⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟎𝟑˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆
After the grah pravesh, Ritvika stepped into the house—a palace of grandeur, every corne of the living room screaming luxury and power.
Her footsteps were hesitant, her heart heavier than her bridal lehenga.
"Ritvika, we will do the rest of the rituals tomorrow. For now, let me show you your room—come."
Manisha's voice was soft, almost maternal.
Ritvika didn't respond at first, her eyes still trying to register the unfamiliar space. But eventually, she nodded.
They began walking slowly through the marble corridors of the Rajvansh villa. Aarush followed quietly, holding Tara's sleeping figure close to his chest with surprising care.
After a few turns, they stopped in front of a large door.
Manisha opened it with a calm hand.
"This is Vidyut's room," she said, stepping aside, "and from today, yours too. Go inside, rest... you must be exhausted."
Ritvika's breath caught in her throat. She didn't say anything—just stared at the room.
Aarush stepped in gently and placed Tara on the massive king-sized bed, covering her properly. Then, with one last glance, he and Manisha stepped out of the room—closing the door behind them.
Now, it was just Ritvika.
Ritvika and Tara.
She stood frozen.
Not moving.
Not blinking.
The air inside the room felt too quiet. The walls were grand, yet unfamiliar. The scent in the room was masculine, bold, cold—it was his space.
Vidyut's room.
And she was a stranger forced into it.
Her hands gripped the edge of her dupatta as she walked slowly toward the bed.
Tara was asleep—her small chest rising and falling peacefully. Ritvika knelt beside her, brushing a hand over her hair.
A tear rolled down her cheek.
Not for the wedding.
Not for the insult.
But for the fear of what tomorrow would bring.
Because even though the door was shut...
She knew this room didn't belong to her.
And neither did the man who would eventually walk through that door.
I should've known.
From the second I walked into that mandap, something felt off. Too many fake smiles. Too much drama stuffed under glittering outfits.
And now—this.
I clenched my jaw, storming out of that suffocating room.
My footsteps echoed though the marble hallway of that damn wedding venue, but nobody dared to follow.
Of course, they didn't. They all knew better.
I'm not someone you poke when he's angry.
I'm the kind of man people whisper about behind doors.
Even my silence makes the strongest nervous.
They fooled me.
No—they tried to.
They thought Vidyut Rajvansh could be played. That they could switch the bride, hide the truth, and I'd stand there like some puppet.
Pathetic.
My family emotionally blackmailed me into this wedding. "Do it for the family's reputation," "Think about Mom's health," "You owe us."
I gave in. One last time. For them.
And what did I get in return?
A stranger. A woman I've never seen. A child suddenly appearing at the doorstep of my name. And a family full of lies who dared to make a mockery out of a Rajvansh wedding.
I pushed open the car door with such force the driver flinched. Poor guy. It wasn't his fault, but when I'm pissed—I don't spare anyone.
"Drive," I snapped.
Not a word more. I didn't need the comfort. I didn't need the questions.
All I needed—was answers.
And if that family thinks this is over just because the rituals are done...
They're clearly unaware of who the hell Vidyut Rajvansh really is.
The city lights blurred past as the car sped through the roads, but my mind was sharper than ever.
I don't care who she is—Ritvika.
I don't care what sob story she's dragging behind her.
A widow. A mother. A puppet thrown into my life like some last-minute patchwork.
They think I'll just accept this?
That I'll welcome a ready-made family into my name like I'm running some charity?
Bullshit.
I looked out the window, my jaw tight, fingers clenched into fists. My anger wasn't some reckless fire—it was cold, calculated, brewing like a storm that wipes out everything in its way.
The Rajvansh name stands on fear.
Discipline.
Respect.
And if anyone thinks they can humiliate this legacy with some replacement bride stunt—they'll pay.
That Kapoor family... they're finished. Chirag, Deepali—how dare they?
I remember Chirag Kapoor's face back there. Disgusted. Furious. But still trying to control the damage. He was lucky I walked out. Because had I stayed, there would've been blood on those golden wedding carpets.
And that girl—Ritvika—standing there like some lost lamb. Not a word. Not a proest.
If she thinks my silence means acceptance, she's dumber than she looks.
