He whispered softly, "Beautiful."

But what he said next shattered my heart into a million irreparable pieces.

"When sometimes devils disguise themselves as angels to ruin people."

I opened my eyes and met his cold gaze. His expression had morphed into something sharp and distant.

"Why did you marry me?" he demanded.

"Yo- you kn-ow the reason," I stuttered, my words struggling against the rapid beating of my heart.

He chuckled darkly and stood up, his grip tightening around my elbow, jerking me upright.

"Get out of my room. This is not your place. You can never take that place. You're nothing more than a burden I have to carry," he snarled, leaning closer until his face was inches away from mine.

"You chose this hell on your own, and once you step inside, there's no turning back. You're stuck with me forever, Mrs. Kritika Abhijeet Singh Sisodia." His hold on my elbow tightened painfully.

Tears welled up in my eyes, but I blinked them back as he harshly yanked my arm, causing me to stumble backward.

"Get out of my sight before I do something that you'll regret," he spat, turning his gaze away from me dismissively.

It was midnight. Where would I go? I looked at him, helpless.

"Where will I go?"

His gaze snapped back to mine, his voice like a whip, making me flinch.

"Go wherever you want. I don't care. This damned palace has many rooms. Just get out."

I moved slowly towards the door, opened it, and stepped outside. He slammed it shut behind me, the sound reverberating through the empty corridor.

I chuckled bitterly at the pitiful state of my life.

My father abandoned me. My mother left me on the streets. My brother left me. He left me. My friends deserted me. And now, my husband has discarded me on our very first night. Perhaps I am destined for abandonment.

Ek insan bhi mere saath chal nahi paaya iss safar mein. Sab beech majhdhar mein chhod ke chale gaye.

I lifted the heavy hem of my lehenga and trudged towards the room I'd stayed in before. It was on the same floor. This was the third floor of the palace; the fourth remained locked. I entered the room and locked it from the inside.

I looked at my reflection in the mirror. What flaw is there in me that everyone I care about leaves? I had never felt such piercing pain, not even when my own blood abandoned me. But somehow, his words cut the deepest.

I wiped the tears that wouldn't stop flowing. I approached the wardrobe and noticed a few of my clothes neatly arranged there. I pulled out a simple yellow cotton kurti set and changed into it. It took me nearly an hour to remove all the pins and heavy jewelry.

Finally, I tucked myself under the quilt. But it seemed that my heart had no intention of letting me sleep tonight. I began to sob uncontrollably, feeling an overwhelming sense of loneliness. Not even my Tejaswi Maah was here. I have to spend my whole life in this suffocating place. I can't. I'll hate him forever for breaking my heart like this. What does he think of himself? But I chose this fate myself.

Their names might be similar, but he was so loving, my protector. I miss him. If only he were here, I wouldn't have to face this day alone.

I didn't even realize when sleep finally overtook me.

I held my forehead in my hands. I messed up.

I didn't want to hurt her, but I ended up doing it anyway. I can't help it. I can't trust her.

Or maybe, I'm just afraid. What if I fall for her, and in the end, it only brings us more pain? Loving me is the worst sin anyone could commit.

Memories flooded my mind.

"Jeet, you'll protect me always."

"Jeet, promise me you'll never leave me."

I took a deep breath and went to the wardrobe to change. I needed to go to the basement for some relief. If I stayed here for even a minute longer, I might completely fall apart.

I reached the basement, located near the palace itself. As I entered, I saw four men tied to chairs.

I picked up a rod and struck each of their faces, one by one. Their agonized screams filled me with a twisted satisfaction, just as my sister's screams did all those years ago.

I've been keeping my sister's criminals alive for the past six years. They lie half-naked in their own pool of blood.

Fury welled up inside me, and I swung the rod again, smashing it against one of their faces. They had taken advantage of my sister's vulnerability and loneliness.

I raised the rod to strike again when I heard Dhruv's voice.

"Sir, Lakshya Scindia is arriving in India tomorrow. I received a message from his assistant."

