Chapter 7
The Rathore mansion was alive with celebration, but Anvi Oberoi felt like she was standing at the edge of a funeral pyre.
Hers.
The air was thick with the scent of mogra and sandalwood, the halls decorated in gold and ivory, the laughter of guests filling the rooms like music—but none of it felt real.
Not when she knew she had only seven days left.
Seven days before she would become Anvi Agastya Singh Rathore.
Seven days before she lost herself forever.
But if Agastya thought she would go down quietly, obediently, broken—he was wrong.
Because if she had to burn, she would drag him into the fire with her.
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Anvi had learned something over the past few weeks.
Agastya Singh Rathore did not like being challenged.
So she challenged him at every chance she got.
At breakfast, she sat at the farthest seat from him.
During the wedding preparations, she spoke only when necessary.
And when the guests whispered about the future Mrs. Rathore, she held her head high but refused to acknowledge the man who was forcing her into this marriage.
But he was always watching.
Every move, every glance, every unspoken rebellion—he noticed.
And tonight, during the mehendi ceremony, he decided he’d had enough.
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Anvi sat in the grand hall, surrounded by women laughing and chatting as the mehendi artist traced intricate floral designs onto her hands.
Somewhere in the background, Meher argued with Kabir, their bickering a constant source of amusement. Mahima sat across the room, watching Anvi like a predator waiting for weakness.
But Anvi didn’t care about any of them.
Her focus was on one thing only—her escape.
Aarav had called her earlier that day. The plan was ready.
Tomorrow, before the wedding functions could trap her further, she would leave this house forever.
The thought made her chest feel lighter—until she felt it.
A familiar presence behind her.
A slow, deliberate touch against her wrist.
A whisper that sent a chill down her spine.
"You won’t run, Pari."
Anvi froze.
She turned slightly, her breath catching as she met Agastya’s dark gaze.
His fingers traced the fresh henna on her hand, the delicate designs that spelled out his name hidden in the curves of the pattern.
"And even if you do…" His grip tightened, just enough to make her heart race.
"I will find you."
Anvi’s pulse pounded, but she refused to look away. “You don’t own me, Agastya.”
He chuckled, low and amused, as if she had just said something childish.
"Is that what you think?"
Before she could react, he dragged his fingers across her mehendi, smearing his name in the design.
Gasps filled the room.
Her breath hitched in rage.
His smirk deepened.
"You can try to erase me, Pari," he murmured, his voice only for her. "But I will always leave my mark."
And as he walked away, leaving her furious and breathless—
Anvi realized something terrifying.
She wasn’t just fighting against him.
She was fighting against herself.
Because somewhere, buried deep beneath all the hate…
Hukum was getting under her skin.
And she hated that she couldn’t stop him.
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The next day, the Rathore mansion was thrown into chaos.
A new guest had arrived.
And this time, it wasn’t a Rathore ally.
It was Dev Mehta.
The moment Anvi saw him step out of his luxury car, dressed in an ivory sherwani, smiling at her like nothing had changed
Her heart twisted.
Dev had been her childhood friend. The boy who had once whispered promises of love under moonlit terraces, the man who had once wanted to marry her.
And now, he was here.
For her.
She barely had time to react before he was standing in front of her, his voice warm.
"Still as beautiful as ever, Anvi."
Her lips parted in surprise, but before she could speak—a shadow fell over them.
The air turned cold.
And then, a hand wrapped around her waist.
Her body locked.
Agastya.
He pulled her closer, his grip unyielding, his voice dangerously calm.
"The conversation is over."
Dev narrowed his eyes. "Anvi is not your property, Rathore."
Anvi felt Agastya’s hold tighten.
And then, in a move that made her entire world spin—
He lifted her left hand… and pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to her engagement ring.
Right in front of Dev.
Gasps filled the courtyard.
Anvi’s breath hitched.
Dev’s expression turned murderous.
"She is my wife-to-be," Agastya murmured, his lips still brushing against her skin.
Then, turning to Dev, he added, "And if you value your life, Mehta, you’ll remember that."
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That night, Anvi waited.
The escape was set.
Aarav had sent word. A car would be waiting near the back gates.
She moved carefully through the hallways, heart hammering, her wedding lehenga already waiting in the next room—waiting to cage her.
Just a little more…
But before she could reach the door, strong hands grabbed her waist and yanked her back.
A gasp escaped her lips as her back hit a hard chest.
A familiar, unrelenting grip wrapped around her wrists.
"Did you really think I wouldn’t know, Pari?"
Her stomach dropped.
Agastya.
His breath was hot against her ear. "I warned you."
Anvi swallowed hard, panic rising. "Agastya, let me go."
A dark chuckle left his lips. "Let you go? Oh, Pari…" He turned her to face him, his hands still locking her in place.
His gaze burned into hers, a dangerous mix of rage and something else—something terrifyingly close to desperation.
"You will be mine, Anvi." His voice dropped lower, almost pained. "Whether you like it or not."
Her breath shook.
She had pushed him too far.
And tomorrow?
Tomorrow, she would wear his sindoor.
Whether she wanted to or not.