The car slowed.
Rajvansh Villa stood in front of me, tall and intimidating, just like I was raised to be.
I stared at it for a second. Home. The place where I was raised not to love, but to command. Not to cry, but to conquer.
I stepped out of the car.
And with each step towards those doors, one thing became very, very clear—
She might have entered my house today...
But she won't touch my life unless I allow her to.
And that?
Is never going to happen.
As I stepped inside the mansion, the silence hit me. Everyone asleep, as they should be... except her.
Maa.
Sitting alone on the living room sofa like a shadow in the night. I frowned. What is she doing here at this hour?
My gaze flicked to the wall clock — 2 AM.
She stood up the moment her eyes met mine. Her face was calm, but I could feel it — the storm beneath.
"Where were you?" she asked.
I didn't even flinch. "Maa, I was at the office. Some urgent work came up."
Lying. Smooth, calm lie. But I should've known better.
"Vidyut, I'm your mother." Her voice turned stern, sharper than I expected. "Don't try to feed me excuses."
I clenched my jaw. "Fine. I needed air. I needed to be alone. Happy now?"
She sighed. "I understand you're angry—"
"Angry?" I snapped, my voice cutting the silence like a whip. "Angry would be an understatement, Maa. You all trapped me into this circus, made a fool out of me in front of everyone, and now you expect me to stay quiet?"
She walked towards me, calm but firm. "We did what we thought was right for the family, Vidyut. Nisha ran away—"
"So you replaced her?" I growled. "Like some pawn on a chessboard? You used me, Maa."
Her expression didn't falter. "We protected you."
I scoffed. "You cornered me."
"Vidyut, listen—"
"No, you listen!" I thundered, stepping closer. "You all think I'll just swallow this betrayal and carry on like a loyal son and an obedient husband? You think I'll accept that girl—her daughter—as my responsibility?"
Her eyes glistened, but she didn't back away. "You don't have to accept anything right now. But remember, Vidyut—you're not a man who runs away."
I turned my back to her, fists clenched.
"You are a Rajvansh. You deal with situations. You face them. This is your home. That girl is now your wife—"
"Not by my choice," I snapped.
"No," she admitted. "But by destiny. And you of all people should know, Vidyut, destiny doesn't ask for permission."
Silence.
I didn't say another word. I stormed up the stairs, each step a thunder beneath my feet.
Let her call it destiny.
I call it betrayal.
And I don't forgive betrayal.
As I climbed the stairs, my blood was already boiling.
I pushed open the door of my room — correction — the room they now had the audacity to claim — and what do I see?
Both of them.
That mother-daughter duo lying on my bed like it belonged to them. The little one curled beside her, fast asleep, her tiny hand resting on that woman's arm.
And Ritvika?
Sleeping peacefully. Comfortable. At ease.
Wow. Just wow.
Making everyone's life a living hell — manipulating emotions, breaking trust, throwing my family into a pit of drama — and here she is, resting like a queen in the luxury of my house, in my room, on my bed.
What the actual hell.
Do these people even have an ounce of shame?
This entire stunt was so calculated. I've seen it before — women like her. Playing the victim, hiding behind a sob story. Widowed. Single mother. No family would take that in easily. So what do they do?
Trap someone like me. Rich, respected, feared.
Tie her with me and she gets it all — the name, the luxury, the status. Even the damn roof above her head.
But here's where they're wrong.
I'm not their savior. I'm their punishment.
If she thought marriage was her escape route, she picked the wrong damn man. She has no idea what kind of hell she's just walked into.
No one makes a fool out of Vidyut Rajvansh and walks away smiling.
"Just be ready..." I muttered under my breath, eyes burning holes through her sleeping form. "Be ready to face the consequences of your actions."
With one final glare, I stormed inside the closet and slammed the door shut, the echo of the impact vibrating through the room.
I'll teach them both a lesson they'll never forget.
????R I T V I K A?? ??
The loud sound of a door slamming shut jolted me awake. My heart skipped a beat.
I didn't even realize when I had fallen asleep. Last I checked, it was 2:07 a.m... and now, 2:10. I must've dozed off for a few minutes — maybe fifteen — the weight of everything finally numbing me down.