I nodded curtly. My anger was replaced by a flood of memories of him and me-my best friend.

We last met during my coronation when I was twenty. After that, he left for the USA for further studies. After all, his father is nothing like mine. His father is the Chief Minister of Madhya Pradesh-a good man who always looks after the welfare of the people.

I glanced at my watch and realized it was 3 a.m. I needed to return to the palace before anyone noticed, as I didn't want to answer any questions.

---

I reached the palace and was heading towards the living room when I saw Mom standing there, her face a mask of anger.

She always knows about my comings and goings.

"Where were you, Abhi?" she demanded, her tone laced with displeasure.

"I had some urgent work," I replied.

"Hm, I can see that. That's why your wife is sleeping in another room, and this blood on your face is telling me what 'urgent work' you attended to." She stepped closer, scrutinizing me.

She continued, "Abhi, you're married now. Put a stop to all this and give yourself a chance to become the old Abhi. From today onwards, I don't want to see your wife in another chamber. Everything of hers will be transferred to your room. She is your other half, and you should share everything with her."

"First of all, you forced me into this marriage. Now I'll manage it on my own terms. And if you want, I'll share everything with her-everything except my heart."

I turned and left for my room.

I can't remember the last time I slept peacefully.

There's always a war raging within my heart. And now, with this new complication, I don't understand why. We could've given her a better option to settle somewhere else, but she chose to be my wife for the children and the orphanage. She's deceiving everyone, trapping them with her innocence, and people keep telling me not to hurt her.

I took a deep breath and lay down, bracing myself for the day ahead.

The morning sunrays hit my face, gently rousing me awake. I sat up in bed, glancing around the room as the events of the previous night flooded my mind. A wave of distress washed over me, and my eyes welled up. But then I remembered—it’s my first rasoi today. I need to go down early; what will everyone think if I’m late?

I pushed myself to get ready and draped myself in a royal pink saree that was already hanging in the wardrobe. Settling in front of the dressing table, I took a long, hard look at my reflection. The radiant glow that used to define me, the confident Kritika from before that fateful night, was nowhere to be found. With a heavy heart, I braided my long hair into a ponytail, as I rarely left it open.

My gaze lingered on the nuptial chain resting around my neck—a stark reminder of the reality I couldn’t escape. As usual, I applied just a hint of moisturizer, some lip gloss, and a small black bindi. Filled my hair partition with vermillion. Pink bangles adorned my wrists as I got up. All of my belongings were already arranged in this room—how thoughtful, as if to ensure I wouldn’t even share the same roof as him willingly.

Taking a deep breath, I made my way to the living room. Upon seeing my mother-in-law, I moved forward to take her blessings. She caressed my cheeks lovingly.

“Today is your pehli rasoi, beta. Just prepare something sweet. We don’t usually cook since the maids handle everything, but we do it to honor the tradition,” she explained gently, perhaps thinking I might not know how to cook. But cooking is one of the few joys I have, even if I barely enjoy eating.

“No, Mom, let me cook today. I really love cooking.”

...

I decided to prepare gajar ka halwa and dal makhani, while the maids handled the rest of the dishes. The dining table was meticulously arranged, and the entire family gathered around it. Abhimaan Bhaisa and Agastya Bhaisa sat next to their parents, and Abhinav was beside me. In the center sat my mother-in-law, but the one expected to take the first bite was conspicuously absent.

The sound of approaching footsteps made me tense. He settled down beside me, exuding a chilling calmness. My mother-in-law smiled at me encouragingly, “Serve him, beta.” I nodded, my hands trembling as I filled his plate.

The rest were served by the maids. He took a small spoonful of the halwa, his expression unchanged. A small sigh of relief escaped me—no reaction is better than a negative one. Gradually, everyone started eating, praising the dishes one after another. But then, Abhijeet picked up a piece of chapati with the dal makhani. He spat it out almost immediately.

“What the hell? Who made this?” he growled, his face contorted in anger. Everyone turned to him, concern evident in their eyes.

“I did,” I whispered.

