Chapter 1
IRA
"One more, please," I purred, sliding the shot glass toward Aryan with a teasing smile, a playful challenge in my voice.
It was sweet but coated with that specific edge he always claimed made him weak.
And just as I expected, his broad shoulders dropped almost imperceptibly, his soldier's guard softening around the edges.
His dark eyes, usually so disciplined, locked with mine, and for a precious second, everything else the pounding music, the raucous chatter, the dizzying club lights faded into a distant hum. It was just him and me. Always him and me.
Aryan was devilishly handsome. So sexily muscular, the kind of man who wore his scars like medals of honor and looked at you like you were the most sacred thing he’d ever laid eyes on. His crisp uniform had always made women’s hearts flutter, including mine, a fact I'd once cherished.
But tonight, he wasn't the decorated Captain Rathore. He was just Aryan Rathore. My fiancé. My soon-to-be husband. The man who was going to be my home forever. A shiver, both warm and unsettling, traced down my spine at the thought.
"You forget our discipline, Ira," he said, a brow raising in mock sternness, trying so hard to play the part of the unyielding soldier. "What were we taught in our army training?"
I rolled my eyes, a familiar, yet strangely complicated, warmth curling in my chest.
“Aryan, please. Don’t bring your army discipline here.
Tonight, you’re not a captain and I’m not a lieutenant in the Indian Army.
We’re not in uniform. We’re not standing in formation.
We’re just two people who’ve waited a decade for this moment.
Let’s live it a little, hmm?” My voice softened, a genuine plea.
I paused, watching the subtle twitch at the corner of his lips, a tiny battle between his ingrained discipline and the smile he wanted to let loose.
“I would be really happy if, for just these two days, we forget we’re officers,” I added, my voice barely a whisper, imbued with every ounce of desperate hope I felt, “and just remember that we’re a couple, deeply in love, celebrating the last few days before becoming one.”
I smiled. “Enjoy, baby. It’s our night.”
He caved, of course. Aryan always did when I asked like that. There was that quiet surrender in his eyes, a softening that both comforted and pricked at me. He threw the shot back, a quick, almost painful gulp, and winced.
“Shit! That’s strong.” He coughed, shaking his head.
I laughed, slightly too loud, and grabbed his hand, tugging him onto the pulsating dance floor. The music vibrated beneath our feet, a primal thump that felt like a second, wild heartbeat. People cheered as we melted into the gyrating crowd, and a part of me felt like we were floating in a dream.
Only, this was the kind of fairytale where the princess had two hearts beating wildly in her chest, and she didn’t know what to do with either.
This was our bachelorette party, my last two days of "separate" life before I became Mrs. Rathore, sharing the name of a man I had adored for ten long years.
But the question, cold and sharp, sliced through the momentary joy:
Am I ready to be his wife?
These shitty thoughts, these constant stabs of doubt, hurt more than any physical pain, so I brutally pushed them away, forcing myself to focus on the thrumming energy of the party, on him.
I moved with the beat, letting the rhythm possess me, crawl under my skin, urging me to just feel. Aryan’s hands found my waist, firm and possessive, grounding me, reminding me where I was and, more importantly, who I was with.
A true laugh escaped me as his eyes, dark and intense, followed my every move like I was the brightest star in his sky.
And yet… every time he looked at me like that, with such unyielding adoration, I felt a quiet ache bloom in my chest. A whisper of someone else.
Because when Aryan touched me, when his fingers brushed against my skin, when his lips neared mine I didn’t just feel him. I felt Prashant.
I felt Prashant Pandey, the man I had always craved, no matter the consequences. He was the man I risked everything for, the one who made me do things I never thought I was capable of, the one who just forced me to break every rule I ever made for myself.
Prashant was the man I wasn’t supposed to fall for. The name I had buried deep in the folds of my conscience, tried to erase with every beat of my loyal heart. The one mistake that never, not once, truly felt like a mistake.
God help me.
“Aryan…” I said, breathless, half-dazed from the assault of lights and music, the suffocating presence of my own conflicted desires.
He knew. That look in his eyes, he always knew when I needed something unspoken, something beyond the chaos. Without a word, he gently led me away, through the blur of laughing faces and deafening noise, into a quiet, almost sacred, hallway lit by a single golden light.
And then he kissed me. He kissed me deeply, hungrily, with an urgency that mirrored the frantic beating of my own heart.
I kissed him back with the same desperate passion, the same maddening need.
I needed to forget Prashant. I needed to drown out his memory, his presence that clung to me.
So I kissed my fiancé. My Aryan. He was going to be my husband, not Prashant Pandey.
It should have felt like home but it didn’t.
His lips were fired against mine, his grip firm on my waist, his body warm and solid against mine.
I kissed him with all the force I could muster, pouring every ounce of my will into the act, but somewhere in between, I closed my eyes and Prashant’s face flashed behind my lids, vivid and haunting.
His beautiful hazel eyes, the subtle dip of his dimples, the thin, expressive line of his lips.
That mischievous smirk. The way he used to steal glances when no one was watching, a secret language just for us.
The way his fingertips had once lingered too long on mine during drills, a fleeting touch that ignited a wildfire.
The way my heart, against all reason, had rebelled and chosen him.
