'Ishan Oberoi' - The name that echoes success, power, and resilience. A rising billionaire who carved his empire with his own hands, refusing to ride on his father's wealth. Yet, he never turned his back on his responsibilities as a son. Balancing h...
Chapter 35, 36, 37, 38 & 39 are available on stck.
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AUTHOR'S POV :
The driver pressed the brakes, and the car rolled to a halt in front of the Oberoi mansion. The sprawling estate stood tall, glowing under the embrace of countless fairy lights, flickering diyas, and fresh strings of marigold and roses. It looked like a palace wrapped in festivity. To the world, it was a house of celebration but to the two hearts arriving at its gates, it carried a weight far heavier than joy.
Ishan stepped out first, his movements precise, restrained. He quickly circled the car and opened the door for Aadhriti. Extending his hand, his face betrayed nothing no smile, no warmth, only a mask of neutrality he had forced upon himself.
Aadhriti hesitated for a fraction of a second before slipping her delicate hand into his. Her other hand clutched at the heavy folds of her lehenga as she stepped out carefully. The shawl draped over her shoulders slid down, but before the morning chill could bite her skin, Ishan caught it, covering her again with a quiet gentleness. The gesture was fleeting, instinctive, yet it wrapped her heart in a strange ache. His touch was soft, protective—his silence, unbearably cold.
She looked up, her gaze travelling slowly over the mansion. She had walked through these gates before, but today was different. Today, this wasn’t just Ishan’s residence—it was her home too. The thought sent her heart fluttering, her chest tightening with a mix of anticipation and fear.
Hand in hand, they walked towards the entrance where the family awaited them, faces lit with excitement. At the forefront stood Sunaina and Aaradhna, Sunaina holding the decorated aarti thal.
Ishan’s jaw tightened as he caught sight of it. Rituals. Traditions. Symbols of a new beginning, when all he felt inside was an ending.
The aarti flame flickered before them, blessings murmured into the air. Then the kumkum plate was placed at Aadhriti’s feet. Lifting her lehenga slightly, she nudged the silver kalash, listening to the soft chime of her anklets as the rice spilled forward. Her steps followed, delicate, careful—pressing into vermillion and leaving behind crimson imprints against the polished marble. To everyone, it was a sacred sign of a bride’s first entry. To Ishan, each footprint echoed like an accusation, a reminder of betrayal sinking deeper into his heart.
Her fingers brushed absently over the shawl on her shoulders—the same shawl he had placed there only moments ago. His care lingered in its folds, warm and real, but when she glanced at him, all she found was distance. A chasm between them she didn’t know how to cross.
Sunaina moved closer, her touch gentle as she cupped Aadhriti’s chin. Her voice softened, almost maternal. “We will perform the rest of the rituals in the evening. For now, go and rest.”
