Author's POV:

The black SUV purred as it glided through the iron gates of the Singhania Estate, a fortress of wealth and shadows tucked far away from the prying eyes of Rishikesh.

 This wasn't just a house; it was a sprawling monument to Dev's power. 

The driveway was lined with elite guards, their faces as stony as the statues decorating the manicured gardens.

Inside, the ballroom was a sea of velvet and gold. 

The guests were not friends—they were business associates, powerful politicians, and the extended Singhania clan, all of whom moved with an air of cold intimidation. 

The atmosphere was thick with the scent of expensive cigars and the sharp hum of hushed, respectful conversations.

As the grand doors swung open, the room went silent.

Dev stepped onto the elevated stage, a crystal glass of champagne held loosely in his hand. He looked like a king presiding over his court. 

With a sharp flick of his wrist, he signaled the tech booth.

Suddenly, a blinding white spotlight cut through the dim ballroom, landing directly on Jhanvi.

Standing at the entrance in her blood-red gown, she looked like a flame trapped in a block of ice. Every head in the room turned toward her. 

The weight of hundreds of judgmental, cold eyes pressed down on her, making it hard to breathe.

Dev hopped down from the stage and walked toward her, his polished shoes clicking rhythmically against the marble.

 The crowd parted for him like the Red Sea. When he reached her, he didn't offer comfort. He leaned in, the smell of champagne and power radiating off him.

"Smile, Gulaab," he whispered, his voice a jagged command disguised as a plea.

"Tonight, the world needs to see that you are the crown jewel of the Singhanias. Don't let them see the thorns."

He reached out, his hand sliding possessively around her waist, pulling her into his side so tightly that she could feel the cold metal of the gun tucked into his waistband.

"Look at them," he murmured, gesturing to the powerful people watching them.

"They all fear me. And they will all bow to you, because you belong to me. Now, walk with me. We have a celebration to start."

Jhanvi felt a chill that had nothing to do with the air conditioning. 

She looked at the crowd—a gallery of monsters and puppets—and realized that Dev wasn't just introducing his bride; he was showing off his most prized trophy.

The music slowed to a haunting, rhythmic beat as Dev led Jhanvi up the stairs of the grand stage. 

He kept his hand firmly on the small of her back, his touch a constant reminder that she was under his thumb. 

As they reached the center, the light intensified, reflecting off the diamonds at Jhanvi's throat and the dark, predatory glint in Dev's eyes.

Dev raised his glass, and the room fell into a silence so deep you could hear the flutter of a heart.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Dev began, his voice smooth as silk but laced with the cold edge of a blade.

 "They say that behind every great empire, there is a hidden treasure. A prize so rare that men would burn cities just to glimpse it."

He turned to Jhanvi, his gaze sweeping over her with a terrifyingly public display of possession.

"I have spent four years writing a masterpiece. I have curated every second, every shadow, and every light to lead to this very moment. Many of you know me for my ruthlessness, for the blood on my hands, and the power I command. But tonight, you look at the only thing in this world that actually commands me."

The guests watched, mesmerized by the sheer intensity of his madness. Dev leaned into the microphone, his smirk widening into something dark and fictional.

"The world thinks that love is a choice. They think it's a gentle breeze. But they are wrong. Real love... my love... is a siege. It is a conquest. I didn't find Jhanvi; I claimed her from the hands of destiny itself. She is the 'Gulaab' in my desert, the blood in my veins, and the only soul allowed to breathe the same air as a Singhania."

He paused, looking directly at a high-ranking official in the front row, his voice turning into a low, lethal growl.

"Let this be a warning to the world. You are not looking at my fiancée. You are looking at my heart, kept outside of my chest. And if any hand be it fate or man reaches out to touch what is mine, I won't just kill the offender. I will erase their entire lineage from the history books."

He turned back to Jhanvi, lifting his glass in a mock toast.

"To my love. Smile, Gulaab. The world is watching their Queen."

Jhanvi felt the bile rise in her throat. Every word he spoke was a nail in the coffin of her identity.

 He wasn't introducing a wife; he was declaring a monopoly on a human life.

As the room erupted into polite, terrified applause, Dev leaned down and whispered so only she could hear,

"Don't look so horrified, gulaab You should be proud. Not everyone gets to be the obsession of a god."

Jhanvi quickly retreated to a secluded corner of the ballroom, the walls of the estate feeling like they were closing in on her.

 She gasped for air, her lungs burning from the cloying scent of expensive perfumes and Dev's suffocating presence.

Suddenly, a woman slid into the chair opposite her, resting her chin on her hands with a playful, sharp glint in her eyes. 

"So... you are going to be my Bhabhi," she said, her voice dripping with curiosity.

Jhanvi blinked, startled. "I... I'm sorry?"

The woman smiled, a bright but calculated expression, and extended her hand. 

"Kritika Singhania. Dev's cousin."

Jhanvi hesitantly took her hand. Before she could speak, Kritika leaned in, her gaze turning piercing. 

"Between us... tumhe Dev Bhai pasand kaise aaye? I mean, he's... a lot to handle."

Jhanvi felt a surge of bitter honesty. She looked straight into Kritika's eyes, her voice cold and

 blunt. "Mujhe woh pasand nahi hain. mai—"

"She doesn't like me... she loves me."

