The golden sands of Dwarka stretched endlessly beneath the scorching sun, and the sound of the waves crashing against the shore echoed faintly in the distance. The palace was bustling with life, filled with laughter, preparation, and excitement for the upcoming alliances, but Duryodhan’s mind was anything but peaceful.

As the chariots had arrived in Dwarka, a heavy weight had settled in his chest. The sight of the grand palace, the smiles of its people, and the ceremonies awaiting him all felt distant and hollow.

*Subhadra.* The name sat bitterly on his tongue. The princess of Dwarka, kind and beautiful, and yet, she was a symbol of something much larger than him—political alliances, power, and the future of Hastinapur. He wasn’t marrying her out of love, no. It was a decision for the greater good of his kingdom. She was meant to bring peace and strengthen his empire. But then…there was Anya.

Ever since he had arrived in Dwarka, his thoughts had been consumed by her. Every glance, every fleeting interaction, the way she fidgeted nervously by Balaram’s side, her quick, sharp-witted remarks—it all left him restless. He had expected to be indifferent, to fulfill his duty and move forward. But Anya… she made it impossible.

As the royal processions and discussions continued, Duryodhan found himself retreating to the quiet corners of the palace, his mind constantly drifting to that stubborn, infuriating woman.

*Why her?* he questioned, rubbing his temples in frustration. *Why does she affect me this much?*

He had tried to push it aside, rationalize it as nothing more than a fleeting attraction. But the truth was, every time he saw her, his thoughts betrayed him. He wanted her in ways that defied reason. The way she challenged him, her bold defiance—it stirred something deep within him, something dangerous. And yet, there was that damn engagement. *Nakul.* The name was a bitter taste in his mouth. Anya was going to marry him, and every time he thought about it, his blood boiled.

Sitting in his chamber now, far from the prying eyes of the palace, Duryodhan’s mind raced with conflicting thoughts. His marriage to Subhadra was all but set in stone. His advisors had told him it was necessary, a crucial political move. He had always followed the path of power, choosing strength over sentiment. And yet, the idea of Anya with someone else…

*Why do I care so much?* he questioned again. But he knew the answer. He didn’t want anyone else to have her. Especially not Nakul.

His mind flashed back to their interaction earlier that night. The way she had boldly told him to break his marriage with Subhadra if he wanted her to break hers with Nakul. It had been an impossible demand, but the fire in her eyes had made him consider it, even if just for a fleeting second.

The idea of backing out of the alliance with Subhadra was unthinkable. The repercussions would be catastrophic—Hastinapur couldn’t afford the strain it would cause between the kingdoms. But the thought of Anya going through with her marriage, watching her walk down the aisle to Nakul, knowing that she would be bound to another man... it was unbearable.

He had never been one for sentiment, but this was different. It wasn't love in the traditional sense—it was possession, obsession. He wanted her, and it infuriated him that he couldn’t have her the way he wanted.

As he sat there, staring blankly at the walls of his chamber, Duryodhan found himself clenching his fists.

*What should I do?* he wondered, his mind torn between duty and desire. He knew he couldn't break off the engagement with Subhadra without causing irreparable damage to his political standing. But how could he let Anya slip away into a marriage she didn’t want?

The night air in Dwarka was cool as it seeped through the open windows. His gaze shifted to the horizon, the endless stretch of dark sea beyond the palace. He felt trapped—tied to his responsibilities, his kingdom, and the endless political games. And then there was Anya, a light in the distance, just out of reach.

*Damn it.* He rubbed his face roughly, frustration gnawing at him. He had to make a choice soon. But no matter what, he couldn’t let her go.

For now, he would play the part—fulfill his duties as the prince of Hastinapur. But deep down, Duryodhan knew that this wasn’t over. Anya wasn’t just going to disappear from his life. He wouldn’t allow it.

With a final, frustrated sigh, he rose from his seat and made his way to the window, staring out into the night.

*I’ll figure this out, Anya,* he thought to himself, his resolve hardening. *One way or another, you’ll be mine.*

The moon hung high in the sky, its pale light casting shadows across the room. And as Duryodhan stood there, silent and contemplative, the battle within him raged on—between duty and desire, between power and the woman who had unknowingly become his obsession.