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Aaravika’s sobs echoed through the mandap, each tear carving its place in the suffocating silence around her. Her grip on her mother tightened, as if the strength of her hold could somehow undo the cruel reality of her vidai. Parth wrapped his arms protectively around her, his boyish face etched with sorrow. Shruti joined them, their embrace becoming a shield of love—a futile attempt to protect her from the inevitability of being sent away to a family she barely knew, to a husband she couldn’t trust.

Vayran stood behind her, his broad shoulders stiff with restrained emotion. His sharp profile, illuminated by the flickering flames of the sacred fire, betrayed nothing. Tanvik spoke to him, but he barely registered the words, his dark eyes fixed on the fragile woman breaking apart in front of him. She was supposed to be his pawn, yet her tears were unsettling. Irritation flickered within him—at her vulnerability, at the unwelcome pang in his chest.

As the vidai began, Aaravika, pale and trembling, stumbled as they walked away from the mandap. Her body, fragile from hours without food or water, gave in. Just as she crumpled, her vision dimming, strong arms caught her mid-fall. The possessiveness of his touch burned through her unconsciousness.

Vayran’s reflexes were swift, his arm wrapping around her waist while his other hand cradled the back of her head. The contrast of his commanding strength against her frailty was startling. Without hesitation, he swept her into his arms, her limp form curling against his chest. His face betrayed no emotion, but his heart clenched—a feeling he ruthlessly suppressed.

“She needs air,” Vayran said, his voice sharp, commanding obedience. The guests moved aside instinctively, silenced by his presence as he carried her into the resort. The grandeur of the place was lost in the moment, the opulence paling against the raw tension in the air. Her family followed, their eyes heavy with concern, but no one dared speak as Vayran’s long strides carried her into the lounge.

He laid her gently on the couch, his jaw tightening as he stepped back. His sharp gaze swept over the family members and staff, silencing their unspoken questions. “Leave,” he ordered coldly. His tone allowed no argument.

Tanvik moved quickly to call the doctor, while Shruti rushed for water. Aaravika’s mother and Parth left in search of food, desperation fueling their urgency. As they scattered, Vayran knelt beside her. He tugged off her veil, revealing a face pale and streaked with dry tears. Her skin was damp, her lips cracked, her fragility raw and glaring.

His fingers hesitated before brushing against her cold hand. He hated himself for the concern twisting in his gut, for the way he felt compelled to help her when he’d promised himself he wouldn’t care. She wasn’t supposed to matter. She was supposed to regret this union, suffer under the weight of it. And yet, here he was, rubbing warmth into her hands, his jaw set with frustration at his own betrayal.

When the family returned with the doctor, Vayran moved aside, though his eyes never left her. The doctor worked quickly, his hands steady but his expression tense under Vayran’s watchful glare. “She’s weak,” the doctor said, hastily scribbling a prescription. “Food and rest will help. I’ll send the medicines immediately.” The doctor’s voice quivered, his eyes darting nervously to Vayran as he fled the room.Even the staff moved cautiously around him, their footsteps light as they brought extra chairs. The family exchanged uneasy glances. They didn’t need words to understand who had instilled this fear.

The others exchanged puzzled glances, wondering at the doctor’s haste, but their curiosity was cut short when Vayran shifted his focus back to Aaravika. His icy glare silenced their thoughts, and they instinctively avoided his gaze. Even Tanvik, who usually stood unshaken beside his friend, felt the weight of Vayran’s dominance.

Taking a glass of water from Shruti, Vayran splashed it on Aaravika’s face. Her body jolted slightly at the shock, her lashes fluttering open. Her breath was shallow, and her head throbbed with a migraine so intense she winced, her hand weakly pressing against her temple. Her blurred vision cleared slowly, and she spotted her mother, Parth, and Shruti standing nearby.

But it was the man beside her who commanded her attention. Her gaze snapped to him, and her body stiffened as she immediately sat up. Vayran sat unnervingly close, his face mere inches from hers. His dark, unyielding eyes locked onto hers, pulling her into their depths. The space between them crackled, an almost oppressive tension thickening the air.

Her heart raced, though whether it was from fear, shock, or the intensity of his proximity, she couldn’t tell. His presence was suffocating yet magnetic, his sharp jawline and piercing eyes a testament to the danger he carried.

He leaned in ever so slightly, the air between them crackling. “You don’t get to break this easily, Aaravika,” he murmured, his voice low and laced with menace. “Not when you belong to me now.”

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