Author's POV:

Dev broke the kiss slowly, like a man ending a chapter he had already memorized.

He brought his thumb to Jhanvi's cheek and wiped a tear—not gently, 

not roughly—possessively, as if the tear itself dared to fall without his permission.

"I marked you as mine."

Jhanvi didn't react.

Her tears kept falling—silent, endless, refusing to dry.

Dev smirked, leaning back a little, his voice calm but sharp like winter air cutting through skin.

"Aansu ponch lo, warna koi dekh lega toh kya sochega?"

He paused, eyes narrowing, tone turning darker.

"Dev Singhania ki hone wali biwi ki aankhon mein aansu?"

He scoffed.

"Bohot chhoti baat ho jayegi."

He wiped another tear, jaw tightening slightly, then held her hand and walked back inside the house, without waiting for a reply.

They entered the living room.

Dev raised his chin and called loudly, voice booming like a declaration.

"SASUR JIII!"

Mr. Bisht came downstairs immediately, face confused and alert.

Dev smiled with cold satisfaction.

"Aapko chahiye tha na ki aapki beti haan kare?"

He spread his hand dramatically.

"Lijiye. Kar di usne haan."

Mr. Bisht looked shocked, turning toward Jhanvi, worry flooding his eyes.

"Beta, ye sach keh raha hai? Tujhe kisi pressure mein aane ki zarurat nahi—"

Jhanvi looked up, eyes red, voice trembling—but her smile a practiced lie.

"Meri hi marzi hai, papa."

She swallowed the crack in her voice.

"Main kisi pressure mein nahi hoon. Main ye shaadi karungi."

Behind Mr. Bisht, Mrs. Bisht exhaled in relief, eyes shining with victory, not empathy.

She rushed forward, hugged Jhanvi tightly, kissed her forehead and whispered proudly:

"Mujhe pata tha..."

Jhanvi smiled back—fake, fragile, forced.

Dev stood beside Mr. Bisht, hands in pockets, voice dripping dominance.

"Shaadi ki taiyariyan shuru kar dijiye... sasur ji."

He smirked.

Mr. Bisht clenched his fist.

he leaned a little closer and added, almost mocking:

"Maine janta hoon aap ye shadi nhi chate lekin."

"Ek baat yad rakhyie ki aagr koi chalaki ki toh maine use barbaad kar dunga..kiski baat kar raha hoon maine guess kijiye..Jhanvi ki." he said darkly and chukled .

Dev then turned toward Mrs. Bisht and asked casually:

"Ab le jaaun main shopping ke liye... sasuma?"

Mrs. Bisht smiled genuinely and nodded.

Dev turned back one last time before leaving.

"Shaadi ki date jaldi fix karwana."

His voice dropped, becoming icy, intimate, threatening.

"Mujhse raha nahi jaa raha hai... apne gulaab ko Mrs. Singhania banane ke liye."

He looked at Mr. Bisht and smirked again, eyes black as unspoken crimes.

Then he walked out, pulling Jhanvi with him.

Dev opened the front door for her like a gentleman,

but Jhanvi ignored it and sat in the backseat.

Dev rolled his tongue inside his cheek, jaw shifting, ego bruised.

He slammed the door shut, walked around, and sat beside her in the back.

"Mall chalo," he ordered the driver.

Not any mall.

The mall he owned. The one built with his name carved in marble.

He looked at Jhanvi, who stared outside the window like a woman standing on the edge of her 

fate.

Dev smirked and grabbed her hand.

She flinched.

He leaned sideways, voice low, slow, deliberate:

"Aaj se? Abhi se?" He shook his head.

"Nahi-nahi"

"Us pal se tum meri hogyi thi... jis pal tumne mujhse shaadi ke liye haan ki."

Jhanvi's voice cracked:

"Kyu kar rahe ho mere sath ye sab?"

Dev chuckled, cold and amused:

"Kyuki main tumse pyaar karta hoon."

Jhanvi shook her head, another tear falling:

"Pyaar nahi hai ye..."

She whispered.

"Junoon hai."

Dev leaned in, breath ghosting over her ear:

"Jo bhi hai."