Insomnia, that's what they call it. For me, it's survival. And today... even that survival felt fragile.
I sat up quickly, confused and scared, still in my heavy wedding lehenga that now felt like chains tied around my body.
I looked around the room — the lights were dim, the silence thick — and then I heard it.
A door opening.
My breath hitched.
He's here.
Vidyut Rajvansh.
The man I had just been forcefully tied to in front of the world.
He entered the room slowly, wearing a black t-shirt and joggers, his hair messy, his jaw tight... but it was his eyes that held me in place.
Those eyes.
They weren't just looking — they were burning.
Anger?
Arrogance?
Hatred?
I couldn't tell.
I just froze.
Is he going to...?
No... no, he wouldn't.
He wouldn't do anything. He can't.
Would he?
My mind was spiraling, my body trembling. I didn't realize when my feet started moving — backward — one slow step at a time.
And suddenly...
My back hit the wall.
He was still looking at me. Still silent.
I couldn't breathe. My heart pounded so loud it echoed in my ears.
My fists clenched tightly around my lehenga. My throat dry. Eyes wide. Fear crawling up my spine like cold venom.
Please... please don't hurt me.
I've already been through enough.
"No... no, don't come near me!" I shouted, the words spilling out before I could even think.
My palms raised in instinct — not defense, but desperation.
"Please... no. Don't—" I shook my head violently, my body trembling uncontrollably.
His steps had stopped, but the silence around us was louder than any scream.
"No! NO!" I screamed again, louder this time. My back was crushed against the wall, the cold surface digging into my skin through the heavy fabric of the lehenga.
Tara.
My eyes darted to the bed.
She was still asleep, her tiny hand curled into a fist.
I couldn't let her wake up. I couldn't let her see me like this.
But I couldn't stop shaking.
The fear gripped every cell in my body — not just because of him, but because of everything.
Because of what had been done to me.
Because of what I had lost.
Because of what I had been forced into.
And now, in front of me stood a man... who hadn't spoken a single word yet, but whose silence carried the weight of every possible cruelty.
His jaw was clenched, his fists too.
Was he angry?
Yes.
Was he furious?
Maybe.
Would he hurt me?
I didn't know.
But I was terrified.
And so, I kept shouting.
"Don't touch me! Please! Don't hurt me! I didn't ask for this—I didn't want any of this!"
My voice cracked as the tears burst through.
I didn't even care what he thought anymore.
I just needed him to stay away.
Just then... he took a step forward.
And I?
I slid down to the floor, covering my head with my arms, curling up like a child hiding from a storm.
Because that's what he felt like —
A storm.
What the actual hell?
I stepped out of the closet, having changed into a plain black T-shirt and joggers. My head was still pounding from the mess downstairs.
And then I saw her.
Standing there in that heavy lehenga, shivering like I'm some kind of monster. Like I'd lay a hand on her.
"Stop screaming," I snapped. My voice was sharp, low... dangerous even.
Not because I'd hurt her — but because I was pissed beyond control.
She was crouched now. On the damn floor.
Crying. Panicking. Muttering things under her breath I couldn't even understand.
I looked around.
My room. My bed. Her daughter peacefully asleep on the corner. My closet door still shaking from the way I'd slammed it.
This wasn't a home anymore.
It felt like a trap
"Is this what you do?" I barked. "Play victim? Make the world dance around your tears?"
She didn't reply — just flinched harder.
I clenched my jaw, my fists tight at my side.
This was insane.
I looked around again.
My bed — occupied.
My space — invaded.
My peace — destroyed.
"Is this your trick?" I growled. "Cry, shake, act helpless — and expect the world to bow?"
No answer.
I was sick of this.
I wasn't some lovestruck idiot she could manipulate. She could keep the trembling, the tears — but none of it worked on me.
"Get up," I growled. My voice thundered through the silence. "I said get up, dammit!"
She looked up, still hugging her knees, still trembling.
God. This was a nightmare.
She looked up slowly, terrified — like I'd raise a hand.
I stepped back in disgust.
"Let's get a few things clear," I said, my voice cold as steel. "I don't hit women. I never have. I never will. But don't think that earns you a pass to walk over me either."
I stepped back.
Her eyes widened.
