The Promised Queen

𝓉𝓌𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓎 𝓉𝓌𝑜

HRUDAY

The thrum of the bass reverberated through the floor, the lights flashing in hypnotic patterns as bodies swayed and danced around me. I sat at the bar, my fingers loosely wrapped around the glass of something strong and burning, the alcohol warming me but doing little to numb the strange discomfort gnawing at me.

I should have been having fun. Or at the very least, I should have been pretending to have fun. That's what I was here for, right? Ishaan's wild idea of a night out, forcing me to let loose for once. But instead of enjoying myself, I was sitting here, brooding, watching her.

Ridhima.

She was out there, on the edge of the dance floor, talking to some guy who'd had the audacity to approach her. They were smiling, laughing, and I could feel my pulse pounding in my ears with every second that passed. Her smile—it was different when she wasn't guarded, when she wasn't in her usual composed, practical mode. It was easy, warm, carefree in a way I didn't often see.

And it wasn't directed at me.

My grip tightened around the glass. I told myself it didn't matter. This was just another night, another event, another obligation I was here to suffer through. But the way she laughed, the way she tilted her head back, that effortless glow about her—it wasn't sitting right with me. My chest was tightening in a way that made me uncomfortable.

Why am I even watching this? I thought. She's just talking to someone. Why does it matter? 

But the thoughts did nothing to ease the simmering frustration building in my chest. I wasn't supposed to care. This was all an arrangement—something my father wanted, something I agreed to out of duty.

But the more I watched, the more I realized it wasn't just about the conversation. It was about the fact that someone else was making her laugh, making her smile like that. I told myself I didn't care, but my body betrayed me. My jaw was tight, my heart was hammering in my chest, and my thoughts were circling around her and that guy like a storm I couldn't control.

I turned back to my drink, trying to drown the feeling, the jealousy, the irritation. The alcohol burned its way down my throat, but it didn't burn away the knot in my chest. I needed something stronger, something to make this ridiculous feeling go away.

But before I could sink any further into my thoughts, I heard her voice—clear, teasing, cutting right through the haze in my mind.

"Well, look at you, sitting here all by yourself."

I looked up, startled, and there she was, standing next to me, her eyes twinkling with mischief. Before I could even respond, she reached over and grabbed my glass. My eyes followed the movement, too slow to react.

"Hey—" I started, but it was too late. She tipped the glass back and downed the drink, her throat working as the liquor burned its way down.

I blinked, watching her swallow, my mind stuck on the fact that the glass I had just been drinking from had now touched her lips. My gaze lingered there—on her lips, glistening slightly from the drink—and I felt a sudden rush of heat that had nothing to do with the alcohol. It was... too much. The way her mouth curved into a wince after the burn, the slight flush that colored her cheeks as the liquor settled in—it was doing something to me, something I wasn't prepared to handle.

She set the glass down with a grimace, shaking her head. "Ugh! What is that? Why are you drinking something so strong?"

I was still watching her lips when she spoke, my mind a second behind. I blinked, finally pulling my gaze away. "That was mine," I muttered, though my voice sounded strange in my ears, like it wasn't fully under my control.