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More than 11k+ words
This is the longest chaptee till now..
Chapter 87, 88, 89, 90, 91, 92, 93 and 94 are available on the scroll stack.
And chapter 87 will uploaded on the Watt pad by next Saturday..
Vote and comments for next chapter and follow also..
Author's POV
Isha shut the door of her suite behind her and the silence hit her like a punch.
Her back slid down the wood until she was sitting on the cold marble floor — knees tight to her chest, fingers tangled in her hair. Her breath stuttered as everything crashed into her at once.
His kiss.
Her response.
The past she had buried… breaking out again.
"What am I doing…?" she whispered to herself. "How… how can I let him kiss me? After everything? How can I forget the five years of hell?"
She wiped her tears angrily.
"How can I still feel for him? I shouldn't. I shouldn't."
Her voice cracked.
She hugged herself tighter — shaking.
The door opened gently.
Luka stepped inside.
He didn't ask anything. He didn't scold. He just knelt in front of her and cupped her damp cheeks.
"I saw," he murmured.
Isha flinched. "Luka… I'm sorry. I—"
"No." His voice was soft but firm. "You don't need to apologize to me for your heart beating. I always knew you loved him… that a part of you still loves him."
She broke again — silent tears dropping.
"You're not doing anything wrong," Luka continued. "It's just overwhelming. You came home… you saw your family again… and he is here. Of course your emotions are going to scream."
Isha looked up — eyes red, defeated.
"And the worst part?" she said. "I kissed him back. I let him… touch me. I let him ruin me again."
Luka smiled sadly and wiped her tears with his thumbs.
"You didn't ruin anything. You reacted. You're human."
He stood, offering his hand.
"Come. Get ready. Let's take a break from all of this. We'll go out tonight — just you and me."
She blinked. "A date?"
"Yes," Luka nodded. "A proper one. There's a club in the city — good music, good distraction."
He winked. "And I think you desperately need a distraction, Alina. "
She actually sniffed a laugh.
He squeezed her shoulder.
"We'll leave in an hour. I'll wait downstairs. And remember…"
He leaned forward and kissed her forehead.
"In one week, we fly back to Italy. A new life. No ghosts."
Isha nodded slowly. "Yeah… okay."
She chose a black satin dress — short slit on the side, hugging her waist perfectly. Her hair loose in soft waves, dark eyeliner sharpening her eyes into a challenge.
Black heels. Perfume — midnight jasmine.
She stared at herself in the mirror.
A girl trying not to look broken.
When she reached the main dining hall, Luka was waiting — black jeans, white tee, black leather jacket… matching her exactly.
He smiled.
"You look like trouble."
She exhaled. "Good."
They stepped inside the dining hall to inform everyone.
Her parents, Shivansh's family, the boys, the girls — all chat loudly.
Meher whistled, "Oooo date night?"
Isha shot him a death glare. "Yes. A date. Just a date."
This sentence… burned through Shivansh like acid.
But she didn't even look at him.
She held Luka's arm and walked out.
The city lights flashed outside the window as they drove.
Isha tried to relax.
Tried to breathe.
But…
A strange chill ran down her spine.
It felt like someone's gaze was glued to her from behind.
She shifted uncomfortably, checking the rear view mirror — a black SUV followed them for a while… then turned away.
"Alina?" Luka asked, eyes on the road.
"You okay?"
She hesitated.
"Just… weird feeling. Like someone's watching me."
"Maybe nerves," Luka assured.
"You'll forget everything once we start dancing."
She nodded, but her fingers curled tight on her dress.
That… feeling didn't leave.
The club lights glowed violet and silver, loud bass thumping out to the street.
As they stepped out of the car, Isha's eyes scanned around again — shadows shifting… someone was definitely watching.
Luka touched her shoulder.
"Hey — you're safe. I'm here."
She inhaled slowly and nodded.
"Yeah. Let's go."
They walked toward the entrance…
But behind them — unseen by Isha —
a pair of intense eyes followed her every move.
Possessive.
Burning.
Unwilling to let go again.
Shivansh.
The bass inside the club was loud enough to shake bones, neon lights flickering across bodies moving like a wild ocean. Isha stepped inside with Luka, her black dress hugging her curves, eyes sharp, lips set in an expression that screamed don't try me.
Even here, she could feel it—someone's gaze burning into her skin.
She looked back.
No one.
Yet the feeling stayed.
Luka ordered drinks and they slipped inside a private cabin. He tried to lighten the mood, joking about their accidental matching outfits, but she wasn't fully there. Her fingers kept tapping—a rhythm of impatience… of anger.
She needed a distraction.
"I want to dance," she said flatly.
Luka smirked, lifting his glass. "Go. I'll watch from here. Just shout if someone wants to die."
A tiny smirk formed on her lips at his dark humor.
She walked to the dance floor.
The lights hit her, and instantly, she owned the room.
Her hips swayed—powerful, confident.
Heads turned.
Whispers rose.
Luka leaned against the cabin railing, arms crossed, eyes locked on her only.
But then—
A hand brushed against her waist.
Isha froze.
That familiar disgust—sharp and burning—cut through her nerves instantly.
She turned.
A guy stood there, smirking.
Sleazy. Drunk. Stupid.
"Don't touch me," she warned.
"Oh, come on baby… you're clearly asking for it—"
SLAP.
One clean strike.
The entire floor heard it.
The man stumbled back, holding his cheek. People gasped.
Luka whispered under his breath, proud, "That's my girl."
But the creep wasn't alone.
Three more boys stepped closer, surrounding her.
The slapped guy pulled out a small gun from his jacket, pointing it straight at her chest.
Isha blinked once.
Then her expression changed.
Gone was the hurt girl.
Gone was Isha.
She whispers slowly, " Time to show who real Alina is, "
Alina stood there now—cold, lethal, and fearless.
"Oh… you brought a toy?" Her voice was low, mocking.
"Cute. Want to see what I brought?"
Before he even blinked—
She twisted his wrist.
The gun flew out of his hand.
CRACK.
He screamed, falling to his knees, clutching his broken wrist.
The others surged toward her.
Big mistake.
The first one swung—
She ducked and slammed her elbow into his ribs.
He gasped, collapsing.
The second grabbed her hair—
She spun and grabbed his shirt, kneeing him so hard in the stomach he choked and dropped instantly.
The third tried to punch—
She caught his hand mid-air, smiled wickedly…
…and broke his fingers one by one.
He shrieked.
People stepped back in fear.
