The Secret Bride (The Bride #3)

Prologue

Viya

The sound of the pressure cooker hissing filled the small kitchen as I stood over the stove, stirring the curry with careful, practiced movements.

Steam rose from the pot, curling around my face in warm waves.

I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand and glanced at the clock on the wall.

Seven thirty in the morning. Right on schedule.

This was how my days always began. Cooking breakfast for my family.

Vinay Uncle, Sangeetha Aunty, and my cousin Avija.

The routine was so deeply ingrained in me now that my hands moved almost without thought, reaching for spices, adjusting the flame, tasting, and adding salt.

I had been doing this for so long that I could probably cook with my eyes closed.

I turned off the stove and moved to check on the parathas I had made earlier.

They were stacked neatly on a plate, covered with a clean cloth to keep them warm.

The sabzi was done too, sitting in a covered bowl, ready to be served.

Everything had to be perfect. Everything had to be just the way Aunty liked it.

I have lived with my uncle and aunt since my parents died in a car accident when I was ten years old.

Even now, twelve years later, the memory came to me in fragments.

Broken glass. The smell of rain on asphalt.

The sound of sirens growing louder and louder until they swallowed everything else.

I remembered standing in the hospital corridor, my small hand clutching the edge of my school uniform, waiting for someone to tell me that it was all a mistake.

That my parents would walk out of those swinging doors and take me home.

But they never did.

Uncle Vinay came instead. He was my father's younger brother, and he took me in without hesitation. He gave me a home when I had nowhere else to go. He gave me a roof over my head, food to eat, and a place to sleep. For that, I would always be grateful. I owed him everything.

Uncle Vinay made sure I went to school. He made sure I studied. He made sure I completed my education even when Aunty Sangeetha complained about the expenses. Because of him, I finished my engineering degree. Because of him, I had a future.

But living in this house came with its own set of rules.

Aunty Sangeetha made it very clear from the beginning that I was not her responsibility.

I was not her daughter. I was the orphan her husband had brought home, and every meal I ate, every piece of clothing I wore, was a debt I had to repay.

So I worked. I cleaned. I cooked. I made myself useful in every way I could.

Avija, my cousin, had always been different from me.

She was beautiful, confident, and effortlessly charming.

She had dreams of becoming a fashion designer, and Aunty encouraged her at every step.

Avija never had to lift a finger around the house.

That was my job. She looked at me sometimes with a kind of detached indifference, as though I were part of the furniture.

Something that had always been there but was never really worth noticing.

Aunty Sangeetha was harsher. She did not waste kind words on me. Her instructions were sharp and efficient. Do this. Clean that. Make sure you finish before noon. She never asked if I was tired. She never asked if I needed anything. And she certainly never asked if I had eaten.

But I did not complain. Complaining would change nothing. This was my life, and I had learned to accept it.

I arranged the breakfast plates on the dining table, making sure everything was placed just right. Then I hurried upstairs to my small room at the far end of the hallway. I needed to wash up and get ready. Today was different. Today was important.

Today I had an interview at New Gen Corp.

The thought sent a nervous flutter through my chest. New Gen Corp was one of the biggest companies in the city, a giant in the tech industry, and I had somehow managed to get an interview for a junior position in their development team.

It was not a glamorous job, but it was a start.

It was a chance to stand on my own feet. A chance to build something for myself.

I had not told Aunty about the interview. I was too afraid she would find some reason to stop me. So I kept it to myself, clutching the secret close like a fragile thing that might break if I spoke it out loud.

I washed my face quickly, and changed into a simple pair of jeans and a plain top.

Nothing fancy. Nothing that would draw too much attention.

I tied my long hair back into a neat ponytail and looked at myself in the small mirror above my dresser.

My reflection stared back at me with wide, nervous eyes.

I looked young. Uncertain. But there was a small spark of hope there too.

I could do this. I had to.

I grabbed my file of documents and hurried back downstairs. Aunty was sitting on the sofa in the living room, scrolling through her phone with a bored expression. She glanced up as I approached, her sharp eyes sweeping over me in a single dismissive look.

"I am going out, Aunty," I said softly.

She did not look particularly interested.

"Did you finish all the chores?"

"Yes, Aunty."

"Did you make breakfast?"

"Yes, Aunty. Everything is ready on the table."

She waved her hand in a vague gesture of permission.

"Fine. But you need to be back before lunch. You still have to cook."

I nodded quickly.

"Yes, Aunty. I will be back."

She did not ask where I was going. She did not ask if I had eaten breakfast. She simply turned her attention back to her phone, already forgetting I was there.

I slipped out of the house before she could think of anything else to add to my list of tasks. The morning air was cool and fresh, a welcome relief after the heat of the kitchen. I walked quickly to the main road and flagged down an auto. My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears.

