The Devil's Mansion
"You can lock a body. But not a soul."
The iron gates of the Virk Mansion creaked open like a growl.
Cold winds howled as Bhuvanya stepped out of the black car—her wrists still sore from the guards' grip, her bridal dupatta half-dragging across the gravel path.
She looked up.
The mansion was tall. Silent. Almost breathing.
Its walls weren't made of bricks.
They were made of secrets.
Aarush stepped out beside her, hands still in his pockets. The smirk had not left his lips since the wedding. He didn't touch her.
He didn't need to.
His presence itself was a chain around her throat.
Inside, the housekeeper bowed.
"Welcome, Mrs. Virk."
Bhuvanya turned sharply. "Don't call me that."
Aarush chuckled darkly from behind.
"I like when you resist," he said, removing his blazer. "It makes breaking you more satisfying."
She spun toward him. "Touch me and I swear—"
"Swear?" He took a step closer. "What will you do? Run back to your father? Oh wait—he sold you, remember?"
Her hand flew up—a slap ready to burn on his face.
But he caught her wrist.
Tight. Bone-crushing.
He didn't even blink.
"No one raises their hand on me in this house."
"Not even you, doll."
She struggled to pull away. "Let go!"
He yanked her close—too close—
His breath touched her cheek.
"This marriage may have papers… but I don't need consent to own what's mine."
She shoved him.
He stumbled back a step but laughed—low and cruel.
"You want to fight?" he said, voice now deeper, darker.
"Good. I prefer screaming brides."
The Room.
He dragged her through the hallway and kicked open a door.
Her wedding room. His room.
Walls black.
Sheets red.
And a mirror across the bed—
Like it was made for possession, not peace.
He pushed her inside.
She stumbled, caught her balance, and ran for the door. But—click—he locked it behind him.
"I'm not spending a night in this hell with you," she spat.
"You are," he said, throwing his shirt to the floor. "Because I don't trust broken toys left lying around."
He stepped toward her.
She stepped back.
But the bed blocked her.
She grabbed a lamp from the side table and pointed it at him.
"Touch me, and I'll break this on your head."
Aarush paused.
Stared.
Then slowly took the lamp from her hand—
and smashed it on the floor himself.
The light went out.
Now only the moon watched.
He leaned in, eyes shadowed.
"You don't get to decide how this goes. But you do get to choose one thing—"
"You can hate me loud. Or love me broken."
Silence.
He didn't touch her.
But his stare crawled across her skin like fire.
"I'll never be yours," she whispered.
He smirked, turned, and sat on the bed.
"That's the problem, Bhuvanya."
"You already are."