Shivansh had stood up now, jaw dropped—not worried, just impossibly impressed.
Then he remember years ago when they came up club with everyone, that time also someone try to touch her and that time also she shoe them theirs real place like today she shows but still She shocked shivansh because who she brutally she broke their bones.
And Isha wasn't done.
She picked up a bottle from the nearest table—
Smashed it across the first guy's head.
Glass scattered like glitter.
Blood followed.
She stepped on the gun on the floor, kicking it far away.
The man with broken fingers begged, voice trembling,
"You… psycho—who are you?"
Isha leaned close, eyes blazing with destruction.
"I am your worst f*cking nightmare."
She lifted her fist again—
"Alina!" Luka rushed in, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind, pulling her back before she put someone into a coma.
"Enough," he said softly near her ear, breath steady although his heart raced.
"They're already dead in their hearts. Don't make it literal."
Her chest heaved—rage and adrenaline swirling like poison.
Finally, she let go.
The boys stayed on the floor, groaning in fear.
People stared, shocked…
But one pair of eyes wasn't shocked at all.
Shivansh.
Standing in the shadows of the club balcony—
Clenching his fists—
Breathing hard—
Looking at the fierce goddess in front of him like she owned his very soul.
Possessiveness. Jealousy. Hunger. Pride.
All flashed through him at once.
And a single dangerous thought formed:
That is my woman.
Then he calls his guards to clear this and then thinks he will see later those who touch someone who is his.
The music was loud. Lights harsh.
Isha was a chaos of red cheeks, glassy eyes and anger as she struggled in Luka's hold.
Luka had tried to handle her, stop her drinking, stop her fighting, stop her from becoming Alina again… but it was too late.
Luka wrapped an arm around her waist tightly.
"i should let her drink this much" he said firmly, voice low, protective. "Drunk Alina is always trouble."
Before he could move a step—
a strong hand grabbed his wrist.
Shivansh.
Jaw clenched. Eyes burning.
"She's not going anywhere with you," he said.
He pulled Isha to his chest with one smooth motion.
Her fingers instantly fisted in his shirt—like her body recognized him even when her mind refused to.
Luka narrowed his eyes.
"Oh really? Since when did you start deciding things for her?"
"Since the day she became mine," Shivansh replied brutally.
Luka let out a short, humorless laugh.
"Right. The same day you destroyed her life? The same day you left her with nothing but pain?"
Shivansh's eyes flickered—uilt flashing but gone in a moment.
"I am fixing it," he answered. "I WILL fix it."
Luka stepped closer, nose almost touching his.
"You think one kiss… one night… removes five years of damage?"
Shivansh didn't flinch.
"I think she still loves me."
Isha weakly hit Shivansh's chest, mumbling, "I hate you… don't want you… leave me…"
But she didn't move out of his embrace.
Both men felt that truth.
Shivansh's voice softened, but authority never left it.
"She clings to me when she's scared. She cries in my arms. Her heart remembers me, even when her words don't."
Luka's jaw tightened.
"Maybe her heart remembers…"
"…but her future?" He pointed to himself.
"That is me."
Shivansh smirked, the kind of dangerous smirk that promised war.
"We'll see whose name she says at the mandap."
Luka's tone dropped to ice.
"You don't deserve her."
"Maybe I don't," Shivansh admitted.
"But she deserves the man who loves her the most—and that will always be me."
Isha softly tugged Shivansh's shirt again, whispering against his neck,
"Don't leave… don't leave me again…"
That surprise Luka.
His voice cracked—not from fear, but something.
"Fine," he exhaled. "Take her. But remember—"
He leaned in dangerously close:
"If you hurt her again…
I won't give you a second chance to regret it."
Shivansh's reply was a vow:
"I'm not losing her again. Ever."
Then, with Isha practically climbing onto him,
her face hidden in his neck,
her tears soaking into his shirt—
Shivansh lifted her into his arms.
She wrapped herself around him like instinct.
Like home.
And Luka…
he let her go.
But his eyes promised—
This isn't over.
Isha was already falling apart.
Not physically — her body still held grace, control, and that dangerous spark —
but mentally… she was slipping.
He pulled her away, his hand closing around her wrist — not tight, just enough to anchor her.
"I said I don't want to go home…" she slurred, stumbling into his chest.
Shivansh somehow managed a small breathless laugh.
"You're impossible, you know that?"
She glared up, eyes glossy. "And you're… a jerk."
He didn't deny it.
Her legs weren't supporting her anymore, so he scooped her into his arms.
Her forehead dropped against his neck instinctively.
"You smell like memories," she whispered.
That single sentence broke him a little.
She refused to sit properly.
"No… don't put me there…"
She clutched his shirt and climbed onto his lap before he could react.
Her breath, warm and a little shaky, hit his jaw.
"Sit properly, Isha…" his voice was low, struggling.
"No…" she sniffed, eyes suddenly teary.
"You don't get to tell me what to do anymore… not after what you did."
Her voice cracked.
Shivansh's hands froze.
The playful battle abruptly transformed into pain — real pain.
She held his face between her palms, forcing him to look at her.
Mascara smudged… lips trembling… completely broken.
"You killed me," she whispered.
"Five years… I died every day."
He swallowed hard. "I know."
"No, you don't!" she hit his chest weakly.
"You lived… you smiled… you ruled your kingdom…
And I was alone there — ALONE, SHIVANSH!"
Her voice echoed inside the car like a scream from her soul.
He took her hands and brought them to his lips.
"I'm sorry…"
The most painful apology he had ever spoken.
Tears slipped from his eyes — quiet, ashamed.
She shook her head violently.
"Don't… don't be sorry now… It's too late… Luka… he cares… he stayed…"
"But you still dream of me."
His whisper was sharp. It silenced her.
Her lips parted… no answer.
He gently wiped her tears with his thumb.
"It hurts, right?"
He leaned closer, forehead pressing to hers.
"To love someone this much? To not let them go even when you try?"
Her breathing stuttered.
"You. Hurt. Me."
Every word is a dagger.
"I'll heal every wound," he vowed.
"Every bruise, every nightmare, every tear —
I'll fix them all."
She blinked… and suddenly collapsed against him, crying harder —
this time silently, desperately — like her heart was bleeding out.
He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close…
letting her break in his embrace.
"You can scream, hit me, hate me…"
His voice shook.
"But don't destroy yourself. Please, Isha… don't."
She started hitting him and sobbing more and then he said "Don't cry, don't cry, hit me as much as you want. But don't punch me princess, it's hurt, I will make everything right like before just give me time. "
Her sobbing slowly turned into soft whimpers…
and then into silence.
