Chapter Eighteen
Author's pov
After two exhausting hours of being poked, pulled, brushed, and pinned, the team of stylists finally stepped back, their job complete. They whispered compliments to each other as they exited, but Ria barely heard them. She was too stunned by her own reflection.
No word could describe what she looked like.
She wore a jet-black velvet lehenga, embroidered with fine antique gold zardozi that shimmered in delicate patterns across the fabric like golden vines.
The blouse was simple yet elegant, hugging her frame with grace, and the dupatta was draped like a veil of shadowed moonlight over her right shoulder.
Her makeup was minimal - smoky eyes, nude lips, a delicate highlighter that gave her cheekbones an ethereal glow.
Her hair had been curled into loose waves, pinned neatly to one side, cascading down like silk.
Ria looked breathtaking.
And yet...
She couldn't recognize herself.
She stood in front of the mirror, searching for the girl she used to be - the girl who smiled freely, who believed in love, who once imagined her wedding day as a fairytale.
But all she saw now... was a stranger dressed for a role she never auditioned for.
Her dry throat snapped her from her thoughts. She lifted her heavy lehenga and made her way to the nightstand. The glass jug was empty.
"Oh God, I can't carry this all the way downstairs and come back up," she muttered, lightly tapping her forehead. "I'll just ask someone to refill it." She spoke, her eyes lighting up like a child.
She turned, lifting the fabric again carefully, trying not to trip-
And that's when the door burst open.
The sudden gust of wind from the door startled her, her heel twisted slightly and she lost her balance.
She fell forward - but instead of hitting the ground, she collided into something strong. Hard. Warm.
Not something.
Someone.
A wall of muscle wrapped in an open collar shirt - it was him.
Aansh.
His hands had instinctively caught her, one gripping her waist, the other her arm. Ria's eyes were squeezed shut, her lips quivering from the shock.
Aansh looked down, jaw clenched, breath caught in his throat.
She was flushed pink, her cheeks glowing, lips parted slightly. Her fragrance - a blend of jasmine and roses - surrounded him.
She looked like an angel that had fallen straight into the devil's arms.
He wasn't sure what made her tremble - the near fall, or him.
Ria slowly opened her eyes.
And there he was - staring.
Those piercing blue eyes locked on hers. His features perfect: the sharp jawline, the untamed hair, the tightly rolled-up sleeves revealing veined arms.
She swallowed.
He looks like sin in human form.
Realizing how close they were, Ria gasped and jerked herself away from his grip, stumbling slightly as she steadied her lehenga.
Why, God? Why did I have to fall into his arms of all people?
She risked a glance back at him.
He was still staring. He never stared at her for more than two seconds, yet he was staring at her now.
No emotion.
Just... staring. Like she was some puzzle he couldn't solve.
She tried to walk away.
But his hand snapped out and grabbed her wrist, his grip strong and unyielding.
Ria winced.
"Tonight," he said, voice like gravel and ice, "I don't want a single mistake."
He stepped closer.
"Otherwise..."
His voice dropped.
"You'll see the worst in me."
His tone was dangerous - not loud, not angry - just quiet enough to terrify.
"I-" she started, her voice shaking.
But before she could finish, he yanked her wrist once, hard.
She let out a soft cry of pain.
Then - just like that - he disappeared into the bathroom without a care.
Ria stared at her hand. Red marks had already started forming. She rubbed it gently, trying to soothe both the sting and her racing heart.
Oh God, what did i do to deserve such a heartless man.
Without another glance at the bathroom door, she picked up her dupatta and quietly exited the room.
---
Twenty minutes later, Aansh emerged.
He was dressed in a black silk sherwani, tailored to perfection.
The silver embroidery along the high collar shimmered under the lights.
It clung to him like a second skin - powerful, cold, divine.
His hair was styled neatly, his beard trimmed, and he wore a black onyx ring on his index finger. The final touch: his silver Rolex.
He looked like a man made to conquer the world.