I gasped, a small, choked sound, and tightened my fingers in Aryan’s hair, desperately trying to drag myself back into the present, to shake the phantom of Prashant from this kiss that should have been solely Aryan's.
Aryan deepened the kiss, a possessive, comforting weight, and for a moment, I let myself fall, let myself be pulled under, because Aryan was safe.
He was kind, loyal, and noble. He had waited for me, for ten agonizing years.
He had chosen me, again and again, even when I had tried to convince myself I didn’t deserve him.
Even when I had cheated on him, not once, but several times, each transgression left a fresh wound on my conscience.
But love was never that simple. It was never just about what was right, or safe, or earned.
“Aryan…Why do you have to be so damn handsome, so sexy… so tempting, huh? I can’t even resist you anymore.” I whispered against his lips, hoping he couldn’t hear the violent tremble in my voice, the raw desperation. “Can we just…?”
“Ssh.” He placed a gentle finger on my lips, silencing the unformed words, the aching plea. “We’ll wait. Just two more nights. You deserve to be cherished, Ira. Not claimed in a corner of a hall, half-drunk and reckless.”
Of course we would. Because Aryan was the kind of man who waited, who worshipped, who didn’t rush. Yes, we had slept together, years ago, a distant memory now that felt almost clinical in its restraint.
But Prashant? He never had.
The thought sent a sharp, agonizing pang through my chest, a reminder of the wild, unbridled passion I felt only with him.
I knew Aryan felt my frustration, a deep growl escaping my throat.
“You’re killing me.”
He smiled gently, a hint of genuine affection in his eyes, and brushed a stray strand of hair behind my ear.
“We can wait two more days.”
I leaned in, needing to tether myself to this moment, to this man, and left a trail of desperate kisses down his neck. But even as his skin warmed under my lips, guilt curled in my lungs, constricting my breath.
I sank my teeth into his warm skin, a small, almost aggressive love bite, a need to mark him, to make him undeniably mine.
He flinched slightly. “Ow!”
I smiled, a feigned mischief replacing the turmoil in my eyes. “Don’t you dare stop me, okay?”
“You are trouble,” he chuckled, shaking his head.
“And you love it.” My smile widened, a brittle mask. “I can’t wait to share your name. I’ve dreamed about this for so long, Aryan. We were made for each other, you know that? There’s no one else. It’s always been you. It’ll only ever be you.”
It was what he needed to hear. The words he craved. The balm for his loyal heart. But was it a lie?
The question echoed, cold and accusatory, in the cavern of my mind.
When he pulled me into his strong arms and whispered that he loved me more than the whole Milky Way, tracing soft patterns on my back, I wanted to believe it was enough. That Aryan’s boundless love would somehow erase the cracks inside me, would mend the fractured pieces of my soul.
That one day, I would kiss him and not remember someone else.
Did Aryan truly love me, though? We felt this profound connection only when we were together, physically close. But once we were apart, we reverted to normal colleagues, our interactions professional, almost distant.
Yet, I felt this undeniable connection with Prashant even when he wasn’t near. I still felt like his smile and eyes hovered over me, invading my personal space, my very thoughts.
“Thank you for always standing by me.” Aryan’s voice, a soft brush against my ear, pulled me back. “For chasing your dreams. For being everything.”
If only he knew. How close I had come to walking away, so many times. How often I questioned if he was truly the one my heart longed for, or if I had simply trained it, disciplined it, to beat for him out of gratitude.
If he ever asked himself if I was the one for him.
“Don’t get all sentimental on me, Rathore,” I teased, blinking back the hot burn behind my lashes, forcing a lightness I didn't feel.“Sometimes, I still can’t believe you’re the same Aryan who stares down generals without blinking.
You look so brooding and dangerous in your uniform, if only people knew how soft you really are. ”
“Only for you.” His voice was a tender murmur, brimming with devotion.
I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood. If only that were true for me too.
My phone buzzed. “It’s Mom,” I muttered, and the fragile illusion of our private world shattered. Everything came crashing back: family, obligations, the suffocating weight of expectations.
“My brother’s on his way. He’ll be here in five minutes.”
I couldn’t breathe for a second, a wave of dread washing over me. I couldn’t handle more relatives, more expectations, more pretending.
“Relatives are more poisonous than snakes. At least if a snake bites you, you die. But these people? They mark your whole family for life with their words.”
“You have no filter, do you?” Aryan laughed, a deep sound. I liked his laugh.
As we walked out, Meera staggered toward us, mascara smudged and half-delirious, her teasing words a drunken slur. I laughed, deflecting her playful jabs, a practiced ease in my movements. We had secrets, Aryan and I, secrets she didn’t need to know.
The club air was heavy, clinging to my skin, a cloying reminder of the chaos inside. But outside, the cool breeze kissed my cheeks, a stark, unwelcome reminder that tomorrow was coming, faster than I wanted it to.
“I’ll see you tomorrow at the Haldi,” I said, my fingers tracing the strong line of his jaw, trying to imprint his presence.
He kissed me, a soft, lingering press, and I kissed him back, forcing myself into the moment. But just for a second, in the terrifying darkness of my own mind, it was Prashant’s lips I imagined. And I hated myself for it.
“See you, love,” Aryan said, his voice warm and steady, oblivious to the storm raging within me.
I stepped into my brother’s waiting car. The door clicked shut, a final, definitive sound. But the war inside me had just begun.
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