"Par wahi cheez tumhe mera bana rahi hai."

He smirked wider.

"Isse achi baat mere liye kya ho sakti hai?"

Outside, raindrops started hitting the car glass.

Not just rain.

It felt like the sky was crying with them—

for a fate where one man was ready to burn the world to keep her,

and the other was ready to lose himself to protect her.

After sometime;

They reached.

Dev stepped out first and yanked Jhanvi's hand tightly—not caring if it hurt, caring only that she followed.

The staff bowed.

Dev didn't look at them.

He only said:

"Humari shaadi ho rahi hai."

"Meri gulab ke liye sabse khoobsurat rings dikhao."

He sat.

Jhanvi stood behind him, soul absent.

Dev looked back, head tilting slightly, eyes dangerous, voice sharp:

"Sit, wifey."

She didn't hear.

So he grabbed her wrist harshly and pulled her onto the chair beside him.

She gasped in pain.

He smiled.

Because pain meant presence.

He pulled her chair even closer, leaned in and whispered slowly, voice gripping the moment by 

the throat:

"Logo ke samne perfect to be-wife bano gulab they should see how happy you are?"

No answer.

He continued, lips near her temple:

"Aur ek aur baat..."

"Rings main choose karunga."

"Tum bas pehenogi."

Jhanvi looked at him, disgust sharp enough to draw blood.

He was controling her and she hated it,but what she can do.

Dev ignored her look and selected a ring deliberately

one size smaller, tight enough to bruise, squeeze, hurt.

He slid it onto her finger slowly.

She winced again.

The ring didn't fit.

It choked her finger like he wanted to choke destiny itself.

He admired it, satisfied.

"Perfect." he said.

Not because it fit her finger.

But because it fit his control.

Author's POV:

Shopping was done.

Not that she chose anything—Dev selected every item, every color, every fabric, every accessory, like he was designing a

life she never asked for.

After hours of moving through the mall like a shadow beside him, Jhanvi was finally dropped home.

She stepped inside, heavy bags in hand, heavier heart in chest.

Mrs. Bisht rushed forward, excitement glowing on her face as she grabbed the bags from 

Jhanvi's hands.

"Mujhe bhi toh dikhao, kya kya leke aayi ho?"

Jhanvi looked at her mother—smiling, eager, blissfully unaware.

Not a flicker of concern, not a trace of doubt, not even curiosity about whether Jhanvi's smile in 

front of Dev was real or rehearsed.

Jhanvi dropped the bags right there.

"Dekh lo... main thak gayi hoon. Sone jaa rahi hoon."

Mrs. Bisht tried to speak—maybe ask something, maybe pretend to care—but Jhanvi had 

already turned away and started climbing the stairs.

Her steps were steady.

Her heart was not.

The moment the door shut behind her, she collapsed.

Not on the bed.

Not on a chair.

On the floor.

Her body trembled violently as a raw, ripped scream tore out of her throat:

"AHHH... ahhhh..."

A sound that didn't resemble words—just pain escaping its cage.

She clutched her chest like someone was squeezing her heart in their fist.

"Itni takleef hoti hai kya pyaar mein?"

A pause. A shaky breath.

"Ki jise aap chahte ho... use paa hi nahi sakte?"

Her lips quivered as Aryan's face flashed in her mind again—sleepy, red-cheeked, innocent, healing, unaware of the storm raging for him.

She whispered into the empty air, like she was confessing to destiny itself:

"Tumne bohot kuch jhela hai, Aryan."

"Main zyada toh nahi jaanti... par aur dard tumhari taraf nahi aane dungi."

A tear slipped down silently.

"Agar tumhe bachane ke liye mujhe maut se khelna pade... toh woh bhi khel lungi."

Her hand moved to her ring—tight, painful, marked by someone else—and she hissed through a breath.

Her voice softened, but sharpened with realization.

"Bhale hi maine kisi aur se shadi kar rahi hoon..Lekin..."

She stood up slowly, wiping her tears, eyes burning with resolve and ache mixed into one unbreakable flame:

"Pyaar toh maine tumse hi krti hoon"