Myra sat in the palace garden, the scent of blooming jasmine filling the air. She had spent the entire morning in her room, trying to make sense of the storm inside her.
Her father and stepmother were gone. Ranvijay had ensured it.
And tonight, she would be paraded as his wife in front of the world.
She sighed, running her fingers over the petals of a white rose when a voice broke the silence.
"You look like you're plotting murder."
Startled, she turned to find a young man leaning against the garden archway, arms crossed, a mischievous grin on his lips.
He was tall but not as imposing as Ranvijay. Dressed casually in a fitted black turtleneck and dark jeans, he looked completely at ease, his chocolate-brown eyes twinkling with amusement.
"Who—"
"Shiv," he introduced himself with a playful bow. "Ranvijay's right hand. Though personally, I think of myself as his better half."
Myra blinked, caught off guard by his lightheartedness.
"I… didn't know he had a better half," she muttered.
Shiv chuckled, stepping closer and plopping down onto the stone bench beside her. "Yeah, he pretends he doesn't need anyone, but between you and me, he'd be lost without me."
She raised an eyebrow. "And why are you here?"
Shiv smirked. "To meet the woman who managed to put Rajgarh's prince in chains."
Myra tensed. "I'm the one in chains, not him."
His gaze softened. "Maybe," he said, tilting his head, "but you're the first person he's ever cared enough about to claim."
She scoffed. "Claim? Like some possession?"
Shiv sighed dramatically. "Ranvijay isn't exactly… great at expressing feelings in a normal, non-dramatic way."
Myra crossed her arms. "That's an understatement."
He grinned. "I like you."
She blinked. "What?"
"You're not scared of him," Shiv said. "That's good. He needs someone to challenge him."
She looked away, frustration bubbling in her chest. "I don't want to be his challenge. I want my life back."
Shiv was silent for a moment before he leaned in, lowering his voice. "Do you, though?"
Myra's breath caught. "Excuse me?"
He shrugged. "I'm just saying… you may not have chosen this, but you're not the same girl who was locked away by that witch of a stepmother." His voice turned serious. "You have power now, Myra. More than you think."
She frowned. "What are you trying to say?"
Shiv stood up, stretching lazily. "Just that you should stop thinking of yourself as a prisoner." He flashed her a grin. "You're the queen now, princess. Act like it."
With that, he winked and walked away, leaving Myra staring after him, heart pounding.
For the first time since her marriage, someone had spoken to her without chains in their words.
And she didn't know what to do with it.
-----------------
The room was dimly lit, the golden glow of the chandeliers casting soft shadows along the silk-covered walls. Myra stood near the vanity, her hands trembling as they smoothed down the fabric of her dress.
It was red.
Not just any red—bold, fiery, impossible to ignore. Like the first light of dawn streaking across the sky, like the rarest red diamond gleaming under the sun.
Against her dusky skin, it was a breathtaking contrast—like strawberries melted into rich chocolate, an intoxicating mix of elegance and temptation.
But she felt exposed. Too much. Too beautiful.
And she knew exactly how Ranvijay would look at her.
She couldn't do it.
Heart hammering, she turned back to the mirror, contemplating locking the door—
Too late.
The door slammed open.
Ranvijay stood at the threshold, broad shoulders filling the space, his sharp gaze locked onto her like a predator who had finally caught sight of his prey.
His breath hitched.
Then, silence.
Thick. Heavy. Almost suffocating.
Myra stiffened. She had never seen him like this before—frozen, his usual smirk wiped clean off his face.
His jaw tensed, fingers curling into fists at his sides. "Come here."
She shook her head, taking a step back. "No."
His lips parted slightly, as if in disbelief. Then, he exhaled a slow, deep breath and stalked toward her.
Myra's pulse roared in her ears.
Each step he took was deliberate, the weight of his gaze burning through every inch of her.
She pressed herself against the vanity, her hands gripping the edge. "Ranvijay—"
He was in front of her now.
Close.
Too close.
He reached out, his knuckles grazing her cheek—slow, reverent, almost hesitant. His fingers trailed down her arm, leaving a searing path in their wake before he gripped her wrist, tugging her forward just enough to make her stumble into him.
"You expect me to let you hide looking like this?" His voice was low, hoarse. "You want me to take you in my arms right here, don't you?"
Her breath hitched.
"I—"
His other hand traced the curve of her waist, fingers splaying possessively over the fabric.
"You're trembling."
She hated how easily he noticed. How effortlessly he unraveled her.
"I don't want to go," she whispered.
His grip on her waist tightened. "You will."
She glared at him, summoning every ounce of defiance she had. "And if I don't?"
Ranvijay smirked.
The darkness in his eyes was back, a storm brewing just beneath the surface.
"Then, sweetheart," he murmured, leaning so close she could feel his breath against her lips, "I'll carry you in my arms and parade you in front of the entire world."
Heat shot through her veins.
She hated him.
She hated how he made her feel.
And she hated that, deep down… a part of her wanted to test if he really would.
Myra swallowed hard, her fingers clenching into fists at her sides. "You wouldn't dare."
Ranvijay's smirk deepened. "Wouldn't I?"
Before she could react, he swept her off her feet.
A gasp tore from her lips as she landed against his chest, her arms instinctively wrapping around his shoulders. His grip was firm, possessive, his scent—woodsy, dark, and dangerously intoxicating—wrapping around her like a spell.
Her heart pounded. "Put me down!" she demanded, squirming against him.
He tsked, adjusting his hold effortlessly, as if she weighed nothing. "I warned you, sweetheart."
She could hear the amusement in his voice, the taunting edge that made her want to slap him—if only her own traitorous body wasn't betraying her.
"Ranvijay!" she hissed. "People will see!"
"Exactly." His lips brushed dangerously close to her ear as he whispered, "Let them see what's mine."
Heat flared in her cheeks.
Before she could protest further, a soft cough interrupted them.
Myra turned her head sharply—
Shiv stood in the doorway, grinning like a child caught eavesdropping. His dark eyes twinkled with mischief, and his dimples were on full display. "I see you two are… having a moment."
Myra felt her entire face burn.
Ranvijay, completely unbothered, didn't even put her down. "What is it?"
Shiv raised a brow. "Well, I was going to say the car is ready, but if you'd rather carry your wife all the way to the gala, be my guest."
Myra buried her face in Ranvijay's shoulder, mortified.
Ranvijay sighed dramatically. "See, sweetheart? Even my own men are questioning my patience."
"Put me down!" she muttered against him.
With an exaggerated sigh, he finally set her on her feet. But not before whispering against her ear, "Behave tonight, Myra. Or else, I might just make good on my promise."
Her eyes darted up to his, filled with defiance, but he only smirked and walked out.
Shiv chuckled. "You okay there, bhabhi (sister in law)?"
Myra shot him a glare. "I hate him and don't call me bhabhi I have name Myra."
Shiv grinned, tucking his hands in his pockets. "Sure you do."
She exhaled sharply, smoothing down her dress as she tried to regain some composure.
The gala awaited.
And with it, an entire night of being by Ranvijay's side.
A night where she would be on full display.
A night where she wouldn't be able to escape him.
Her stomach twisted at the thought.
But there was no running now.