She fell asleep on his chest — exhausted, fragile, human.
Shivansh didn't move.
He just held her… like she was the only thing keeping him alive.
"You're mine," he whispered into her hair.
"And I will spend every breath proving it."
Carefully, he shifted her into the passenger seat, buckling her seatbelt, brushing a kiss against her forehead.
"I'll put every star in your sky back in its place," he promised under his breath.
"No one gets to take you away from me again. Not even time."
He drove them back to the palace — one hand on the wheel, the other covering hers.
When they reached, he lifted her again like she weighed nothing —
carrying her through the silent hallways.
He lay her down gently on the bed, arranging her pillow, pulling the blanket up.
Before leaving… he leaned down one last time, lips brushing her temple…
"I love you,"
His voice is a broken prayer.
"You don't have to say it back yet."
He walked out slowly…
…leaving his heart sleeping in that room.
The next morning of the wedding celebrations arrived faster than anyone expected.
Sunlight spilled through the carved jharokha of the royal suite, reflecting on the lake like thousands of tiny diamonds. The palace was decorated in soft marigold, lotus strings hanging from pillars, brass diyas glowing on every step — traditional, elegant, stunning.
The Outfits
Isha wore a peach-pink silk lehenga, golden hand embroidery shimmering whenever she moved. Fresh jasmine flowers were braided into her hair. Minimal jewelry, but she looked breathtaking without even trying.
Luka wore a cream sherwani, subtle but classy — the perfect groom appearance.
Shivansh … he made hearts stumble.
A deep maroon bandhgala with a black embroidered collar, hair pushed back, eyes intense. He looked every bit the king he was.
And he only looked at her.
Everyone gathered in the central courtyard
Prisha & Ishika were busy taking pictures of the decor.
Arav and Arjun were messing with flower petals, already pushing each other.
Meher was checking every thing is perfect or not and Alessandro is following her every where.
Her parents are playing with riyan.
His family is also with her parents and watching everything with broken hearts but still smiling for the sake of isha.
Dhruv, Ranveer and Aviyansh were acting helpful — secretly watching Shivansh, whispering:
Aviyansh grinning "Operation Bring Isha Back — Day 1."
Dhruv: "Focus. Today he needs to sit next to her."
Ranveer whisper slowly "Bro, he would drag her chair if he has to."
Everyone sat for the puja — Isha in the center with Luka.
Shivansh sat behind them… too close.
He leaned forward slightly, his voice brushing her neck like a secret:
Shivansh whispers slowly "Peach looks good on you, Janna but I prefer the red you wore that night when you were busy doing something in your dream. "
Her fingers froze mid-aarti.
She didn't look at him.
Isha teeth clenched, and whispers slowly with angry filled voice "Don't talk to me."
Shivansh said in a teasing voice, "But you were talking a lot that night… my name, moaning in your sleep—"
She shifts in her seat and accidentally hits the plate which is in front of her.
Everyone turned.
Her cheeks exploded with heat.
Luka touched her knee, concerned.
Shivansh's jaw locked at the sight — instant jealousy.
The Pandit smiled politely
"Put your hands together for the ritual."
Isha lifted her hand — Luka took it.
Before that moment I even settled…
Shivansh's hand slid over hers from the other side.
Three hands. One ritual. One girl is ready to explode.
She yanked her hand back, whispered sharply:
Isha clinched her teeth and said, "Behave!"
Shivansh in his teasing, "You first. Stop holding his hand."
Luka finally noticed the tension. He straightened, protective:
Luka: "If you have a problem, say it clearly, Mr. Raghuvanshi."
Shivansh soft smile, deadly eyes, "I have a problem, but I'll solve it… permanently."
Everyone felt the temperature rise, but didn't say anything.
Prisha whispered to Ishika:
>Prisha: "Is that… fighting?"
Ishika: "That's flirting disguised as war."
Meher folded her arms:
Meher: "This will be interesting."
Arjun leaned toward Aviyansh,
Arjun: "If something explodes, I'm blaming you boys." and Arab nodded.
Ranveer: "Blame love, bro. Blame love."
When the Pandit asked the groom to apply tilak
Luka reached for the tray.
Shivansh casually took it first.
Isha whisper, "Shivansh!"
Shivansh: "Shh. Let God also know who you belong to."
He dabbed a small tilak on her forehead — slow… intimate.
Her breath hitched.
Luka's fists clenched.
Pandit cleared his throat awkwardly.
Pandit: "Umm… now the official groom may proceed."
Everyone coughed to hide laughter.
Photographer: "Bride and groom in front!"
Isha stepped with Luka…
But Shivansh stepped right beside her.
Like he belonged there.
Photographer: "Sir, you can—"
Shivansh: "I'll stay. She looks better between us."
Isha's murderous whisper, "Move."
Shivansh: "Make me."
Flash went off.
Perfect picture: a furious bride, a smug king, and a tensed groom.
Snacks were being served. Family chatting. Music beginning.
Shivansh finally cornered her behind a pillar of marigolds.
He leaned close, lips almost touching her temple:
Shivansh: "Every ritual today and upcoming, I'll take my right back the same way.
You are mine, Isha."
Her heartbeat betrayed her.
Isha said soft,and scared: "Luka is my fiancé."
Shivansh: "Temporary mistake.
I am your forever."
Their eyes locked — fire, history, heartbreak.
Before she could speak, Luka called her name and she stepped away… breathless.
Shivansh watched her walk away like a man starving.
Shivansh whispers to himself, "Day one, Princess.
Let the real war begin."
Next Day Haldiii,
The palace courtyard was glowing in bright marigold and yellow drapes. The sun was high… warm… playful — just like the atmosphere. Everyone dressed beautifully, laughing, joking, singing.
But Isha?
She looked like a goddess nobody was allowed to touch.
Her outfit, Yellow lehenga with silver sequins
Little floral jewelry on her wrists and hair
Skin glowing under sunlight
And yet… her heart was a battlefield.
She walked down the stairs slowly, forcing a smile. Luka was waiting for her with his usual soft, calm grin. He offered his hand and she took it — because she needed to.
But her eyes?
Her eyes went straight to the man she wasn't supposed to look at.
Shivansh.
In a white kurta with a mustard jacket… eyes fixed only on her. Like she was the only person breathing in that palace.
And the worst part?
Everyone else noticed it too.
Isha sat beside Luka. Haldi bowls were passed. Music played. Families smiled. Drums beat.
