He closed the distance between them with a predator's grace. His fingers clamped around Her wrist—a vise of bone and muscle.

She let out a sharp, indrawn hiss of pain, a sound swallowed by the night air.

Her eyes, already swimming, shone like wet rubies in the dim light, heavy with unshed tears.

Without a word, he shoved her into the passenger seat of the car, the door slamming shut with a final, metallic thud. He slid behind the wheel, the engine a low, throbbing growl.

“W-where are you taking me?” Her voice was a fragile tremor.

He didn't reply.

Instead, the car accelerated, pinning her to the leather seat as speed became their only direction.

Her heart was a frantic drum against her ribs; a cold, absolute fear began to coil and constrict in her chest.

“Please,” she whispered, the sound thick with desperation. “Please, let me go.”

His profile remained fixed, a statue carved from granite. He didn't offer so much as a glance.

“You have to stop!” she begged, her voice rising to a choked plea. “I'm begging you, leave me alone.”

Anger, sharp and hot, finally eclipsed her terror. She lunged for the door handle, yanking it repeatedly. It was unresponsive, locked. A chilling realization struck: Child lock.

She turned on him, screaming the question that ripped from her soul, “What do you want?!” Her breath hitched.

“You think you can rule over me and I'll submit? Never! Who do you think you are, you son of a—”

Before the final word could escape, his head snapped toward her. His eyes, cold and lethal, drilled into hers.

“Dare to finish that sentence.” The sound of his voice was flat, devoid of emotion, yet more menacing than any shout.

Her eyes widened, but the fury had taken root. Defiance hardened her gaze.

“Bitch!” she spat.

The sudden, brutal screech of tires tore through the silence as he slammed the brakes. The car shuddered to a violent halt.

“Mr. Tanmay Singhania,” he enunciated slowly, his voice dropping to a silken, chilling register. “Advocate in the Delhi High Court. Age fifty-two.”

Her blood ran cold.

“Don't…” she began, the word catching in her throat, “don't dare to dragged him”

A chilling smirk curled his lips. “I dared, and I did, Miss Singhania.” He leaned closer, his proximity making her feel incredibly small, utterly helpless.

His final words were the executioner’s decree, delivered with surgical precision.

“Marry me quietly tonight, or your father won’t see tomorrow’s sun.”

“Please, don't do this,” she pleaded, the tears finally tracking paths through the dust on her cheeks.

“I can and I will.”

----------------------------------------

She unhooked her heavy earrings, one by one, their weight leaving faint red marks on her skin. The bangles followed, clinking softly as they hit the dressing table. Her reflection looked tired — tired of pretending.

The door creaked open.

He stepped inside. His towering frame filled the doorway — broad shoulders, sharp jaw, eyes dark with something dangerous.

She turned, startled. “Don’t you know how to knock?”

A faint, cold smirk curved his lips. “Why bother? This is *my* room. Or should I say our room now?”

She frowned, anger rising. “You’re disgusting. I don’t even want to be here.”

He walked closer, slow and deliberate, like a predator circling its prey.

“Funny,” he murmured, “coming from a girl who’s been dying to marry a rich man.”

Her jaw tightened. “Excuse me?”

He tilted his head, eyes glinting. “Girls like you… always gold diggers. You smell wealth and come running.”

Her anger flared. She strode up to him, jabbing a finger at his chest. “You were the one desperate to marry me! Don’t twist the story.”

He chuckled — low, mocking. “Desperate? For you? Don’t flatter yourself, princess. I don’t chase spoiled brats.”

Her voice trembled slightly, though she held her ground. “I’m not a brat.”

His smirk deepened. He stepped closer. One step. Then another.

The air thickened.

Her breath hitched as she backed away, step by step, until her spine met the cold wall.

He leaned in, placing one hand beside her head, trapping her. The other hand slipped casually into his pocket.

“Tell me, sweetheart,” he whispered, “you happy now? Ruining my life with this farce?”

She met his gaze with shaky defiance. “You think I wanted this? You forced me into it. I was happy with my Bhaiya before you came.”

He laughed — cruel and humorless. “Oh, that brother of yours… the one who didn’t even show up for your Kanyadaan? Touching.”

Tears pricked her eyes, but she blinked them away.

He tilted his head, voice dripping venom. “Or maybe he’s not really your brother. Maybe you two were just… using each other. You know, some girls do anything to catch rich men.”

Her eyes widened in shock. “How dare you—”

She shoved him with all her strength — but he didn’t even flinch. Instead, his hand shot out, gripping her wrist. His fingers dug into her skin until she gasped.

“Don’t waste your breath,” he murmured, his voice low, almost a growl. “You’ll need it later… tonight”

She struggled, panic creeping into her voice. “Please— you’re hurting me! Let go my hand!”

He leaned closer, smirking, his breath hot against her ear. “If a touch hurts, darling… how will you handle me?”

Her eyes filled with fear.

He released her only to shove her back against the wall. She stumbled, hitting it hard, pain shooting through her shoulder.

He straightened, eyes cold and void of mercy.

“Get ready,” he said softly, almost mockingly.

“It’s our Suhagrat… and I don’t like to be kept waiting.”