The heavy gold of her bridal jewelry clinked softly against Aryaveer’s chest as he bent forward and—without a word—scooped Heer into his arms. She gasped, small and startled, but he didn’t look at her. His jaw was tight, the muscle twitching with a storm he hadn’t yet unleashed.

His strides were thunder.

Every step he took up the Raizada Mansion staircase cracked against the marble like a vow of violence. The guards moved out of his way, heads lowered, and not one dared to breathe in his path.

Heer clutched the edge of his blazer, unsure if it was to hold on or push away.

It didn’t matter.

Because the next moment, he shoved the bedroom door open with his foot and stormed inside.

Then—

Thud.

He flung her onto the bed like she weighed nothing, like she wasn’t a person at all but an object—an inconvenient, unwanted thing.

Pain bloomed across her spine as she landed hard. She winced, blinking through the sudden sting in her eyes—

And that’s when she saw her.

Another woman.

Sitting casually on the edge of the bed like she belonged there. Skin-tight black bodycon hugging every curve, red lips curled in amusement, her long legs crossed elegantly like a queen presiding over a pet.

Heer didn’t know her name, but somehow she knew. The way the woman looked at her—smirk venomous, gaze mocking—was enough.

This wasn’t a stranger.

This was a performance.

Aryaveer shut the door behind him with a loud click. The lock turned. A sound far too loud in the silence.

Then he turned to Heer, stalking forward with that same predator’s grace—measured and merciless.

He grabbed her by the elbow and yanked her up again. She winced, the pain shooting up her arm.

“Get up,” he hissed.

Heer stumbled to her feet, but before she could even breathe—

He pushed her down.

Not onto the bed.

To the floor.

The cold marble kissed her knees as he forced her down before him. Her palms hit the ground. Her veil had fallen somewhere in the chaos. Her crown of roses had long since slipped.

And Aryaveer stood tall above her—like judgment incarnate.

“This is where you belong,” he said, voice a knife sheathed in ice. “Beneath my feet. Just like your family.”

The women laughed. Soft. Sultry. Cruel.

She stood from the bed and slinked over to Aryaveer, her long fingers trailing down his chest as if to remind Heer of exactly what she’d never have.

“Come on, Arya,” she purred. “You’ve had your fun.”

He didn’t even glance down at Heer.

Didn’t see the way her bottom lip quivered.

Didn’t notice the tears clinging to her lashes like broken stars.

“You really know how to satisfy your men tanishka” He growled loud enough for heer to hear.

Tanishka led him back to the bed and pushed him down onto it. She straddled his lap, fingers moving with a practiced ease as she began unbuttoning his shirt, one button at a time.

Heer’s breath caught in her throat.

She didn’t cry out.

She didn’t scream.

She just whispered.

So softly that even the walls had to lean in to hear it.

“Y-You can’t…” she breathed. “You… you married me…”

Aryaveer froze. For a second. Just a second.

But he didn’t look at her.

Didn’t answer.

He let Tanishka continue her task, his hands resting carelessly on her hips.

And that silence broke something inside Heer.

She turned her face away, shame burning hot against her skin. Her eyes clamped shut as she tried to will herself into nothingness.

She wasn’t a girl anymore. Not a bride. Not a wife.

Just a casualty in someone else’s war.

And then—

Aryaveer stood.

Tanishka blinked, confused. “What—”

He didn’t let her finish.

He grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her to her feet.

“Come,” he said coldly.

He stalked toward the door, still shirt unbuttoned, his tie hanging loose like a noose around his neck. Tanishka threw one last look at Heer—pity and satisfaction blending into one cruel smile—before she disappeared with him.

The door slammed shut behind them.

And Heer remained on the floor.

Alone.

The silence now screamed.

Her shoulders shook as she hugged herself tightly, trying to stop the tremble in her limbs. The bridal bangles jingled softly—a haunting melody for a bride left discarded like dust.

She had thought monsters roared.

But Aryaveer Raizada didn’t roar.

He devoured.

And Heer… she was just the beginning of his feast.

_________

Next Morning — Raizada Mansion, Private Training Grounds

The rhythmic thuds of fists meeting flesh echoed through the air like war drums.

Aryaveer Raizada stood in the center of the training ring, shirtless, sweat gleaming across the taut muscles of his back. His knuckles were raw, bloodied, and bruised, but his eyes—his eyes burned with something darker than rage. Controlled. Cold. Calculated.

The soldier before him staggered back, lip split and nose bleeding, but Aryaveer didn’t let up. Another punch. Then a knee to the ribs. The man crumpled to the floor with a groan.

“Pathetic,” Aryaveer snapped, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “If a weakling like me can drop you, imagine what’ll happen when the Rathore scum comes for your throat.”

The other men stood still, too afraid to speak, chests heaving from their own rounds of punishment. No one questioned Aryaveer when he was like this. No one dared.

That’s when the soft voice came.

“M-Malik…”

Aryaveer turned, jaw tightening at the interruption.

A maid stood near the edge of the training hall, trembling under his gaze. She looked no older than twenty, clutching the end of her uniform like a lifeline.

“I-I came to ask…” she swallowed hard. “Should I… wake up Ma’am for breakfast?”

Silence.

The air thickened like fog. The men glanced at each other, then back at Aryaveer.

His jaw flexed once. Twice. Then he stepped forward, slow and deliberate, until he was standing before the maid.

“Don’t call her that.” His voice was razor-sharp, low and lethal. “She’s not your ma’am. She’s not my wife.”

He leaned in slightly, voice dropping to a deadly whisper.

“She’s a pawn. A move in a game she doesn’t even understand.”

The maid’s eyes widened. She opened her mouth to respond, but he cut her off.

“She is not to be treated like a queen here. She doesn’t deserve that.”

He straightened.

“From today, she’ll be under the headmaid’s command. Assign her work. Make sure she earns her keep. No special treatment. No soft words.”

His lip curled in disgust. “If she bleeds, let her. If she breaks, so be it.”

The maid nodded quickly and scurried away, heart hammering in her chest.

Aryaveer turned back to the ring, eyes storm-dark. He cracked his knuckles, stepping over the fallen man still groaning at his feet.

“Next,” he barked. “Let’s see if any of you have a spine left.”

But even as he raised his fists again, a flicker of something—an echo of last night—haunted the corners of his mind. A whisper in a broken voice. A girl on the floor.

“You married me…”

He punched harder.

He had wars to fight. And hearts… didn’t belong on battlefields.

__________