Chapter 10
The wedding was over.
The sacred fire had burned down to ashes, the guests had left, and the temple bells had stopped ringing.
And now, Anvi Oberoi was no longer Anvi Oberoi.
She was Mrs. Anvi Agastya Singh Rathore.
The weight of the mangalsutra around her neck felt suffocating, the sindoor in her hairline a brand of ownership she refused to accept.
She had lost.
But if Agastya thought she would surrender, he was wrong.
Because if she couldn’t escape him, she would destroy him from the inside.
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The door shut with a soft click.
Anvi turned, her heartbeat pounding in her ears.
She and Agastya were alone in his bedroom—their bedroom.
The room was large, filled with antique furniture, a grand four-poster bed draped in silk, and a wall lined with books. A king’s chamber.
And tonight, she was locked inside it with him.
Her fingers curled into fists as she faced him.
"Let me go."
Agastya stood by the door, removing his sherwani’s heavy gold buttons, his movements slow and deliberate.
"Go where, Pari?"
Her breath hitched. "To my own room."
He let out a low chuckle. "There is no other room. This is your place now."
Her pulse slammed against her ribs.
"I am not your wife." The words left her lips like a challenge.
Agastya stopped.
Then, in one smooth motion, he closed the distance between them.
His fingers brushed against her cheek, trailing down to her chin.
She flinched, expecting him to grab her, to force her to bow to his will.
But instead—he simply tilted her face up.
"Then why are you wearing my sindoor, jaan?" His voice was low, amused.
Anvi ripped away from his touch.
"Because you forced me into this marriage!" Her voice cracked, raw with anger.
Agastya exhaled sharply, stepping back.
His expression darkened, but there was something else—something unreadable in his gaze.
Something close to… hurt.
But just as fast as it came, he masked it with his usual arrogance.
"Sleep, Pari. Tomorrow, we begin our life together."
Her chest heaved. "I will never be yours."
His smirk returned, slow and dangerous.
"You already are."
Then, without another word, he turned and left the room, locking the door behind him.
Leaving her alone—caged, furious, and burning with defiance.
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Anvi woke up to the sound of the door unlocking.
The morning light spilled through the large windows, casting golden hues across the room.
She sat up instantly, her pulse racing.
Agastya entered, dressed in a black kurta, his hair slightly tousled, his gaze unreadable.
Behind him, a line of servants carried silver trays filled with breakfast.
He walked over to the dining table in the center of the room and took a seat.
Then—he looked at her.
"Eat."
Anvi didn’t move.
She just stared at him, her body rigid with defiance. "I’m not hungry."
Agastya exhaled slowly, rubbing his temple. "Pari, don’t test my patience today."
She folded her arms. "I don’t take orders from you."
His jaw ticked.
A tense silence stretched between them, thick like a storm waiting to break.
Then—without another word—he stood, walked over, and picked up a plate himself.
Before she could react, he sat beside her on the bed, too close, too dangerous.
She tried to move away, but his hand wrapped around her wrist.
Her breath hitched.
And then—he lifted a spoonful of food to her lips.
"Eat, Pari," he murmured, his voice softer than she expected. "You didn't eat last night."
Her body locked.
She hated how her pulse betrayed her, how her skin tingled under his touch.
She hated him.
So she did the only thing she could.
She slapped the spoon out of his hand.
The silver utensil clattered to the floor, food spilling across the carpet.
The entire room fell silent.
Agastya’s jaw tightened, his hand still frozen mid-air.
And then—he smiled.
A slow, dark, dangerous smile.
"You want a war, Pari?" His voice dropped to a whisper. "Fine. Let’s play."
And just like that, the real game began.
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While Anvi and Agastya fought inside the mansion, outside, a new storm was brewing.
Aarav Oberoi stood in an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Udaipur, his fists clenched as he faced Rudra Singh Rathore.
Agastya’s younger brother.
The man who wanted his throne.
Aarav’s voice was sharp, cold. "I need to get Anvi out of there."
Rudra leaned back against the wall, smirking. "And I need my brother destroyed. Looks like we both want the same thing."
Aarav’s blood boiled. "This isn’t about power. This is about my sister’s life."
Rudra’s smirk didn’t fade. "And you think Agastya will let her go?"
Aarav swallowed hard. "Then I’ll make him let her go."
Rudra chuckled. "Oh, Oberoi… you have no idea what kind of monster you’re fighting."
Aarav’s hands clenched into fists.
Because he did know.
He just didn’t care.
Because no matter what it took—he would bring his sister home.
Even if it meant burning Agastya Singh Rathore’s empire to the ground.