"New Gen Corp," I told the driver.

He nodded and pulled into the traffic. I sat back against the worn seat, clutching my file tightly in my lap.

The city blurred past the open sides of the auto, a chaotic mix of honking cars, colorful shop fronts, and people rushing to their destinations.

I tried to calm my breathing, tried to steady the nervous energy coursing through me.

This was my chance. I could not mess this up.

The ride felt both endless and far too short.

When the auto finally pulled up in front of the towering glass building that housed New Gen Corp, I paid the driver with shaking hands and stepped out onto the pavement.

The building loomed above me, all sleek lines and reflective glass that seemed to stretch endlessly into the sky.

People in crisp business attire moved in and out of the revolving doors with confident, purposeful strides. I felt very small standing there.

But I had come this far. I was not going to turn back now.

I took a deep breath and walked inside. The lobby was vast and gleaming, filled with polished marble floors and modern art installations.

The air was cool and carried the faint scent of expensive perfume and fresh coffee.

I felt out of place in my simple clothes, but I pushed the feeling aside and walked up to the reception desk.

The receptionist was a young woman in a smart blazer, her hair pulled back in a sleek bun. She looked up at me with a polite, professional smile.

"Good morning. How can I help you?"

"Good morning. I am here for an interview. Can you tell me where the interviews are being held?"

She glanced at her computer screen, her fingers moving swiftly over the keyboard.

"Fifteenth floor. The elevators are just over there."

She pointed toward a row of silver elevator doors on the far side of the lobby. I thanked her and made my way across the polished floor, my footsteps echoing softly in the cavernous space. My palms were sweating. I wiped them on my jeans and pressed the button to call the elevator.

The elevator arrived with a soft chime, and the doors slid open smoothly. I stepped inside, pressed the button for the fifteenth floor, and watched as the doors began to close.

Then, at the last possible second, a black shoe wedged itself between the closing doors.

The doors jerked open again, and a man stepped inside.

He was tall, impossibly tall, and dressed in a black suit so perfectly tailored it looked like it had been made just for him.

His presence filled the elevator immediately, commanding and absolute.

He did not look at me. He simply moved to the control panel and pressed the button for the thirtieth floor.

The doors closed, and the elevator began to rise.

I pressed myself against the side wall, trying to make myself as small and invisible as possible.

The man stood beside me, his hands clasped loosely in front of him, his gaze fixed on the glowing numbers above the door.

He smelled incredible. His cologne was rich and warm.

It filled the small space between us, wrapping around me in a way that made my head feel light.

I kept my eyes on the numbers, counting the floors as we climbed. Tenth. Eleventh. Twelfth.

Then the elevator stopped.

Not at a floor. Just stopped.

The smooth hum of the machinery went silent. The lights flickered once. The numbers above the door froze.

My stomach dropped. The air suddenly felt too thick, too heavy. The walls of the elevator seemed to close in around me, shrinking the space until I could barely breathe. My chest tightened painfully.

No. Not now. Not here.

I had been claustrophobic for as long as I could remember. Small spaces terrified me. Trapped spaces made my entire body go into panic mode. And now I was stuck in a metal box suspended between floors with no way out.

I lunged forward and started pressing every button on the panel, my fingers shaking so badly I could barely aim. The buttons lit up under my touch, but nothing happened. The elevator did not move. The doors did not open.

"Open. Please. Please open."

My voice sounded high and desperate even to my own ears. I pressed the buttons again, harder this time, my breath coming in short, shallow gasps. The walls were closing in. The air was running out. I could not breathe. I could not think.

"Stop."

The man's voice cut through my panic, low and commanding. His hand closed around my wrist, pulling me back from the panel. I tried to pull away, but his grip was firm.

"Let me go. I need to get out. I cannot... I cannot breathe."

My vision was blurring at the edges. Black spots danced in front of my eyes.

My knees buckled. As the world dissolved around me, I felt myself begin to fall, only to be enveloped by a strength that was sudden and all-encompassing.

He didn't just catch me; he gathered me into his arms, anchoring me against the rushing chaos.

Time seemed to slow as he lowered us both, until we were seated on the floor, the rough carpet grounding us while I remained cocooned within the safe, safe harbor of his embrace.

I tried to focus on his face, but everything was spinning.

My lungs were screaming for air, but I could not seem to pull any in.

"Look at me," he said, his voice steady and calm. "Breathe."

I tried. I tried so hard. But my body would not listen. The panic had taken over completely. I was drowning in it.

Then his hand cupped the back of my head, his fingers threading through my hair, and before I could process what was happening, his lips were on mine.

Warm. Firm. Steady.

My eyes flew open in shock. He was kissing me. This stranger in the elevator was kissing me.