The gala stretched on, the music and chatter blending into a blur as Myra struggled to focus. Every now and then, she caught a curious glance or heard hushed whispers. The weight of her gown felt heavier, the warmth of Ranvijay's grip on her waist nearly suffocating.
She had barely processed meeting his family when a new voice cut through the air.
"Ah, the new princess of the Singh household."
A man in his late forties, dressed in an expensive suit, approached with a smirk. Myra didn't recognize him, but the way Ranvijay's grip stiffened told her everything.
The man's gaze flicked to her, assessing. Judging.
"A beauty, no doubt," he mused, swirling the wine in his glass. "But do you know the kind of man you married, dear?"
A cold shiver ran down Myra's spine.
"Enough, Malhotra." Ranvijay's voice was dangerously low.
Malhotra chuckled, completely unfazed. "Relax, Singh. I'm merely saying… she seems too delicate for your world." His gaze lingered on Myra. "You've kept her in the dark, haven't you? About the things you've done?"
The meaning behind his words clawed at Myra's chest.
The things he's done?
"Leave," Ranvijay ordered, voice like steel.
Malhotra smiled, clearly enjoying the tension. "Enjoy the night, Princess. If you ever feel lost, remember—curiosity can be dangerous."
With that, he walked away, leaving behind a storm of unspoken questions.
Myra's breathing turned uneven. What did he mean? What was Ranvijay hiding?
She turned to look at him, but his expression was unreadable. He gently pulled her closer, his hand pressing into her back. "Ignore him."
"Ignore him?" she repeated, voice trembling. "What was he talking about?"
Ranvijay exhaled sharply. "Not here, Myra."
But she wasn't done.
"You lied to me about your family. What else are you keeping from me?"
His jaw tightened, the air between them growing thick.
"I told you," he said, voice eerily calm. "There are things you don't need to know."
The words sent a shiver through her. Not because of fear.
Because of the way they sounded like a warning.
Because of the way his grip on her tightened—as if he was afraid of losing her.
---
Later That Night
The car ride home was silent. Tension thickened the air, but Myra refused to break it.
Ranvijay led her inside, dismissing the servants with a flick of his wrist. The moment they were alone in their grand bedroom, he turned to her.
"You're angry."
She lifted her chin. "You think?"
His lips twitched as if he found her defiance amusing. "Good. That means you're thinking about me."
Her glare was sharp. "I don't need to think about you, Ranvijay. You make it impossible to forget you."
A dark smirk ghosted over his lips. He took a slow step toward her. "Exactly."
Myra stepped back, her pulse quickening. "What was that man talking about?"
"Nothing that concerns you."
"Everything about you concerns me," she shot back, surprising even herself.
Ranvijay stilled. A flicker of something unreadable passed through his eyes. Then, in the next second, he closed the distance between them, caging her against the wall.
"I warned you, Myra," he murmured, his voice low, intoxicating. "This marriage isn't something you can run from."
Her breath hitched as his fingers brushed against her wrist, tracing over her pulse. "Tell me, little wife," he whispered. "Are you afraid of me?"
She should be.
But her body betrayed her, heat curling in her stomach as his thumb pressed against her racing pulse.
"I…" she started, only for him to tilt her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze.
"Say it."
Her lips parted, but no words came out.
And Ranvijay… he just smirked. "That's what I thought."
With that, he stepped away, leaving her breathless, confused, and dangerously aware of the man she had married.
But as he walked toward the window, a dark thought settled in Myra's mind.
She was trapped.
Not just in this marriage.
But in Ranvijay's world.
And no matter how much she fought…
She wasn't sure she wanted to escape.
Sitting by the window of her chamber in Rajgarh, Myra traced the red thread still wrapped around her wrist. The sacred thread meant to protect her. Yet, she had never felt more exposed.
Her fingers tightened around the small note hidden beneath her pillow.
"Your mother's death wasn't an accident. Be careful who you trust."
The words had been haunting her since the temple visit. The memory of the tattooed man watching her, the weight of his silent warning—it all made her restless. But more than anything, it brought back a conversation she had tried to forget.
A conversation with her stepmother.
---
Two years ago – Her father's mansion
The flickering candlelight cast shadows across the study walls as Myra stood just outside the door. She hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but the sharp edge in her stepmother's voice had made her pause.
"You think I care about that girl? She's only alive because of that damned will! If it weren't for her—"
A pause.
"She should've died with her mother."
Myra had frozen in place. The words had sent a cold shiver down her spine. Her mother's accident had never been questioned before. But this—this sounded like something else entirely.
She had stepped back, her breath shaky, but the floor creaked beneath her.
Instantly, the door swung open.
Her stepmother's gaze locked onto hers, sharp and unforgiving. "Sneaking around, are we?"
Myra had tried to mask her fear, but she knew it was useless.
"I—I was just—"
A slow smirk curled on the woman's lips. She stepped closer, lowering her voice. "Curiosity can be dangerous, Myra. You wouldn't want to end up like your mother, would you?"
The words had struck deep, a warning laced with chilling certainty.
Myra had run from the study that night, trying to convince herself that she had misheard. That it had been nothing more than her stepmother's usual cruelty.
But deep down, she had always known.
Her mother's death wasn't an accident.
---
Present – Rajgarh Palace
Now, as she sat in the grand yet unfamiliar palace, Myra clenched her fists.
The past had come back, forcing her to face what she had long buried.
Someone had left that note for a reason.
Someone knew the truth.
And if she wanted to find out what really happened to her mother—if she wanted to protect herself—she had to start looking for answers.
Quietly. Carefully.
Because this time, she wasn't just fighting her stepmother's cruelty.
She was fighting something far more dangerous.
And she had no idea who she could trust.