An Alliance Of Love

8. First Night

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Ranveer’s POV

As we drove away from the wedding, the atmosphere in the car felt thick with unspoken tension. Adira sat beside me, her hands clutching the edges of her Lehenga. At first, I could hear her soft sobs, but within moments, she composed herself, straightening her posture. Even in her vulnerability, she shows strength, something I’ve noticed about her since we first met. She’s not like other women I’ve encountered—those who play the victim, seek pity, or cling to material desires. No, Adira is different. She’s independent, strong, and sensible, a woman who knows exactly how to manage people and situations, especially when it comes to her father. Handling the Rajput family isn’t for the faint of heart, and yet, here she is—unshaken.

I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye, but she kept her gaze fixed on the passing scenery, either avoiding me or trying to distance herself from the whirlwind of emotions that had just unfolded.

I had tried my best to show affection toward her in front of everyone, just as we had agreed—to play the role of the perfect couple. Our marriage, after all, was as much a performance, a necessity born out of circumstance. We both knew the rules of the game. In front of others, we were to behave like a loving couple, seamlessly in sync. But in reality, there was no affection between us, at least not the kind others expected to see.

Yet, something unexpected happened during the ceremony. In the mandap, when it came time for Adira to put the varmala around my neck, she hesitated. The height difference between us made it difficult for her to reach. She fumbled, her slender hands holding the garland awkwardly as she stretched on her toes, trying not to let the struggle show. I could see the frustration flicker across her face, but it was brief. Adira was always composed, always in control.

And then, before I even realized what I was doing, I bent down. It was instinctive, completely involuntary. I hadn’t planned on helping her, hadn’t thought about what it might look like in front of everyone. I just did it. For a moment, there was a strange connection—an unspoken understanding that passed between us. Our eyes met, and I could see a flicker of surprise in hers, though she quickly masked it with her usual calm.

The action puzzled me. I’m not the type to bend for anyone, not physically, not metaphorically. I’ve spent my life keeping people at arm’s length, especially in situations like this. But there I was, lowering myself to make it easier for her. It wasn’t part of the plan. It wasn’t what I would’ve normally done.

I forced myself to focus on more pressing matters, unlocking my phone and scrolling through updates. Suraj had been keeping me informed about the plan for Harshvardhan Maheshwari. The mole had done his part, and now it was time for my return gift. My mind drifted toward the intricate details of the operation—timing, precision, execution—but every now and then, I found myself glancing at Adira again. She sat there, distant, lost in her own world, her expression unreadable.

Was she avoiding me? Or was she just lost in thought, grappling with the situation she now found herself in? I couldn’t tell. All I knew was that this woman, my wife, wasn’t someone easily broken. She wouldn’t beg, wouldn’t plead for mercy, no matter how much the odds were stacked against her.