Dhruv began first — smearing haldi on her cheek gently.
Everyone whistled. Isha laughed.
Then Ranveer and Avyansh — teaming up and teasing her:
Ranveer: "Bhabhi ho… smile toh banta hai."
Avyansh: "Pati dev ke liye bhi bacha ke rakhna haldi…"
Isha glared.
Isha: "Shut up. He is not my pati dev."
But her voice wasn't stable.
And Shivansh heard it.
Every syllable.
His jaw tightened.
His fists curled.
Shivansh Walks Forward
The moment everyone stepped back, Shivansh came closer.
Luka instantly noticed. He moved an inch closer to Isha. Protective. But Shivansh didn't stop.
Their eyes locked.
Electric. Dangerous. Familiar.
He slowly dipped his fingers in the haldi bowl…
and without asking anyone's permission…
He traced her cheek with haldi.
Slow.
Warm.
Possessive.
Like he was marking her.
Isha's breath stuck in her throat.
Isha whispering, angry "Don't touch me."
Shivansh is leaning close to isha, "You said that a day before night too… right before you kissed me back."
Her heart dropped.
Luka clenched his jaw.
Luka, "Enough. She is my bride."
Shivansh smiled — that arrogant, devilish curve.
Shivansh: "A bride? Maybe.
But not yours."
Dead silence.
Her pulse was loud enough to hear.
Shivansh gestured to Dhruv silently.
Dhruv smirked — the mission was ON.
Ranveer and Aviyansh suddenly caught Luka from behind, dragging him away with harmless excuses.
Isha: shocked.
Shivansh: ready.
Before Isha could move — Shivansh scooped a palm full of haldi and—
Smeared it along her neck.
Her shoulder.
Her jawline.
Everywhere he wasn't allowed to touch.
She gasped.
Shivansh's voice is low, burning, "Now you look the way you should.
Mine."
Isha shoved him back — breath trembling.
Isha, "You're disgusting. Stay away."
Shivansh, "Baby… you came closer first. Remember the club?"
Her cheeks burned hotter than haldi.
Aarav and Prisha watched — wide-eyed.
Ishika covered her mouth so she wouldn't giggle.
His Grandmother whispered to his Grandfather,
Dadi sa "Chemistry is dangerous."
Dadu sa, "Weddings will be fun."
Even her mother leaned to her husband, "They look… connected."
Her father smiled knowingly.
Luka returned — furious — but Isha caught his wrist first.
Isha: "Not here… please."
Her voice cracked.
And that one crack?
Shivansh felt it everywhere inside him.
The Pull — The Whisper — The Threat
She tried to walk away but Shivansh caught her wrist.
Not hard.
Just… enough to remind her he existed.
Shivansh: "If he puts even one more drop of haldi on you… I will wipe it away with my mouth."
Her breath. Stopped.
Isha: "i hate me. Then why—"
Shivansh:
"I hate what happened.
Not you. Never you."
She yanked her hand free — eyes watering.
Isha: "I can't do this again."
And she ran.
Shivansh let her go this time…
but the fire in his eyes grew darker.
Because she could run all she wanted —
but he wasn't done fighting.
Not even close.
The sun wasn't gentle today.
It was bright… too bright.
Like even the sky wanted to witness the chaos that was about to unfold.
The courtyard of the Taj Lake Palace was decorated with marigolds—thousands of them—like the whole world had been dipped in yellow. Drums were already beating, people were laughing, photographers clicking… and Isha?
She stood there, rooted in place, in a yellow lehenga that shimmered every time the breeze dared to touch her.
Her heartbeat?
Yeah… definitely a problem.
Because he was there.
Shivansh.
Wearing a white kurta with just enough yellow smear on his collar—like someone already tried to claim him. His hair was pushed back, jaw locked, eyes locked…
On her.
He didn't even blink.
"Stop staring," she muttered under her breath, trying to look away.
But she could still feel that gaze…
Hot.
Possessive.
Unapologetic.
Dhruv came, all bright and excited, grabbing Isha's hand.
"Come on, dulhan! We're starting!"
She forced a smile. "I am coming, bhaiyu…"
Luka was standing beside her—cool, calm, dangerously observant.
He wrapped an arm lightly around her waist.
Shivansh's jaw clenched. Hard.
Oh… so jealousy looked damn good on him.
The ceremony began.
Haldi was being applied with love, laughs, and happy tears.
Aviyansh first smeared haldi on Isha's cheeks, pinching her nose.
Prisha attacked next, squealing like a maniac.
Everyone was enjoying it.
Except Shivansh.
He wasn't supposed to apply haldi.
He wasn't allowed to go near her.
But rules were never meant for him anyway.
So he walked closer and closer…
Until Luka noticed it.
Luka shifted, sliding closer to Isha, whispering in her ear,
"Don't worry, I'm here."
She nodded… but her breath betrayed her.
Because Shivansh stopped right behind her.
His breath touched the back of her shoulder.
Her spine stiffened instantly.
"Move," Luka warned.
"Make me," Shivansh replied—softly, dangerously.
Isha's pulse kicked into overdrive.
Ranveer and Dhruv exchanged looks from a distance— Showtime.
They signaled the rest of the boys.
And before Luka could blink—
They grabbed Shivansh from behind and shoved him forward…
straight into Isha.
Her hands flew up—held-covered palms planting on his chest.
Gasps.
Laughter.
Shouts.
Isha's eyes widened in shock.
Shivansh's lips curved into a slow devilish smirk.
"Now you're marked with my haldi," he whispered, voice thick with mischief.
"Means you're mine."
She pushed him away—face burning, anger ready to explode.
"You idiot! I'm marrying Luka—"
"Over my dead body," he murmured, eyes never leaving hers.
Everyone cheered, unaware of the war happening silently between the two hearts in the center of the yellow storm.
Shivansh dipped fingers into haldi… slowly… deliberately.
"Isha…"
He reached out.
She stepped back.
"No."
He stepped forward.
"Yes."
His thumb slid across her cheek, smearing haldi…
but the touch was way more intimate than it should've been.
Her breath caught.
His eyes darkened.
"You still look the most beautiful in my color," he whispered.
She slapped his hand away harshly.
"Don't. Touch. Me."
Shivansh only smiled wider.
"Too late."
Everyone else was busy dancing now.
Luka left to take a call.
And suddenly…
They were alone.
Well… alone in a crowd.
"You keep forgetting the truth," he murmured, leaning in so only she could hear.
