"Yuvraj, please," I whispered, my voice breaking. "Don't do this."
"Get up," he ordered, his voice as cold as ice.
Tears streamed down my face. "Please, I'll do anything. Just don't make me-"
"Step on the glass," he interrupted, his eyes burning wit...
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The evening was a whirlwind of excitement and nerves. As I stood in front of the mirror, draping the golden saree over my shoulder, I couldn't help but admire the way it shimmered under the light. I felt beautiful, like a princess in a fairy tale. Yuvraj, dressed in his sleek black tuxedo, looked at me with an intensity that sent shivers down my spine. For a moment, I believed everything would be perfect.
Arriving at the party, I was overwhelmed by the grandeur. The hall was decorated with twinkling lights, elegant flowers, and an air of celebration. Yuvraj introduced me to everyone as his wife, and for the first time, I felt truly accepted. I smiled, my heart swelling with happiness as I saw the approving glances and heard the compliments.
But as the night progressed, I noticed a change in Yuvraj. His demeanor became more distant, his smile strained. I brushed it off, attributing it to the stress of hosting such a grand event.
When his mother approached us, her warm smile and kind words brought a sense of comfort. "Yuvraj, Aisha, I need to leave the city for a few days. I'm going to our village to pray for your happy life together," she said, her voice filled with genuine warmth.
"Thank you so much, Ma. Your blessings mean a lot to us," I replied, feeling a wave of gratitude.
But the moment she left, Yuvraj's expression changed. A cold, calculating look replaced the warmth in his eyes. He took out his phone and sent a quick text message. My heart skipped a beat, sensing something was wrong.
The party continued, and I tried to shake off the uneasy feeling. Then, the lights dimmed, and the room fell silent. The big screen lit up, and I felt a knot form in my stomach.
A video started playing, and I felt my blood run cold. It was me, but not the composed, elegant woman in the golden saree. It was a version of me I could barely recognize - extremely drunk, stumbling and slurring my words.
"Hey, everyone! Look at me!" my intoxicated self giggled, swaying unsteadily. "I'm Aisha, and I'm having the time of my life!"
I watched in horror as the video continued. I was at some party, clearly out of control. My friends, equally drunk, cheered me on as I started to undress.
"No, please, no," I whispered, tears welling up in my eyes. "Stop this, Yuvraj. Please."
But the video didn't stop. It showed me unhooking my blouse, revealing my bra. The room was filled with gasps and murmurs. I felt a wave of humiliation crash over me, my cheeks burning with shame.
"Yuvraj, please, make it stop," I begged, turning to him. But he just stood there, his face an unreadable mask.
The video ended abruptly, and the lights came back on. I could feel everyone's eyes on me, judging, mocking. I wanted to disappear, to melt into the ground and never be seen again.
Before I could make a move, Yuvraj grabbed me by my hair, yanking me back. I cried out in pain, tears streaming down my cheeks.
"Let me go!" I screamed, struggling against his grip.