The deep, vibrating voice cut through the air like a blade. Jhanvi stiffened, her breath hitching as Dev appeared from the shadows behind her.

 He didn't look angry; he looked amused, which was far more terrifying.

Dev stepped forward and leaned down, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to Jhanvi's forehead. His skin was cold, and the gesture felt like a brand.

"Aww!" Kritika squealed, clapping her hands.

 "Aap dono kitne pyare lag rahe ho! Wait, don't move. Let me click a picture!"

Kritika scrambled to her feet and moved a few steps back, raising her phone.

Dev stood Jhanvi up, his arm snaking around her waist with brutal strength, pulling her body flush against his side.

To anyone watching, it looked like a possessive embrace of a doting fiancé.

As Kritika focused the camera, Dev leaned down, his lips brushing against Jhanvi's ear.

 His voice was a low, jagged whisper that only she could hear.

"Kya kaha tha maine tumse, Gulaab?" he breathed, his grip tightening until her ribs ached.

"Maine kaha tha na ki act karna... duniya ko dikhana ki hum ek 'lovey-dovey' couple hain. Par tumne phir apni zubaan chala di."

His eyes stayed fixed on the camera lens, a charming, fake smile plastered on his face while his words dripped with venom.

"Ek aur galti, Jhanvi... aur main bhool jaunga ki mai tumse kitna pyaar karta hoon. Agli baar agar tumne kisi ko bataya ki tum mujhse nafrat karti ho, toh main tumhari zuban kaat dunga. Now Smile for the camera, gulaab."

Jhanvi's lips trembled as she forced a small, haunting smile for the flash. 

She felt like a doll being played with by a demon, her heart breaking silently under the weight of his arm.

While the flashes of Kritika's camera continued to blind Jhanvi, a pair of eyes watched from the far end of the hall, wide with disbelief.

Unknown POV:

I entered the party late, adjusting my saree as I looked for Dev. I had heard rumors of his sudden engagement, and as a business associate, I had to congratulate the man. 

But as I turned the corner, the glass in my hand nearly slipped. My breath hitched.

Anjali?

It couldn't be. She died four years ago. The accident... the funeral... Aryan's descent into madness. 

It was all so final. But there she is, draped in red, standing beside Dev Singhania.

 If she is alive, why isn't she with Aryan? Why is she here, with Dev? 

Something is terribly wrong. I have to speak to her.

POV End.

Jhanvi stood with Kritika, who was still rambling about the latest fashion trends . 

but she  wasn't listening; her mind was a blur of Dev's threats and the phantom scent of gunpowder.

Suddenly, she felt a soft, urgent tap on her shoulder.

She turned around to find a woman standing there. 

She was strikingly beautiful, her face glowing under the crystal chandeliers, but her expression was one of pure shock. 

She was looking at Jhanvi as if she were looking at a miracle—or a ghost.

"Tum... tum theek ho?" the woman asked, her voice trembling as she scanned Jhanvi from head to toe, looking for a sign of recognition.

Jhanvi blinked, her brow furrowed. "Mujhe kya hoga? Main theek hoon. Par... aap kaun?"

The woman looked completely puzzled, her heart sinking at Jhanvi's empty gaze. 

"Tanishka... Tanishka Bansal."

Jhanvi nodded politely but looked distant. "Jhanvi," she introduced herself softly.

Tanishka's eyes widened. Jhanvi? She was about to ask more—about the accident, about the name, about the man she had loved—when a thunderous crash echoed through the ballroom.

A table had been flipped. Glass shattered across the marble like diamonds.

 The music died instantly, replaced by a heavy, suffocating silence.

Jhanvi pushed through the gathering crowd, her heart hammering. In the center of the hall, the scene was gruesome. Dev was standing over an older man.

Dev wasn't just angry; he was possessed. He had the man pinned against a pillar, a sharp, silver khanjar (dagger) pressed firmly against the man's throat.

"Chacha ho, isliye zinda ho," Dev hissed, his voice laced with a venom so potent the guests backed away in fear.

 "Varna ab tak aapke sar se football khel raha hota."

The man trembled, gasping for air, but Dev's grip only tightened. The blade drew a thin line of red on the man's skin.

"Mere baap ke baare mein agar ek baar aur kuch kaha na... toh ye mat bhulna ki main wahi beta hoon jisne apne dushmanon ki chitaon par baith kar jashn manaya hai," Dev growled, his eyes dark with a cruel, villainous fire.

"Aapko lagta hai ki aap bade hain toh aapki bakwaas bardaasht karunga? Is khandan ka khoon meri ragon mein zaroor hai, par is khandan ka maalik sirf main hoon. Agli baar agar aapki zubaan mere baap ke khilaf khuli, toh main aapko zinda gaad dunga... aur aapki cheekhein sunne ke liye bhi kisi ko zinda nhi chordunga. Samjhe aap?"

Dev pulled the dagger back slowly, wiping the tip of the blade on the man's expensive silk lapel with a sickeningly calm smile. 

He turned to the horrified crowd, his gaze landing on Jhanvi.

"Party continue kijiye," he announced, his voice booming with terrifying authority.

 "Bas thoda... 'family business' solve kar raha tha."

Jhanvi watched him, her soul trembling. He wasn't a man; he was a monster who had no respect for blood or bond.

 And Tanishka, standing in the shadows, watched Jhanvi's reaction.