"You still belong to me."
Her chest tightened… anger and heartbreak collided like fire and gasoline.
"You broke me…" her voice trembled, barely audible.
"And now you want to claim me back?"
His expression softened—raw, unguarded for a second.
"I will spend every day proving that I deserve you again."
"You don't," she snapped.
"But I will," he said—and there was no hesitation.
She tried to turn away.
He caught her wrist—gently… almost pleading.
Her skin reacted instantly.
"Let go."
She didn't sound strong anymore. She sounded scared.
"Never," he breathed.
"You are mine, Isha."
Her heart didn't listen.
Her eyes didn't listen.
Her body didn't listen.
Only her voice did.
"You ruined me once, Shivansh… I won't let you do it again."
But he smiled like he already won.
"I'm not here to ruin you this time…
I'm here to love you. Harder than ever."
The drums grew louder…
the laughter echoed…
But inside her head?
Silence.
Just silence and a heartbeat she couldn't control.
The ceremony becomes louder, brighter, and filled with laughter as relatives crowd around. Isha and Shivansh sit side by side, both wrapped in yellow, but emotionally… miles apart.
Shivansh keeps his expressions guarded. His back is straight, shoulders stiff — a king in disguise even at his own Haldi.
Isha, on the other hand, tries to smile for the cameras, but her heart beats too fast, loud enough she feels everyone can hear it.
Someone applies a fresh stroke of Haldi to Isha's cheek and she flinches a little — the cool paste contrasting with the heat rising inside her.
Shivansh's gaze instantly flickers to her, sharp, protective, before he forces his eyes away again.
Ranveer arrives next — mischief already glowing in his grin.
"Haan bhabhi, you are glowing but not enough," he announces loudly, dipping both his palms into the bowl.
"Don't you dare—" Isha warns, but it's too late.
Dhruv wipes Haldi messily across her whole forehead.
Everyone laughs — except Shivansh.
His eyes darken.
Jaw clenched.
"bhaiyu."
Just one word.
A warning wrapped in steel.
Aviyansh raises both hands in surrender, still laughing.
"Okay okay, I'm done. Bhabhi sa is dangerous, I admit."
Isha glares at him, wiping Haldi off her nose — while Shivansh continues staring, as if he wants to wipe it off for her.
But he doesn't move.
Not publicly.
Now it's her turn.
Her hands shake slightly as she takes a small pinch of Haldi and moves towards him.
He watches her approach — breathing slower, deeper — like he's preparing himself for impact.
Her fingers touch his cheek.
Just lightly…
But the world seems to pause.
Shivansh's eyes lock with hers — intense, unreadable, almost… yearning.
For a moment, it feels like neither of them remembers the guests, the rituals, the anger between them.
It's just them.
Her touch lingers a second too long.
He leans in — barely — but enough for her to feel the warmth beneath his skin.
His heartbeat seems as restless as hers.
Then—
He whispers under his breath, eyes fixed on her lips:
"Yeh sab… kuch nahi badalta."
(This… changes nothing.)
Isha withdraws her hand instantly — hurt flashing in her eyes.
But he looks away too quickly to notice…
Or maybe, he noticed too much.
The family begins cheering loudly again, teasing them with marriage jokes and future promises.
Cameras flash.
Haldi smudges more.
Laughter grows.
But somewhere beneath all the noise…
A silent war continues —
between love and ego,
between fear and desire,
between what they show… and what they feel.
Their hands brush accidentally as they stand up.
This time he doesn't pull away.
And that small touch says everything he refuses to.
The courtyard of the palace glows in shades of marigold and haldi-yellow. Soft shehnai music plays in the background while laughter fills the air. Both families gather closer, admiring their future King and Queen — Shivansh and Isha — sitting side by side for the first of many rituals ahead.
The Haldi may be cool on their skin…
but a fire burns quietly between them.
Neither wants to admit it.
Neither can hide it.
The boys — Aviyansh, Dhruv, Arjun, Arav and Ranveer— are still in teasing mode.
"Ab bas bhi karo!" Isha complains as Aviyansh reaches again.
But before she can react—
SPLASH!!
Aviyansh throws a whole bowl of Haldi-water right at her.
Isha gasps. Her duppatta and hair drip mustard-yellow.
Aviyansh bursts into laughter.
Dhruv follows.
Arjun and Arav join in.
Isha's eyes widen.
"Oh, you are DEAD!" she shouts, grabbing a handful of Haldi-water.
The boys run.
Isha charges behind them.
And just when she is about to catch Aviyansh—
A strong arm wraps around her wrist.
She spins slightly and crashes into a firm chest.
Shivansh.
Close.
Dangerously close.
His voice drops low, husky, only for her—
"Dhoop mei daudogi toh gir jaogi."
(If you run in the sun like that, you'll fall.)
Isha's heartbeat becomes chaos.
Words vanish.
For a moment, she forgets the entire world.
He releases her gently…
eyes lingering a second too long.
To hide everything he's feeling, he picks water and—
SPLASH!!
Right on her.
Everyone gasps.
The King never participates like this.
And yet here he was…
Laughing.
A rare, breathtaking smile.
Isha freezes — mesmerized.
"You look better like this," he murmurs.
Her cheeks turn more golden than Haldi itself.
Everyone heads toward the wash area to clean up.
Shivansh, as usual, walks ahead — pretending not to care.
But Isha's foot slips on wet marble.
She doesn't even get time to scream.
Before the world tilts—
Two strong hands catch her waist.
Shivansh again.
Her palms land on his chest.
His fingers lock around her tighter than necessary — as if terrified to lose her.
Their faces are inches apart.
He gulps.
She feels it.
He whispers, almost broken—
"I told you not to run."
Her voice trembles—
"And I told you… you can't control everything."
His jaw flexes.
He helps her stand straight… but doesn't immediately let go.
Their breaths mingle.
Their eyes speak what their lips fear.
Servants bring warm water and towels.
Everyone else goes ahead.
But Shivansh starts behind.
Quietly.
Watching her carefully.
Her fingers shiver as she tries to wipe Haldi off her arms.
He finally steps closer.
"Give it," he says.
Before she can react, he takes the towel from her hands.
His touch is soft…
reverent…
as he wipes her wrist delicately.
Yellow stains smear onto the white cloth…
and something undefinable smears across both hearts.
He cleans her arms, her neck, a corner of her cheek — avoiding her eyes at all cost.
But Isha keeps staring at him—
memorizing this version of him.
The gentle king.
The man behind the cold mask.
