Chapter 14 #3
"Siddhant, please!" Raghav yelled, running down the final few stairs, though he was too terrified to actually intervene. "He is your brother!"
"He is nothing to me," Siddhant snarled, not looking away from Aryan’s bulging, terrified eyes. "He lost the right to that title the minute he embarrassed this family. The minute he abandoned her."
Siddhant suddenly released his grip, stepping back and letting Aryan crash to the floor.
Aryan collapsed onto the polished marble, coughing and gasping violently for air, clutching his bruised throat. Nandini rushed to his side, weeping hysterically, trying to help him sit up.
"You are insane!" Aryan choked out, looking up at his older brother with pure, unadulterated fear. "You can't do this! I am her husband! We are legally married!"
"You are legally nothing," Siddhant replied coldly, adjusting the cuffs of his suit jacket with terrifying, calculated calmness. "You did not complete the final rituals. You did not sign the registry. You are a stranger."
"She was meant for me!" Aryan yelled, his bruised ego making him foolishly reckless. "She is my bride!"
Poorvanshi stepped out from behind Siddhant’s protective wall. She looked down at the pathetic, scruffy man gasping on the floor, feeling absolutely nothing but a cold, hard sense of victory.
Without saying a single word, Poorvanshi slowly raised her left hand.
The cinematic light of the chandelier caught the massive, heavy diamond ring resting on her finger. The light fractured through the flawless gem, sending bright, ray-traced reflections scattering across the dark walls of the foyer.
Aryan stared at the ring, completely confused. He knew he hadn't bought that ring. The engagement ring he had given her had been a flashy, cheap, modern cut. The ring on her finger was an antique, priceless heirloom.
"You didn't put this ring on my finger, Aryan," Poorvanshi said softly, her voice completely steady and filled with absolute, undeniable truth.
She turned her head, looking up at Siddhant. The cold, murderous fury in his eyes instantly melted the second he met her gaze, replaced by that same deep, burning devotion she had seen at the dinner party.
Poorvanshi turned her cold gaze back to the floor.
"Your brother did," she finished. "I am not your wife. I never was. And I never will be."
Aryan stared at them in absolute, horrifying realization.
He looked at the way Siddhant was standing slightly in front of her, his massive body angled perfectly to shield her from the rest of the room.
He looked at the way Poorvanshi was standing so close to Siddhant, her posture completely relaxed and trusting, a stark contrast to the stiff, formal way she had acted around Aryan during their entire three-month engagement.
He finally understood. He hadn't just lost his safety net, he had lost everything. Siddhant hadn't just taken control of the situation to save the family's public image. Siddhant had taken the woman.
"You... you stole her," Aryan breathed out, looking at his older brother in shock.
Siddhant’s lips twitched into a tiny, terrifyingly dark smirk. The 'Devil of Delhi' looked down at the cowardly boy who had created this entire mess, feeling no pity, only absolute, victorious satisfaction.
"I didn't steal anything, Aryan," Siddhant stated smoothly, his deep voice carrying an air of absolute, final authority. He reached out, his large hand wrapping possessively around Poorvanshi’s waist, pulling her flush against his side for the entire family to see.
"I simply claimed what you were too weak to hold," Siddhant finished. "Now get out of my sight before I change my mind and call the police."
Aryan scrambled to his feet, leaning heavily on his weeping mother.
He looked at his father, expecting support, but Raghav was staring at the floor, too terrified of Siddhant’s wrath to speak.
Aryan realized he had completely lost the war.
He turned and stumbled away, letting his parents drag him towards the West Wing to hide.
The grand foyer fell into a heavy, stunning silence.
The security guards immediately returned to their posts, looking everywhere but at the center of the room.
Siddhant looked down at Poorvanshi. His grip on her waist was tight, almost desperate. His heart was still hammering with the fading adrenaline of his violent protective instincts.
"Are you okay?" he whispered, his voice rough and heavy.
Poorvanshi looked up at him. She saw the absolute, uncompromising strength in his clean-shaven face. She saw the man who would literally choke out his own blood to ensure she was safe.
She reached up, her hands resting flat against the crisp white fabric of his shirt.
"I have never been better," Poorvanshi smiled, her eyes shining with pure, undeniable love. "Thank you for the protection, Mr. Chaturvedi."
"Always, Miss Rathore," Siddhant murmured, leaning his forehead gently against hers. "Always."
The runaway groom had finally returned, but his arrival had not broken them. It had only proven what Poorvanshi already knew. The forced marriage was over. The real love story had completely, beautifully taken over.