Exactly. I don't cross lines — but I don't let anyone forget who I am either.
"You're in this house because of a mistake. A lie." My voice was bitter, ice-cold. "And you'll pay for it — not with blood, not with pain — but with silence. Obedience. And by staying the hell out of my way."
I pointed to the bed.
"That's mine."
Then to the closet.
"That's mine too."
And lastly, I looked her dead in the eye.
"And this house? Every inch of it? Mine."
I saw her flinch again, clutch her dupatta like it was her only armour.
Good.
She needed to know what world she had walked into.
This wasn't a fairytale. This wasn't some second chance.
This was Vidyut Rajvansh's world.
And mercy wasn't written in its walls.
Without another word, I turned back into the closet, slamming the door shut.
She could cry all she wanted.
But this was just the beginning.
Ritvika was still trembling.
Her fingers clutched the edge of her lehenga, her throat dry, heart thudding like a trapped bird inside her chest.
And then his voice cut through the air again — sharp, venom-laced.
"This bed is mine," he growled, his eyes cold and burning at once.
"So I don't give a damn who sleeps in it. You? Don't even think about it."
He took a step forward, his tone dropping like thunder.
"Take your damn blanket and move to the couch."
Each word landed like a blow.
Ritvika flinched, her breath caught. She slowly stood up, her legs barely supporting her weight. Her lips quivered as she tried to speak, the fear evident in her every movement.
"I...I will sleep on the couch," she whispered, her voice barely audible, "...but..."
She hesitated, her hands shaking as she gestured helplessly toward the bed where her daughter lay fast asleep — unaware of the storm swirling around her.
"...but can you... can you please let my daughter sleep on the bed? Just for tonight... please..."
Her voice cracked at the end, her eyes pleading, overflowing with silent desperation. Not for herself.
For her child.
Just for her child.
The air was stiff. Her words still hung in the silence.
Vidyut's jaw twitched.
His eyes moved to the tiny figure curled up on the bed. Tara. Wrapped in the softness of the sheets, unaware of the war outside her dreams.
He scoffed under his breath.
"Wow," he muttered, backing a step away. "So now, I not only have to share my house, my room... but my damn bed with a child I didn't even know existed until a few hours ago."
His glare shifted back to Ritvika.
"You women... are something else."
Ritvika dropped her gaze to the floor, her heart pounding painfully. She didn't speak. She didn't argue.
Ritvika's eyes snapped up, wide and unsure.
But before a single emotion could register on her face, he raised a finger at her.
"But don't mistake this for some mercy, alright?" His voice was like stone.
"She sleeps there because I said so. Not because you begged. Not because you asked."
Vidyut said nothing. His jaw was clenched, his fists tight. His eyes remained locked on her — unblinking.
The room stood still, the tension suffocating.
Vidyut was about to lie back down on the bed when his eyes caught Ritvika placing pillows gently around her daughter. One by one, surrounding her like a protective shield. His jaw clenched in frustration as he shut his eyes tightly, trying to block out the sight.
This wasn't his life. This wasn't supposed to be his life.
Ritvika then slowly turned towards the couch, clutching the blanket he had thrown at her earlier. Just when she was about to settle, his voice thundered again—
"Are you fucking out of your mind? You are going to sleep in this heavy lehenga?" he asked, his tone laced with irritation and disbelief.
Startled, Ritvika stopped in her tracks. Her voice came out low, trembling—
"Voh... I don't have my... my clothes. They haven't arrived yet..."
Vidyut let out a sharp exhale, running a hand down his face in visible frustration. He didn't say a word for a moment, just stared at her as if she were the biggest mistake of his life.
And then, without another word, he stormed toward his closet, yanked it open roughly, pulled out one of his t-shirts and a loose track pant — and tossed it in her direction.
"Wear that," he muttered coldly. "If you faint from the heat and someone comes crying to me tomorrow, I'll personally throw both of you out."
With that, he turned his back, walked to the bed again and lay down — clearly done with the night, done with the day, and definitely done with this new reality.
The room went quiet again... except for the soft breathing of a little child in deep sleep.
And a woman silently holding back her tears — clutching the only shred of dignity handed to her in the form of a crumpled t-shirt.
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