His jaw tightened. Without a moment's hesitation, he grabbed his plate and flung it to the ground, making me flinch.

“Who taught you to cook?” he demanded, gripping my elbow painfully.

Before I could muster a response, Abhimaan Bhaisa interjected, “Abhijeet, it’s alright. Calm down.”

“No one interferes,” he snapped back, his glare sharp.

Turning back to me, his eyes bored into mine. “Didn’t anyone tell you that I can’t have salty food? It spikes my blood pressure, and trust me, you don’t want to see the aftermath.”

I swallowed hard, struggling to form an apology, but he jerked my hand away dismissively and stormed off. I sat there, staring at the splattered food on the floor, as the voices from my past came rushing back.

“Mihika Di, I’m hungry. Please.”

“Mom, I’m starving.”

“Eat from the dustbin, Kritika. That’s where you belong.”

“You should earn your food, my little girl.”

“I’ll feed you only if you come to my room with me.”

The echoes of those eleven-year-old memories surged to the forefront. My breathing grew ragged until a warm hand rested on my cheek, snapping me back to reality.

“Beta, calm down. I’m so, so sorry on his behalf. I should have informed you earlier. This is my fault,” my mother-in-law murmured, guilt etched on her face.

I shook my head, fighting back tears.

Just then, Abhinav kneeled before me, concern softening his usually playful demeanor. “Sorry, Bhabhisa. One day, we’ll both starve him together. He’s just a grumpy, lost soul. Don’t take him seriously.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle at his choice of words. I nodded, feeling a tiny bit lighter.

Then, Abhimaan Bhaisa approached, his gaze firm yet gentle. “I’ve accepted you as my sister, Kritika, and I won’t tolerate a single tear on your face. If you want, I can beat him up.”

I shook my head. His protective nature reminded me of my own brother. Where are you, Bhai?

But before I could dwell on that thought, Agastya Bhaisa stepped in, kneeling beside him. “Don’t let him into your room tonight. And when he comes back, don’t forget to slap him.”

Their banter, their warmth—suddenly, I realized that I didn’t just marry a man. I gained a family.

All three of them enveloped me in a tight embrace, making me feel something I hadn’t felt in a long time—special.

“Our little sister queen,” they chorused.

...

I learned there would be two receptions. One tonight, a more private gathering for close family and some royals. The second, two days from now, would be an extravagant event with foreign business tycoons, politicians, and high-profile guests.

I dressed for the first reception in a dark maroon saree. I adorned the choker gifted by my mother-in-law that morning, but the bitter memories of what happened still clung to me. I had been shifted to his room, and all the others were locked by her orders. I hadn’t seen him since he left in the morning.

Just then, a maid entered. “Ranisa, your Raja Sa is waiting for you.”

I nodded, glancing at my reflection one last time. My hair, as always, was braided. I adjusted the saree meticulously and slipped on my high heels.

The reception was being held in the palace itself. There were still so many parts of this grand residence that remained unexplored.

As I descended the last flight of stairs, I spotted him—his back facing me, engrossed in a phone call. A few moments later, he turned around and, as expected, said nothing. He just stared. I lowered my gaze, unable to hold eye contact.

He extended his hand, surprising me. But his words shattered any hope that had dared to surface.

“Behave yourself like a happy couple there. Dare to show your sad face, and you’ll regret it.”

The pinch in my chest tightened, but I quickly nodded, placing my trembling hand in his. His grip was firm and commanding, sending an unfamiliar surge of electricity through me.

We exited the palace, his long strides making it difficult for me to keep up, especially in the heels. He didn’t seem to care.

.
.

Before stepping into the hall, his hand wrapped around my waist, pulling me close. I gasped, startled by the sudden intimacy.

“Smile,” he murmured. “Just smile.”

Am I his puppet?

We moved through the crowd, meeting countless faces. He introduced me to everyone, his demeanor polite yet aloof. Not a single smile. Just a nod here and there.

I lost track of how many royals I had greeted when the host announced our names and invited us to the dance floor.

