PART 1: THE PRICE OF A DAUGHTER
"She wasn't given. She was sold."
"You can't do this to me!"
Bhuvanya's voice shook the entire room.
The mahogany desk shook as she slammed her fists onto it, glaring at the man who used to be her father.
"You've already done enough damage, now you want to trade me like I'm—what?—a piece of your goddamn company?"
The room was suffocating. Thick with the scent of cigar smoke and betrayal. Papers scattered around like the ash of a burning future. Hers.
Mr. Rathore, the once-famous businessman now crawling to stay relevant, didn't even flinch. His hands trembled only slightly as he straightened the contract on the table.
"It's done, Bhuvanya. I signed it. He's already here."
"No," she backed away, heart thudding, "You don't get to decide this! I'm not marrying some stranger to pay off your failure!"
Her words were like knives.
But before another breath could escape her lips—
The door opened.
And in walked Aarush Virk.
Black suit. No tie. Collar slightly open. Eyes colder than winter death. And that smirk—
That slow, lazy smirk that said he had already won.
Bhuvanya's spine straightened. She looked at him like fire.
He looked at her like a toy he just unwrapped.
He didn't greet.
He didn't blink.
He just walked toward her with calculated steps, slow like a predator circling its prey.
Then he leaned a little, lips near her ear.
His voice — warm… almost soft.
"You can cry, scratch, scream, beg, or curse me. You still belong to me now."
She shoved him back. Hard.
But he only chuckled—
A dark, devilish laugh that echoed across the walls.
Mr. Rathore whispered, broken, "I had no choice, Bhuvanya. He saved the company. This was the price."
"Then why not give yourself to him?" she spat.
But the priest was already there.
The guards had entered.
The ink on the contract had dried.
The Marriage.
No music. No ceremony.
Just a trembling girl with tears in her eyes,
being forced to sit beside a man who looked at her like a new pet.
As the priest chanted, Bhuvanya turned to Aarush, hate pouring from her every glance.
He simply watched her. Smiling lazily. Eyes fixed.
His finger gently traced the rim of his glass of wine.
And right when the final words were spoken—
He whispered only loud enough for her to hear:
"Game starts now, Mrs. Virk."
Part 1 b :"THE GIRL WHO WAS DRAGGED TO LOVE"
Bhuvanya's heart slammed against her ribcage as the priest tied the sacred cloth between her and Aarush. Her wrists ached from struggling—her fingernails had left deep marks on the skin of the guards who dragged her here.
She stood frozen.
In bridal red, forcefully dressed. Lip bitten. Tears wiped. Anklets shaking—not with shyness, but pure rage.
The wedding fire burned.
The chants began.
And she refused to move.
"I won't walk around this fire with him," she hissed, loud and sharp.
The priest paused.
Mr. Rathore looked away in shame.
But Aarush?
He just stood there. Calm.
Like he was watching a theatre show with popcorn in his hand.
"Start the pheras," he said coldly, not even glancing at her.
Bhuvanya flinched.
"I said NO!" she screamed, turning to run—
Two guards grabbed her arms.
"Let me go!"
She kicked. Screamed. Bit one of them. Her bangles snapped, and the vermilion box fell. Red powder scattered across the floor like spilled blood.
Still, they dragged her back.
"Don't touch me—LET ME GO!"
They didn't.
Aarush walked forward now.
Every step echoing like a countdown to ruin.
He stopped in front of her, watching her body shake with rage.
Her hair was messy, face smeared, wrists bruised—but her eyes? Still sharp. Still fighting.
And he—he smirked again. That god-level smirk, slow and poisonous.
"I always liked wild things," he whispered, "but don't worry. I know how to break them."
Her eyes widened. She spat at his feet.
He didn't react.
He calmly picked up the fallen sindoor box from the ground... and crushed it in his hand.
Then?
He grabbed her chin.
And before she could flinch—
He smeared his blood-red thumb across her hairline.
"There. You're mine now. Legally. Spiritually. Fully."
Her breathing halted.
The pheras began.
And the guards forced her to walk.
Step by step. One holding her arms, one behind.
Bhuvanya stared at the fire like she could jump into it and end it all.
And Aarush?
He walked beside her. Hands behind his back.
As if this was a casual evening stroll.
As if her struggle… was his entertainment.
When the seventh phera ended, the priest muttered the final words.
"You are now husband and wife."
Aarush turned to her. Tilted his head slightly.
Then whispered:
"Welcome to hell, Mrs. Virk. You're going to love how much I don't care."