When he finally looks up… she whispers—
"You don't have to."
His gaze locks into hers…
"I will always have to."
A promise slips out before he can stop it.
Their world pauses.
Their silence speaks louder than any confession.
"Isha!!! Come fast!! Photos!!"
Prisha's voice bursts the bubble.
Shivansh instantly steps back — walls returning, expression sealed.
"I should go," Isha says softly.
He nods stiffly, but his fingers curl into fists as she walks away.
Because letting her go…
even for a few minutes…
felt like losing a battle he didn't know he was fighting.
Just before turning the corner, Isha stops.
She looks over her shoulder.
Shivansh is still watching her.
Not the ceremony.
Not the family
Not the Luka.
Not looking like a king.
Just her.
Like he is breathing just seeing her.
Only her.
Their eyes meet — far but connected.
Shivansh breathes out slowly…
as if she just brought him back to life.
She smiles.
He doesn't.
But the softness in his gaze is enough.
Enough to say—
The King's heart is already hers.
Even if his mind refuses to admit it.
Even if destiny hasn't yet revealed the storm ahead.
But something new begins.
Something unstoppable.
The Haldi ceremony comes to a joyful, fragrant close. Laughters echo across the garden, marigold petals float in the air like gold dust, and the scent of turmeric and roses lingers sweetly.
The elders slowly move toward the indoor lounge for tea, leaving behind the younger crowd near the Haldi stage.
Shivansh rises from his seat, wiping his jaw with the back of his hand, but the golden streak Isha left behind remains boldly visible.
He looks at her, and for the first time all morning, his eyes soften — almost admiring.
Almost.
But then, as if remembering the walls she's built, he looks away sharply.
Isha stands awkwardly, holding the edge of her dupatta, her cheeks still glowing with Haldi and lingering nervousness. Arjun and Aviyansh exchange glances — mischief sparking like electricity.
Dhruv smirks.
"Oh ho… Haldi done. Now what?"
A moment of silence.
Then…
SPLASH!
Cold water hits Isha's arm.
She gasps, eyes wide.
Aviyansh grins wickedly, holding a bucket.
"Tradition ke baad fun toh banta hai!"
Before she can retaliate — another splash hits her again.
Isha freezes.
Then smiles.
A dangerous smile.
She grabs the nearest bucket and runs toward Aviyansh.
He screams.
Everyone erupts into laughter as she dumps the entire bucket on him.
"Not so funny now, huh?"
Aviyansh shrieks and chases her around the garden, water splashing everywhere. Dhruv joins in, and soon the entire garden is chaos — water buckets, splashes, shrieks of joy.
But Shivansh stays back.
Watching her.
And you what is the most painful method to torture the man who is in love.
The most unbearable torment for a man was to fill his heart with love for a woman he could never call his own.
And if you wanted to be truly merciless, you'd put him in her presence-close enough to feel her essence but never enough to truly hold her. Push him toward her, let him believe he might reach her, then wrench him away before he can even savor a single, soul-deep glance.
Allow him to bask in her light but deny him the touch of its warmth. That kind of pain burns deeper than any flame, sears sharper than acid on bare skin. I was the living embodiment of that torment.
That love, unspoken and unfulfilled, would pulse through his veins like a relentless ache, a raw wound that begged for release. It would scream to be heard, to be shared, and yet you'd silence him-force his lips to remain sealed, denying him even the smallest solace of expression. That, more than anything, was the cruelest punishment of all.
His attention refuses to shift, no matter how hard he fights it.
She twirls away from Aviyansh, drenched and laughing — eyes sparkling like sunlight breaking through a storm.
His breath catches.
He hated how seeing others touch her made a sharp twist inside him. Possessiveness? Jealousy? He doesn't want to name it.
Then…
She slips — her foot skidding on wet marble.
Before a scream can escape her lips —
Strong arms catch her.
Shivansh.
One hand behind her back.
The other gripping her wrist.
Their faces inches apart, breaths mixing.
Her laughter dies slowly… replaced by a silence that's louder than thunder.
Droplets of water slide down her jaw, and instinctively… Shivansh's gaze follows them. His fingers tighten slightly — afraid she might fall, but more afraid of letting go.
Time stalls.
Even the playful chaos behind them fades into a distant blur.
Isha and Luka shoots him a dangerous glare.
Aviyansh zips his mouth shut.
Isha stands alone in a her room mirror, still wiping turmeric stains off her skin. The laughter from the garden still dances in her smile.
But as soon as she's alone… her heart starts overthinking.
Why did he look at me like that? Why does he act like he doesn't care when… he clearly does?
She sighs, trying to calm the fluttering inside her.
A knock on the door.
Before she can respond… the door opens slightly.
Shivansh.
He steps inside, holding a tiny towel in his hand — careful, guarded, but clearly here for her.
"There's still Haldi on your… um…"
He gestures awkwardly to her cheek.
She laughs softly. "It's fine, I'll manage."
He doesn't leave.
Instead, he walks closer… so close that she forgets how to breathe.
Without a word, he lifts his hand — thumbs brushing her jaw gently, so gently that she almost closes her eyes.
"Hold still," he whispers.
His fingertips wipe away a streak of turmeric near her lips.
Her heartbeat races — loud enough she fears he can hear it.
He notices the way she looks at him — hopeful… vulnerable.
He pauses.
His eyes soften again.
Then something shifts inside him — walls slamming back up.
He pulls his hand away abruptly.
"This doesn't change anything," he mutters, matching what he told her earlier.
Only this time… his voice cracks.
As if he's trying to convince himself, not her.
She stares at him — hurt visible like a fresh bruise.
"Why are you here then?" she asks quietly.
He doesn't answer.
Because he doesn't know.
Or he knows too well.
The desire to stay.
The fear of falling.
The battle he keeps losing.
He turns away, steps back toward the door… but stops.
Just one last look.
His eyes say everything his stubborn lips won't:
You affect me.
Too much.
And I'm terrified.
Then he leaves.
And the moment leaves a mark — deeper than Haldi, deeper than any ritual.
As the door clicks shut behind him…
Isha touches her cheek where his fingers had been.
A soft smile forms.
Not victory.
Not certainty.
But hope.
Raw, fragile… but alive.
Then the next day Mehendi and Sangeet..
The palace garden transforms as if a piece of spring has been pulled down from the heavens and set gently upon the earth.
Rows of white flower strings hang from tall arches, swaying lightly with the winter breeze.
The lush green lawn is draped in shades of emerald, mint, and golden yellow, creating a festival of nature and royalty intertwined.
