Chapter 4
The Rathore mansion was built to keep people out.
But for Anvi, it had been designed to keep her in.
The grand, sprawling corridors were silent, the chandeliers casting golden light on the polished marble floors. Servants moved like ghosts, their heads bowed, their footsteps barely making a sound. No one spoke unless spoken to.
And in the middle of it all, she felt like a prisoner.
A golden cage, no matter how beautiful, was still a cage.
___________________________________________
The Rules of the Rathore House
On her first morning in the Rathore mansion, Anvi woke up to a neatly folded note on the nightstand beside her bed.
Her breath hitched as she recognized the bold, elegant handwriting.
Agastya’s.
> Rules.
1. You will not leave the Rathore estate without permission.
2. You will not question my decisions.
3. You will not interact with outsiders unless I allow it.
4. You will not remove your engagement ring.
5. You will not disobey me.
She stared at the words, her stomach twisting.
Every single rule was a reminder—
She wasn’t free.
She wasn’t an Oberoi anymore.
She was his.
Anvi exhaled sharply, her fingers tightening around the note.
Fine. If he wanted a wife who obeyed, he was in for a surprise.
___________________________________________
By the time she reached the breakfast hall, Agastya was already seated at the long dining table.
Dressed in a crisp black kurta, he looked just as cold and unreadable as he had last night. His sharp jawline, broad shoulders, and piercing gaze made him seem untouchable, a man carved from stone.
But Anvi wasn’t afraid.
Not today.
She walked in without lowering her gaze, her soft pink saree swaying with each step. The emerald ring on her finger gleamed under the chandelier light—a reminder of who she belonged to.
Devyani Rathore—Choti Maa—was already at the table, offering Anvi a warm smile. The only warmth in this house.
But just as Anvi was about to sit—
“That seat is mine.”
She froze.
Agastya’s voice was low, deep—unmistakable.
Anvi’s gaze flickered to him, then to the chair she had been about to take.
It was next to his.
Her pulse quickened, but she didn’t hesitate.
She pulled out a different chair.
The one farthest from him.
Silence.
The room tensed, the servants stilling as if they had sensed a shift in the air.
Anvi didn’t care. She simply lifted a piece of toast to her lips, taking a calm bite. Ignoring him.
Defying him.
And for the first time, Agastya Singh Rathore felt something unfamiliar burn in his chest.
Amusement.
And irritation.
His Pari had a temper.
Fine.
Let the war begin.
___________________________________________
Later that afternoon, Anvi sat in the sunlit courtyard, her fingers delicately plucking at the petals of a jasmine flower.
The warmth of the afternoon sun kissed her skin, but her mind was far away—trapped in thoughts of escape.
She could run.
She could find a way out of this marriage.
But just as that thought settled in her mind, a shadow fell over her.
She didn’t need to look up to know who it was.
His presence was a storm before the rain.
His voice was smooth, lethal. “You’re testing my patience, Pari.”
Anvi’s fingers stilled against the flower, but she didn’t look at him.
She simply plucked another petal.
"You can't control everything, Agastya."
Silence.
Then, a firm grip closed around her wrist.
Not painful. Not forceful.
But possessive.
She looked up, her breath catching as she met his unreadable gaze.
His dark eyes flickered down to the flower in her hand—the one she had been idly pulling apart.
He leaned in slightly, his voice a whisper against her skin.
“I don’t need to control everything.” His gaze locked onto hers. “Just you.”
Her heartbeat slammed against her ribs.
But she lifted her chin, refusing to back down. “You don’t own me, Agastya.”
A slow smirk curved on his lips.
And then, without breaking eye contact, he plucked the last petal from her flower.
"We’ll see."
And with that, he walked away—leaving her breathless, furious, and more trapped than ever.