---
Downstairs, Ria stood quietly as one of the guards informed her that it was time to leave.
She stepped outside, her lehenga trailing behind her like a shadow. Ishita, Kritika stood near the car, chatting casually.
When they saw her - they froze.
"Bhabhi..." Ishita gasped. "You look... stunning."
"Like royalty," Kritika added, eyes wide.
Ria smiled faintly. "Thank you."
She looked around.
The convoy of luxury cars had already left.
"Aansh?" she asked softly.
The girls exchanged glances.
"He already left," Ishita admitted. "He went alone a while ago."
Ria could see the pitty on their faces.
Ria felt the ache in her chest return. She knew not to expect alot from this marriage.
Of course he did she whispered before nodding and smiling politely. "Let's go."
They entered the car, a fleet of three black SUVs following behind them for security.
---
The car stopped at a private garden entrance near the Rathore Hotel.
"This isn't the front," Ria said.
Kritika nodded. "Dadaji wanted you to avoid the press. So we're using the side entrance."
Relieved, Ria exhaled.
They walked in - and the hall took her breath away.
White orchids hung like chandeliers. Golden drapes shimmered in the soft lighting. The richest, most influential people in the country filled the room - draped in diamonds and silk.
The room fell in a hush after noticing the secret Rathore bride before whispers began.
"There she is... the secret bride."
"Where's her husband? Shouldn't they walk in together?"
"She's so beautiful..."
"I heard she tricked him into marrying her."
"She doesn't look like Rathore material."
"She's nothing like his usual women."
Ria kept her chin high, though her stomach churned listening to this accusations made about her.
Kritika and Ishita flanked her protectively as they approached a floral swing - elaborately decorated, fit for a queen. Ria sat gently, clutching her dupatta as her heart raced.
Gayatri, dressed in a maroon kanjeevaram saree with gold jewelry heavy enough to show her status, approached like a queen herself.
With fake warmth, she pulled the dupatta gently over Ria's head.
"Everyone," she smiled, "this is my lovely daughter-in-law. Please bless her."
Ria was puzzled by her sweet act and wondered how far one can reach to appear perfect.
Guests gathered, some genuinely smiling, others smirking.
"Bless her alone?" someone whispered. "Where's the groom?"
Ria's chest tightened.
Don't cause drama. That's what he said. But he's the one making a scene, she thought bitterly.
"My grandson will be here shortly," Pratap said sternly, diffusing the tension. "Bless the bride in the meantime."
One by one, people came up. Some complimented her, some judged her with veiled eyes, and some didn't even try to hide their disdain. Ria accepted each gesture with dignity, thanking them quietly.
---
After what felt like hours, the crowd shifted back to socializing.
Ria stood, her legs aching, and made her way to the garden, seeking fresh air. The weight of eyes and whispers had worn her down.
As she reached the garden's edge, she bumped into a chest.
"Sorry," she whispered, stepping back.
"Wait - you're Mrs. Aansh Rathore, right?"
The voice made her stop.
She turned slowly.
The man had a sharp jaw, neatly styled hair, and a confident smile. Something about him was familiar.
"I'm Ishaan," he said, offering his hand. "And you... you're the most beautiful woman I've seen tonight."
She blinked, caught off guard.
"Ria Malhotra," she said politely, avoiding his hand. "Thank you."
He laughed and took back his hand. "You introduced yourself incorrectly. Aren't you married now?"
Ria lifted her chin. "Is it a law that a woman must always take her husband's name?"
"No," he smirked. "But every woman in the Rathore family wears that surname with pride. I just thought you were one of them."
Before she could respond-
A voice sliced through the air.
Low.
Cold.
"If you're done speaking to my wife, step away from her."
Ria turned slowly.
There he was - Aansh Rathore.
Striding toward them like a predator, eyes locked on Ishaan, another man besides him.
Possessive.
Terrifying.
And somehow... something flickered in his gaze, was it anger, she couldn't tell.
But she knew the night had only just begun.
---
Guys please comment and vote, am giving it my best