Chapter 8
Gold silk drapes hung from the ceilings, marigold garlands lined the entrance, and the entire courtyard was lit with diyas—a wedding fit for royalty.
The sound of dhols and shehnais echoed through the halls, but all she could hear was the deafening pounding of her own heartbeat.
This couldn’t happen.
She wouldn’t let it.
Tonight, before the wedding rituals could trap her forever—she would escape.
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Anvi stood in front of her dressing mirror, draped in a deep red lehenga, the heavy gold embroidery pressing against her skin like iron chains.
The mangalsutra rested on a silver tray nearby, waiting to be tied around her neck. A symbol of her defeat.
Her fingers clenched around the silk fabric.
No.
She wouldn’t let him win.
She would burn this marriage before it began.
With slow, deliberate movements, she picked up the mangalsutra… and threw it into the diya flame.
The black beads sizzled, turning to ash.
And then—the doors swung open.
A sharp breath escaped her lips as Agastya Singh Rathore stepped inside.
His black sherwani blended into the shadows, his dark eyes locked onto her in dangerous silence.
But it wasn’t the rage that terrified her.
It was the way his gaze dropped to the flames… to the burning symbol of their marriage.
The air in the room thickened.
Then, in a voice deadly quiet, he spoke.
“That was a mistake, Pari.”
Her heart pounded, but she lifted her chin. "I will not marry you, Agastya."
Something flickered in his eyes—something dark, something almost… hurt.
Then, before she could move, he stepped forward, closing the space between them.
One hand gripped her chin, forcing her to look at him.
"You think a few ashes will set you free?" he murmured, his voice soft but sharp as a blade.
"You can burn a thousand mangalsutras, Pari, but in the end…"
He leaned in, his lips ghosting against her ear.
"You will still be mine."
Her breath caught, but before she could speak—
A gunshot rang through the mansion.
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Screams filled the air.
Anvi flinched, her body going rigid as another gunshot echoed through the halls.
Agastya’s head snapped toward the door, his entire body going rigid.
Then—chaos.
Guards rushed past the doorway, voices yelling orders.
And then—Kabir stormed into the room, his face grim.
"It’s Vikram," he said, breathing hard. "He betrayed us. There’s an attack on the gates."
Anvi’s blood ran cold.
Before she could react, Agastya grabbed her wrist, pulling her toward him.
"Don’t move," he ordered. "Stay here."
But before he could leave—
A bullet shattered the glass window behind them.
Everything happened too fast.
One moment, she was standing by the dressing table, and the next—Agastya had grabbed her, pushing her to the floor, his body covering hers as glass rained around them.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
For the first time since meeting him, she saw something new in his eyes.
Fear.
Not for himself.
For her.
His grip on her tightened, his voice hoarse with urgency. "Are you hurt?"
She shook her head, unable to speak.
Then—his expression changed.
The rage returned.
The cold, merciless Hukum emerged once more.
And in that moment, Anvi realized something terrifying.
If anyone had tried to kill her tonight…
Agastya would burn Udaipur to the ground.
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The attack ended as quickly as it began.
By midnight, the Rathore men had wiped out the traitors.
But the wedding?
It was ruined. The guests had fled. The grand mandap lay in ashes.
And yet, as Anvi sat on the bed in the dimly lit room, she knew—this wasn’t over.
The door creaked open.
Her breath caught as Agastya stepped inside.
His sherwani was ruined, stained with blood—some his, some not. His hair was disheveled, his hands still wrapped in bruises from the fight.
He said nothing.
Simply walked toward her.
She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could—he dropped to his knees in front of her.
Her heart stopped.
His hands wrapped around her ankles, his forehead pressing against her knees.
For the first time, the ruthless Agastya Singh Rathore bowed.
Not to power.
Not to revenge.
To her.
His voice was low, rough, and filled with something she had never heard before.
"I could’ve lost you tonight."
She swallowed hard, her throat dry. "You don’t care about me, Agastya."
His grip tightened.
"Don’t I?"
She tried to pull away, but he held her firm.
"You can hate me, Pari. You can fight me. But don’t ever think… that I don’t care."
Her breath shook.
Because for the first time since meeting him, she saw it—
The man beneath the monster.
The one who had spent his whole life choosing power over love.
And now?
Now, he was choosing her.
Even if she would never choose him back.