Chapter Seventeen
Author's pov
Upon entering the mansion, Ria moved through the hallway, clutching her purse to her chest, her heels clicking softly on the floor. Her thoughts were heavy, her gaze downcast as she tried to make it back to her room unnoticed. She didn't expect anyone to be up yet - the house was unnervingly quiet.
And that's when it happened.
A sharp jolt. A collision. A gasp.
Ria stumbled backward as her shoulder slammed into someone hard. Before she could recover-
"Watch where you're going, you stupid girl!"
Gayatri Rathore's voice thundered through the silence, echoing like a slap. Ria's breath caught. She looked up - and those familiar cruel eyes glared back at her with unfiltered disdain.
Gayatri's silk sari shimmered in the morning light, but nothing about her radiated grace. Her lips were pursed, her nostrils flared. "Do you walk blindfolded now?" she spat, venom curling through every word.
Ria's lips trembled, her hands immediately joining in a quick, polite namaste. "I'm sorry, Ma-Ma'am," she whispered, forcing herself to bow slightly. Her voice was soft, apologetic, but not weak. Never weak.
Gayatri scoffed, her eyes scanning Ria from head to toe like she was filth brought in from the street. "You Malhotras know how to scheme, but not how to walk."
Ria swallowed the sting and said nothing. There was nothing left to say to a woman who saw her dignity as dirt.
She turned and walked away.
Not fast - controlled. Silent. Proud.
Gayatri stood there, fuming, the insult of being ignored burning deeper than the apology had soothed.
---
Back in her room, Ria closed the door behind her and leaned against it for a long moment. Her shoulders sagged. The fight in her chest was rising again. That woman hated her,... and yet, Ria didn't care.
Or maybe... she did.
She moved to the couch and dropped her purse on it carelessly, her mind racing back to the events of this morning.
"Why did he allow to drop me if he had no patience to wait?" she whispered aloud, her voice breaking.
She had tried to be normal today. She had gone to the temple, prayed for strength she no longer believed she had. But Aansh had dropped her off with that cold silence, like she was a courier delivery.
Her eyes flicked to the grand antique clock mounted on the wall - its hands told her it was still early morning.
That's when it hit her.
The wedding reception.
Today.
But... no decorations. No flowers. No music. Nothing. She wondered. The Rathores go all out when they are having events she wondered.
She paused.
"Maybe they changed their minds," she said aloud, a faint, bitter chuckle escaping her lips. "Maybe they finally realized this sham doesn't deserve a celebration."
And yet... a painful truth twisted inside her.
She did care.
She didn't want the world to see her like this - a forced bride to a man who hated her, surrounded by people who wished she didn't exist.
She didn't want to be Ria Aansh Rathore.
Even thinking that name made her skin crawl.
She wanted to be Ria Malhotra - the girl who smiled, who had dreams, who believed in love. Not this hollow-eyed reflection she barely recognized.
With a sigh, Ria tried to distract herself. She headed downstairs to the kitchen, hoping helping with the chores would keep her busy- maybe even human.
But the staff barely acknowledged her. Their eyes were filled with pity. Some even looked away when she tried to speak. Others whispered behind her back, their voices low but sharp.
She cut vegetables, organized trays, wiped counters - until finally, she gave up.
There was no space for her here. Not in this house. Not even in the corners.
Defeated, she climbed the stairs again, each step feeling heavier than the last. Back in her room, she collapsed onto the couch, closing her eyes just for a moment. Just to rest.
And slowly... sleep pulled her under.
---
Knock. Knock.
Ria stirred, eyelids fluttering as the sound dragged her out of slumber. She sat up groggily, brushing hair out of her face, and padded to the door.
She opened it, blinking against the hallway light.
Standing there was Avantika, radiant in a black and gold designer saree, her lips curled into a dazzling smile. Behind her stood a group of stylish women, dressed in sleek black, holding bags, makeup kits, and styling tools.
"Bhabhi," Ria murmured, still half-asleep. "Who are they?"
Avantika laughed gently, her eyes twinkling. "They're your glam squad, of course. We're here to get you ready for your reception."
Ria stiffened. The word "reception" hit her like a slap. The fog in her mind disappeared in an instant.
Before she could protest or gather her thoughts, Avantika stepped in like a tornado of perfume and grace, ushering the stylists inside. In moments, the quiet room had transformed into a bustling salon - curling irons heating up, lipsticks being arranged, fabrics being unfolded.
"Go freshen up," Avantika said, her tone playful but firm as she guided Ria toward the bathroom. "You need to look like Mrs. Rathore tonight."
And there it was again - that name.
Ria turned to look at herself in the mirror before stepping into the shower.
Mrs. Rathore.
She didn't know who that woman was.
But the world was about to meet her.
---
Meanwhile... Beneath the surface of an isolated basement...
Screams.
They echoed in the damp, rotting walls of an isolated basement - a sound so raw it made the concrete tremble.
A man, bloodied and stripped of all pride, was tied to a rusted chair. His body was painted in wounds - some old, some fresh. His screams tore through the room as another lash of a braided leather whip sliced across his back.
He wept. He pleaded.
"Please! I swear, I'm only a bodyguard! I don't know anything! Please, I have a family-"
Aansh Rathore sat a few feet away in a leather chair, legs crossed, arms resting casually. His expression was blank - no anger, no emotion. Only cold observation. As if he were watching a documentary. As if this man's pain was merely background noise.
Karthik stood beside him, arms folded, smiling faintly. "You thought spying on the Rathores would be easy, huh?"
The man sobbed, his voice hoarse. "I did it for the money! I was desperate! I didn't mean-"
Aansh leaned forward, his fingers steepled.
"I didn't ask why," he said flatly.
"I asked who."
The man hesitated. Silence. Sweat and tears clung to his face.
Aansh's jaw clenched. "Enough. Kill him."
But as the executioner stepped forward, the man shrieked, "No! It was the Mehras! They sent me! Please don't kill me!"
Stillness.
Aansh stood slowly, his eyes sharp, focused. His voice dropped, quiet and chilling. "Cut off his ears."
The man began screaming again, but Aansh didn't look back. He was already walking away.
"Deliver them to the Mehras," he added over his shoulder. "Let them know I've heard them loud and clear."
Karthik followed, still chewing on the revelation. Once outside, the sun hit their faces, but it didn't bring warmth.
"Weren't they the ones whose daughter you rejected two years ago?" Karthik asked casually, sliding on his sunglasses.
Aansh didn't answer. His gaze was distant. Cold.
"Maybe they never moved on."
Still no reply.
"But why now?" Aansh finally said, eyes narrowing. "Why wait two years?"
Before Karthik could respond, Aansh's phone buzzed.
Dadaji.
He answered.
"Aansh. It's your wedding reception today. Must I remind you to come home?"
A pause.
"I'm coming, Dadaji." Aansh hung up, slipping the phone into his coat pocket.
Karthik smirked. "I'll finally meet my new bhabhi."
"Shut up," Aansh muttered, sliding into the back of his car. The door slammed.
His blood was already boiling from the Mehras.
Now, he had to go play perfect husband in front of the world...
...next to the girl he forced to wear his name.