I looked at him, expecting him to decline, but to my shock, he raised an eyebrow, silently urging me forward. Before I could react, he clasped my wrist and led me to the center of the stage.

His hand slid around my waist which is drapped with saree, his other hand enclosing my palm as he drew me closer. My free hand found its way to his shoulder for balance. Even in heels, I barely reached his shoulder.

His gaze bore into mine as the song began, the lyrics striking a chord deep within:

Pehle bhi main tumse mila hun
Pehli dafa hi milke laga
Tune chuwa zakhmon ko mere
Marham marham dil pe laga.

We swayed to the rhythm, his intense gaze never leaving my face. My pulse quickened, and I instinctively looked down, but he leaned closer, his lips brushing my ear.

“Let’s give them a good show, my little wife.”

The next verse began, and he twirled me gracefully. I clutched his nape instinctively, eyes squeezed shut.

Galat kya sahi kya mujhe na pata hai
Tumhen agar pata ho bata dena
Main arse se khud se zara lapata hu
Tumhen agar milun to bata dena.

His body leaned toward mine, our foreheads touching gently. I drew a shaky breath. Never, not even in my wildest dreams, had I imagined being this close to anyone.

Kho naa jana mujhe dekhte dekhte
Tu hi zariya tu hi manzil hai
Ya ki dil hai itna bata
Tune chuwa zakhmon ko mere
Marham marham dil pe laga

His eyes remained shut as he leaned closer, his face brushing against mine until our cheeks touched. The coarse stubble on his jaw grazed my sensitive skin, sending a cascade of tingling sensations across my body. An unfamiliar heat coursed through me, something I had never felt—not even with him. We moved in perfect harmony, as if the world had faded away, leaving just the two of us suspended in this fleeting moment.

“Raja Sa—” I whispered, attempting to speak, but he interrupted, his voice a mere breath against my ear.

“Shh, it’s Abhijeet for you. ‘Raja Sa’ is for others.”

The deep timbre of his voice sent shivers racing down my spine. My resolve wavered as I leaned closer, succumbing to the pull of his presence. But reality slammed back in with brutal force. This was all a façade, an orchestrated performance for the world to see. I was nothing more than a pawn—a mere ornament to embellish his public image.

The song ended abruptly, and he straightened, leaving me flushed and disoriented. Quickly, I adjusted my saree, feeling the heat of embarrassment creep up my neck. Beads of perspiration dotted my forehead, my heart still racing from the unexpected intimacy. We stepped off the dance floor, and the room erupted in applause and cheers. Was he intoxicated? There was no hint of alcohol on him, yet his behavior seemed... different.

He moved away to another part of the hall, leaving me standing alone. But before I could gather myself, Abhinav appeared beside me, grinning mischievously.

“Bhabhi, you look as red as a ripe tomato,” he teased, his voice brimming with amusement.

Before I could respond, Agastya Bhaisa sauntered over, a smirk playing on his lips. “Ahem, ahem... But, perhaps it’s best if I keep my thoughts to myself. Anything I say might be a bit... dark to digest.”

Abhinav burst into laughter, his mirth contagious, and I found myself chuckling softly despite the turmoil swirling inside me.

Then, my gaze shifted as a young man, around Abhijeet’s age, approached us. His neatly trimmed beard accentuated his sharp features, and he carried himself with an air of confidence that bordered on regal. With a courteous bow, he introduced himself.

“I am Lakshya Scindia. Your husband’s best, first, and, unfortunately, forever friend.”

The way his siblings and friends spoke about him only added to the gnawing apprehension within me. Who was Abhijeet, really? What darkness lurked beneath his composed façade?

I offered a polite nod, feeling utterly out of place among these royals and aristocrats. Their world was alien to me—a place I had been thrust into without any preparation.

But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake off the lingering sensation of his touch. It hadn’t been uncomfortable or invasive; on the contrary, it had been captivating, almost intoxicating. My heart yearned for more, even as my mind screamed that it was all wrong. Everything was wrong—my life, this relationship... and most of all, this enigmatic man who now held the reins of my destiny.