Meera, driven by a fragile resolve, walked tentatively towards Shaurya, cradling a tray with coffee in her hands. Her heart, already marred by the scars of a tormented past, pounded violently in her chest. Terror and trauma lingered in her gaze as she approached Shaurya—the man who had never once met her eyes, now bound to her in marriage.

With trembling hands, she extended the tray towards him. Shaurya, engrossed in the pages of a business file, barely acknowledged her presence. The silence between them was thick and oppressive.

He finally lifted his gaze, his eyes piercing and cold. He took the coffee from her shaking hands, his touch inadvertently brushing against her skin, sending a shiver down her spine. As he took a sip, his eyes closed momentarily. When they opened, they were ablaze with barely contained fury.

A sigh escaped his lips, heavy with anger. Meera recoiled, her fear magnified by the intensity of his gaze. The coffee cup trembled in his grip, a testament to the storm brewing within him. Meera's heart ached, her breath hitching as she braced herself for the wrath that seemed imminent.

"What the hell is this? You call this shit coffee?" Shaurya bellowed, hurling the cup to the floor in a fit of rage.

Meera flinched, her body instinctively recoiling. This scene, though new, was hauntingly familiar. She had witnessed her father and uncle berate their wives in the same manner. It was a toxic environment, but to her, it had become the norm. Despite being treated like a princess her whole life, she had been conditioned to believe that if her husband was displeased, it was her duty to correct her mistake and placate him. This was the grim reality she now faced.

"I-I a-am s-s-sorry," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper, trembling under the weight of Shaurya's murderous glare.

"I'll m-make another cup of f-f-coffee f-for you," she managed to say, her voice faltering.

"Forget it. You're useless anyway. What more can I expect from a spoiled brat like you?" Shaurya sneered, his words cutting deeper than any blade.

"Listen to me clearly, 'princess'," he spat, grabbing her arm with a painful grip that made her wince. "You are no longer the princess of your daddy's castle. There are no maids or servants here for you. You need to start managing things on your own. I am your husband now, and you are my wife, so you better start acting like one," he hissed, releasing her arm with a violent jerk.

"Clean up this fucking mess. There are clothes for you in the closet. I want you ready before seven," Shaurya ordered, his voice dripping with contempt as he turned to leave.

"Do you not have a tongue? Answer me!" he demanded, his eyes burning with fury.

"Y-yes," Meera stuttered, barely audible, her eyes downcast.

Shaurya stormed out, his rage palpable even as he departed. Meera let out a shaky sigh of relief, the oppressive tension in the room lifting slightly in his absence. Her heart still pounded, her mind a whirl of fear and resignation as she braced herself for the next inevitable confrontation.

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.
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"Vikrant."

"Vikrant."

"What?" Vikrant hissed, his irritation palpable as he glanced up from his laptop. Ishani's mere presence grated on his nerves, her intrusion unwelcome. Ishani clenched her fists, his dismissive attitude igniting a spark of anger within her. This was not how she envisioned their life together.

"Mom and Dad have invited us for dinner tonight," she said, smiling.

Vikrant tore his gaze from the screen, confusion flickering across his features. "Last night they invited us. Why again?"

"Not your mom and dad, mine," Ishani replied, a smile spreading across her face.

"What?" Vikrant's confusion deepened, his brows knitting together. Ishani and Shaurya's parents had passed away two decades ago.

"Adhiraj uncle called," Ishani explained excitedly, "and he asked me to refer to him and Sahista aunty as Mom and Dad."

"Oh, so you're thrilled because now you have everything that once belonged to Meera," Vikrant sneered, his eyes narrowing.

Ishani's eyes widened in shock, fury bubbling to the surface. "Meera, Meera, Meera! I'm so done with hearing her name. Why are you so blind with love for her? She is gone. Remember, she almost ruined both her family's and your family's reputation. If it weren't for me, your reputation would have been in tatters," Ishani seethed, her voice trembling with rage.

"She was never allowed to step a foot outside her home without a bodyguard. She never had any space for herself. You think she would have been able to find a boyfriend and plan an escape?" Vikrant retorted, his voice cutting through the air like a blade.

"I don't care what happened. It would be better if you accepted the truth already. Meera is no longer in our lives. She has been sent to New York to her brother. Nothing will change the fact that I am your wife now not her," Ishani hissed, grabbing her bag and storming out.

Vikrant stood there, his fists clenched in fury, his body trembling with the intensity of his emotions. "She was, she is, and she will always be mine," he declared, his voice low but resolute, as if casting an unbreakable spell.

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Waking from an exhausting nap, Meera's eyes widened in panic as she glanced at the clock. It was already 6.

"Oh no," she whispered urgently, her heart racing. Ignoring the sharp pain in her foot, she hurried to the bathroom for a quick shower.

Twenty minutes later, she emerged, clad in her bathrobe, droplets of water still clinging to her skin. She opened the closet, and her heart froze.

The array of clothes before her was a stark reminder of the life she was now trapped in. Each garment seemed to mock her with its presence, a silent testament to her new reality. Dresses she had never chosen, outfits picked to mold her into someone else's idea of a wife, lined the closet in a cruel display.

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, she felt the walls closing in, the air growing thick and suffocating. The memories of Shaurya's rage earlier replayed in her mind, each recollection intensifying her dread. She had to be ready before seven, but the weight of her situation made her feel paralyzed.

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.

Shaurya glanced at his watch; it was already 6:30, and he would be home in ten minutes. He could feel his patience wearing thin. He didn't want to lose his temper again, but his frustrations were mounting.

Stuck in traffic, his eyes wandered until they landed on a couple on a bike beside him. They looked newly married and blissfully happy. The woman wore a vibrant red saree, her hands adorned with fresh henna and red chooda. The sight struck a nerve, and a car horn jolted him from his reverie, a smirk curled on his lips as he refocused on the road.

Twenty minutes later, Shaurya entered his apartment building. Despite being the owner of an MNC and the sole heir to the Agnivansh empire, he preferred the privacy of his luxurious duplex penthouse over a sprawling mansion.

As he walked inside, disappointment surged through him when Meera was nowhere to be found in the hall. His jaw clenched in frustration, and he strode purposefully towards their bedroom.

Throwing open the door, his eyes widened in anger. The sudden noise made Meera flinch, her heart racing.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Shaurya yelled, his voice thunderous, making Meera shiver in terror.

She stood there, still in her bathrobe, her hands trembling. The air between them crackled with tension, his fury palpable and her fear overwhelming.