Marigold curtains swayed like sunshine trapped in strings. Fairy lights curled around the old mango tree, twinkling like fireflies against the afternoon breeze. Low seating sofas in shades of pista green and mustard were scattered around, with brass trays holding fragrant cones of fresh mehendi. The air smelled of roses, eucalyptus, and sweet anticipation.
A beautiful mandap-style canopy stands at the center, wrapped in jasmine and blush pink roses. Crystal lanterns hang above, catching the sunlight and scattering tiny rainbows across the grass.
Bright colorful umbrellas are placed upside down as décor pieces, some hanging from branches of the old banyan trees, some forming artistic clusters beside the seating area.
There's a dedicated Mehendi corner—a low seat throne made of carved wood and cushioned with soft pista-green velvet.
Behind it, a floral wall of:
fresh mogra,
eucalyptus leaves,
sun-kissed daisies,
A perfect backdrop for a bride's radiant photos.
On another side, a group of musicians tune their dholaks and sitar, ready to fill the garden with rhythms of celebration. The smell of freshly ground mehendi leaves mixes with the fragrance of roses — intoxicating and traditional.
Fairy lights are wrapped along the pathways although the sun is still bright — ready to glow when the evening stretches her arms.
Family women giggle around a churi bazaar counter where bangles are arranged like jewels on a rainbow.
Food counters are masked behind drapes, but one can already smell:
Chaat,
Jalebi,
Kesar Thandai,
Freshly made gajar ka halwa.
The atmosphere is alive — playful yet emotional.
Today marks the second sign of a bride who belongs to someone forever.
Isha steps out of the palace corridor like a painting brought to life.
She wears a vibrant parrot-green lehenga with tiny golden mirrorwork shimmering under the daylight.
The skirt flows around her like a lively garden itself.
Her blouse is a soft yellow with delicate gotta patti details, and the dupatta — oh that dupatta — sheer, adorned with tiny gemstones that sparkle like morning dew.
Her jewelry is elegant but not heavy:
Floral haathphool with baby-breath and white roses
A small maang tikka centered perfectly
Golden jhumka swaying with every breath she takes, Green glass bangles stacked amongst gold kadaa.
Her hair is braided loosely with tiny flowers woven throughout — a meadow trailing behind her shoulders.
No makeup drama — just a soft glow on the cheeks, kohl defining her eyes, and a pink tint on her lips.
She looks like spring wrapped in royalty.
A bride who doesn't even know how stunningly she steals the breath of everyone watching her.
And then she arrived.
Isha stepped into the garden like a painting brought to life.
Her hair was set in soft curls, half tied with white jasmine flowers, complementing her no-makeup dewy glow. Her wrists jingled with glass bangles in green and gold, and tiny silver anklets chimed gently when she walked.
Guests turned.
Compliments followed.
Luka's eyes lit up — visibly mesmerized.
Luka arrived through the opposite side — handsome and princely — wearing a mint sherwani that perfectly matched Isha's outfit as if destiny planned it.
He carried a bright smile and a soft admiration in his eyes…
the kind of look that makes anyone whisper,
"He's truly in love."
He walked directly toward her, offering his hand like a gentleman.
The crowd cheered.
Standing further behind, in the shadows near the marigold wall — eyes fixed only on Isha.
He was in a deep olive-green kurta, rolled sleeves revealing veins along his arms, a look too effortless and too dangerous. His expression? Calm. But his fists? Clenched.
Because every laughter Isha shared with Luka…
every compliment Luka received for matching her outfit…
One of the staff cheers for the "perfect couple"…
was a knife to his chest.
He wasn't supposed to show he cared.
But he did.
More than he ever planned to.
He moved closer — slow, determined — unable to stay away.
Every time Luka tried touching Isha's hand to lead her forward…
Shivansh appeared between them with an innocent excuse:
"Oh — Mehendi artist is free here."
"Isha prefers the left side seating."
"Careful, Luka. Her lehenga might get ruined."
His tone polite.
His intentions are anything but
Isha noticed.
Every interference.
Every stare.
Every silent request in his eyes saying:
Don't give him what once belonged to me.
She pretended not to care…
but her heart reacted each time he came near —
loud enough to scare her.
Music grew louder.
A breeze fluttered her dupatta.
Shivansh's fingers instinctively caught the flying fabric…
and he held it for one second too long.
That one soft brush…
was enough to remind them both —
nothing was over.
Not yet.
The garden had transformed into a dream.
At the center was a floral swing covered in fresh jasmine and white lilies — reserved for the bride.
Isha.
She was escorted there by Prisha and Ishika, her laughter soft, her eyes glowing even before henna touched her skin.
Luka stood proudly beside her.
Tall. Handsome. Green eyes holding a softness that made guests sigh. His sherwani matched Isha's lehenga — a perfect couple dressed like a painting come alive.
And somewhere, leaning against a pillar…
watching every moment like it was slowly killing him…
Shivansh.
His beige kurta hugged his form, sleeves rolled up as if ready to interfere at any moment. His arms were crossed, jaw tight, eyes blazing with something between heartbreak and fury.
He wasn't supposed to be here.
Not as a groom.
Not as anything.
Yet, he couldn't stay away.
Isha giggled as the mehendi artist started swirling delicate vines across her palm.
Luka bent down, brushing a stray curl behind her ear, his fingers dangerously gentle.
"You look breathtaking," Luka whispered near her neck.
Isha's smile widened, cheeks warming.
Shivansh's fists clenched.
His gaze shot fire — the kind that could turn flowers into ash.
Her parents and when for a silet moment his family also swooned over the adorable bride-groom moment…
Except one.
Shivansh stepped closer, voice dangerously calm:
"Don't smudge the design. She always moves a lot when someone comes too close."
Luka's brows raised.
Isha glared.
"I think she's perfectly fine with me close," Luka replied — possessive, almost marking his territory.
Shivansh's lips curved — not a smile.
A challenge.
"Let's see."
As the artist worked on Isha's left hand, Luka took the right hand, carefully supporting it so she wouldn't move. His thumb rubbed slow circles on her wrist — intimate… intentional.
Isha's eyes met his — soft, shy.
Shivansh felt the soil beneath his shoes crack.
He stepped even closer, kneeling near her, picking a mehendi cone from the tray.
"I'll do the initials," he said.
Before anyone could stop him.
Luka looked furious.
Isha froze, heart thumping.
Shivansh held her hand with a touch too familiar.
Too rightful.
