When Aarav Kapoor, a shrewd businessman born into wealth, and Aanya Mehra, an ambitious architect returning to India, are thrust into an arranged marriage, neither is prepared for the secrets beneath their union. What begins as a reluctant compromis...
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I sat in the backseat of the car, my mind a swirling storm of confusion and disbelief. The events of the past few hours were a blur—a nightmare I hadn't yet woken from.
One moment, I was in my room, trying to decide if running away was the right thing to do. The next, I was yanked into a van by masked men, their rough hands binding me as they sped away into the night. My heart pounded with fear, and all I could think about was my family, Bittu and Chote, and the life I might never see again.
And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it was over.
Aarav had come for me. The image of him bursting into their Mansion was etched into my memory—the fury in his eyes, the precision with which he handled the situation. His voice had been cold and commanding, his presence larger than life. At that moment, I wasn't sure if I should feel relieved or terrified.
Now, sitting beside him in the car, the adrenaline was beginning to wear off. Silence filled the air between us, heavy and unspoken. Aarav sat rigidly, his jaw clenched, his eyes fixed on the road ahead as if steering the car himself through sheer willpower.
The unfamiliar scenery outside the window finally broke through my daze. "Where are we going?" I asked, my voice shaky but determined.
"To Rahatgad Temple," he replied curtly, without looking at me.
"Rahatgad?" My brows knitted in confusion. "Why? Shouldn't we be going back to Mumbai?"
He finally turned to me, his dark eyes locking with mine. "We're not going back to Mumbai. Not now."
The weight of his words hung in the air like a thundercloud. "What do you mean? Aarav, what is happening?"
"We're getting married. Tonight. At the Rahatgad temple."
His voice was steady, almost emotionless, but his words struck me like a lightning bolt.
"What?" I sputtered, the shock robbing me of breath. "Are you insane? We're getting married in Mumbai, with our families!"
"No, we're not," he said calmly, though his eyes burned with something I couldn't place—determination, frustration, or perhaps something deeper. "You were planning to run away, weren't you?"
My mouth opened, then closed. I couldn't form a coherent response.
He smirked, though there was no humor in it. "Don't bother denying it. I know. I always know."
Anger bubbled up inside me, cutting through the confusion. "You had no right—"
"No right to stop you?" he interrupted, his voice rising just enough to silence me. "You think I don't know what you're feeling, Aanya? I know you're scared, confused, angry. But running away doesn't solve anything."
"And forcing me into a temple marriage does?" I shot back, my voice trembling with fury.
"Yes," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "It ensures that you don't get yourself killed in the process of escaping, for starters. And it ensures that this marriage—our marriage—happens, as it was always meant to."
