CHAPTER 2
The Malhotra mansion didn't feel like a home.
It felt like a palace built for people with power running through their veins instead of blood.
Everything was massive.
The ceilings.
The chandeliers.
The marble staircases.
Even the silence felt expensive.
I stood near the entrance awkwardly, still wearing the heavy red bridal lehenga that now felt suffocating against my skin.
Servants moved around quietly.
Nobody looked directly at me.
But I could feel it.
The whispers.
The stares.
The judgment.
Because twelve hours ago, I was nobody.
And now,
I was Mrs. Riya Malhotra.
The wife of the most powerful man in the country.
The same man currently walking ahead of me without sparing me a single glance.
Dhruv Malhotra climbed the stairs while loosening his black tie lazily, his expensive watch glinting beneath the dim lights.
God.
Even exhausted, angry, and emotionally unavailable, he looked unfairly beautiful.
Tall.
Broad shoulders.
Sharp jawline.
Cold dark eyes.
The type of man people wrote poems about and therapy sessions because of.
His mother smiled gently at me. "Beta, your room is on the second floor."
I blinked.
Your room.
Not your and Dhruv's.
Separate rooms.
Something in my chest hurt unexpectedly.
Maybe because despite everything, some stupid part of me had imagined... something softer after marriage.
Not love.
Just basic warmth.
Humanity.
But this was Dhruv Malhotra.
The man who looked at emotions the way rich people looked at roadside dust.
Irrelevant.
His mother continued carefully, "Dhruv likes privacy."
Before I could reply, his cold voice echoed from upstairs.
"And silence."
I looked up.
He stood near the railing now, staring down at me.
Still intimidating.
Still impossible to read.
His white shirt sleeves were rolled to his forearms now, revealing veins and the expensive black watch wrapped around his wrist.
Everything about him screamed control.
Power.
Danger.
"Come upstairs," he said flatly.
No emotion.
No softness.
Not even anger anymore.
Just cold indifference.
And somehow that felt worse.
I followed him upstairs quietly.
The second floor looked like something out of an architectural magazine.
Minimalistic.
Modern.
Cold grey walls.
Huge glass windows overlooking the city.
Everything looked perfect.
Untouched.
Like nobody actually lived here emotionally.
Dhruv stopped in front of two giant doors.
One on the left.
One on the right.
He pointed toward the right one.
"That's your room."
Then toward the left.
"This is mine."
His gaze shifted to me slowly.
"And these are the rules."
My throat tightened.
He opened his bedroom door slightly.
For one second, I caught a glimpse inside.
Dark interiors.
Black walls.
City lights.
A giant king-sized bed.
Everything expensive.
Everything lonely.
Then he looked back at me.
"Don't enter my room without permission."
His tone was calm.
Too calm.
"Don't touch my things."
Another pause.
"And don't expect anything from me."
The words landed heavily between us.
I tried to stay composed.
Really tried.
But exhaustion was finally catching up to me.
The wedding.
The humiliation.
The media.
The guilt.
Everything.
Still... I nodded softly.
"Okay."
Dhruv's jaw clenched slightly.
Almost like he didn't expect obedience.
Or maybe kindness.
He continued coldly, "This marriage exists on paper. Nothing more."
I swallowed hard.
"You'll get everything you need financially."
The way he said financially made my cheeks burn.
As if he thought girls only married him for money.
Maybe most did.
But not me.
"I don't need your money," I whispered quietly.
For the first time since the wedding...
Dhruv actually looked at me properly.
His dark eyes narrowed slightly.
Like he was trying to understand whether I was lying.
Then suddenly he stepped closer.
My breath caught instantly.
God.
Why did his presence feel so overwhelming?
He stopped right in front of me.
Close enough for me to smell his cologne.
Close enough to notice the faint scar near his eyebrow.
Close enough to realize how terrifyingly beautiful he really was.
"You helped your friend run away from me," he said quietly.
I looked down guiltily.
"And yet you married me yourself."
The accusation in his voice hurt.
"I didn't want..."
"Neither did I."
Silence.
Dead silence.
Then he spoke again.
"You know what's funny?"
His lips curved slightly.
But it wasn't a smile.
It looked colder than anger.
"People spend their entire lives dreaming about marrying into this family."
His eyes locked onto mine.
"And you're standing here looking miserable."
Because I was.
Not because of his money.
But because no girl dreams of being unwanted on her wedding night.
I looked away quickly before he could see the tears in my eyes.
That tiny movement didn't escape him.
Nothing escaped him.
Dhruv stared at me for a few seconds.
Then finally stepped back.
"Goodnight, Riya."
Cold.
Polite.
Distant.
Like I was a stranger he'd never see again.
He turned around and entered his room.
The door shut softly.
And somehow that soft sound hurt more than slamming would've.
I stood there frozen for a long moment.
Alone in the hallway.
Married.
Yet completely alone.
...
My room was bigger than the entire orphanage I grew up in.
The bed looked too luxurious to touch.
Fresh flowers decorated the nightstand.
Designer clothes filled the wardrobe.
Jewelry boxes sat on the vanity table.
Everything looked perfect.
But I had never felt emptier.
I slowly sat on the edge of the bed.
Then looked down at my hands.
Still covered in bridal mehendi with Dhruv's name hidden inside it.
How ironic.
A husband who didn't even want to look at me.
Suddenly my phone buzzed.
Unknown Number.
My brows furrowed.
I answered hesitantly.
"...Hello?"
A girl laughed softly on the other side.
"You really married Dhruv Malhotra?"
I frowned. "Who is this?"
Another voice joined.
"Oh my god, she actually sounds poor."
More laughter.
My grip tightened on the phone.
Then the first girl spoke again.
"Listen carefully, replacement bride."
My stomach dropped.
"You may have gotten the surname..."
A pause.
"But women like you never keep men like Dhruv."
The call disconnected.
My hands trembled.
And before I could stop myself..
A tear finally slipped down my cheek.
At the exact same moment...
Dhruv stood near his bedroom window, city lights reflecting in his cold eyes.
He had heard everything.
Every single word.
His jaw tightened dangerously.
And for reasons he himself didn't understand...
He suddenly felt angry.
Not at the call.
At the fact that hearing Riya cry bothered him at all.