His fingers slid under her palm, steadying it.
The exact warmth she had once called home.
He drew a tiny "S" hidden inside a leaf pattern near her wrist.
The place where her pulse beat fastest.
Luka snapped:
"What the hell do you think you're doing, man?"
Shivansh raised his eyes — calm but sharp enough to cut diamonds.
"Tradition. The groom's initial… right? But old habits die hard."
Isha's breath caught in her throat.
Luka took her hand back, holding it protectively, eyes shutting Shivansh out.
"She is my bride."
Shivansh's voice dropped to a dangerous whisper:
"She was mine before that."
Her heart stopped.
Everyone nearby pretended not to hear.
But the tension wrapped the garden tighter than the jasmine vines.
Then he tried again,
Luka leaned close to Isha again, brushing his nose against her hairline.
"I'll search my name in your mehendi," he breathed, romantic and certain.
Shivansh looked away — jaw tightening so hard it could shatter bone.
He couldn't bear the sight.
The closeness.
The love Luka showered on her so freely.
Because it should have been him.
His chest felt like it was being torn open and stitched again with barbed wire.
He turned abruptly, walking away before his heart made a scene louder than his footsteps.
But Isha's eyes followed him… long after he disappeared behind the marigolds.
She whispered Luka's name…
But her heart?
Her pulse?
Her pain?
Still beating in the shape of an S.
Hidden.
Secret.
And irrevocably hers.
Garden. Sunshine. Colors. Music. Love.
The garden had transformed into a vibrant paradise —
Marigold strings hanging like sunshine waterfalls
Green drapes blowing with the soft wind
Vintage lanterns and wooden sign boards reading "Mehendi Hai Rachne Wali"
Cushions and diwans in teal, yellow and purple scattered around the lawn
Henna artists seated in every corner, cones ready
The scent of mogra and sandalwood filling the air…
And right at the center stood Isha
In a gorgeous lime green lehenga with soft mirror work shimmering each time she moved.
Her hair flowed in loose curls adorned with jasmine strands—
Her smile… brighter than the noon sun.
Luka, her would-be groom for the world,
stood beside her,
gentle hand on her back,
whispering something that made her blush.
But someone else…
someone in a crisp emerald sherwani
was watching her like she was the only reality on Earth.
Shivansh.
His eyes trailed her every movement —
possessive, troubled, wanting… angry.
He had lost her once.
He wasn't going to let Luka take her away.
Not again.
The DJ was handled by aviyansh and he announces
"Time for a small fun dance! Couples and almost-couples, come forward!"
Ishika, prisha and meher cheers.
Luka immediately grabs Isha's hand.
"Let's give them a show, hm?"
He spins her lightly — Isha laughs.
Cameras flash.
Shivansh's jaw clenches.
His grip tightens around the glass he's holding.
A tiny crack forms under his thumb — unnoticed by everyone except him.
He moves.
Just as Luka brings Isha closer—
A strong hand catches her elbow.
Isha gasps
turning back.
Shivansh.
His voice is low… dangerously calm:
"May I steal the bride-to-be for a moment?"
Luka frowns.
"Bro, I think she is dancing with me—"
Shivansh doesn't even look at him.
His eyes locked only on Isha.
"Isha?" he asks —
but it isn't a question.
It is a challenge.
Her breath stutters.
The world suddenly quiets.
Luka tries again, irritated, "She's with me—"
Shivansh steps closer to Isha, invading her space, hand sliding from her wrist to her fingers.
He smirks at Luka—
"I promise I'll return to her…
if I can."
Before either of them can react— he pulls Isha into him
their bodies crashing together
so naturally
like they were made to fit
And careful to not ruin her mehendi.
Music hits a beat.
He leads without permission.
She follows without thinking.
His hand wraps around her waist
their hearts beating in sync.
Every time he spins her —
he pulls her back harder
closer
like he wants her inside his heartbeat.
Their eyes speak…
His:
Why are you with him…?
You're mine.
Hers:
You left me no choice…
Why now?
Her breath trembles against his lips when he whispers:
"You still react to my touch, Isha.
Stop pretending."
Her dry mehendi fingers filled unintentionally clutch his sherwani.
He notices.
Of course he notices.
He leans down, breath brushing her ear:
"Luka can't handle you.
He'll never know your heart like I do."
She pushes lightly against his chest, cheeks flaming:
"Shivansh… don't make a scene."
"Too late," he murmurs with a sinful smile.
"I started the show."
He twirls her again —
but this time she ends up in his arms
back pressed to his chest
his palm flat against her waist
claiming.
Luka watches, fists shaking, jealousy turning his smile stiff.
Everyone around cheers for Isha & Shivansh— the sizzling chemistry impossible to ignore.
Song slows…
Their foreheads touch.
Eyes locked.
He whispers like a vow:
"Don't marry a mistake, Isha.
Don't marry him."
Her lips are part —
words lost.
Shivansh breathes her in…
"I'm still fighting for you."
The moment is electric.
But then…
The music ends.
Reality crashes back.
Shivansh takes one last lingering look
before walking away…
Leaving Isha shaken, breathless
and Luka burning in silent rage.
The Mehendi ceremony in the garden had been all colors and laughter… and a storm brewing behind Shivansh's eyes.
Every time Luka touched Isha's hand a little too gently…
Every time she smiled at someone who wasn't him…
Another spark of fury ignited inside him.
He pretended calm.
He pretended indifferent.
But jealousy was clawing at his composure… ripping it apart piece by piece.
The evening drifted into golden twilight.
Lights twinkled across the garden.
Music softened.
Isha stood near the stairs, smiling, watching others dance while her Mehendi dried. Luka stood just behind her, complimenting her design— and before she could blink…
A strong hand wrapped around her wrist.
Not gentle. Not asking.
Claiming.
Shivansh.
He pulled her away from the crowd, steps fast, rage silently guiding him.
Isha gasped— trying to protest as he dragged her down a long, empty corridor of the palace.
"Shivansh— what are you doing? My Mehendi—"
"Enough."
His voice was low, molten, dangerous.
He didn't stop until they were hidden between tall pillars, the noise of celebration faint behind them.
He pinned his hand beside her head, trapping her.
"How much more will you test my patience?"
His breath hit her face— jasmine and fire.
Isha frowned, heart racing.
"I didn't do anything—"
"You did."
His jaw tightened.
"You let him touch you. Smile at you. Flirt with you. Like he has any right."
Isha stared back, defiant.
"He is the groom. It's his function. And he was just—"
"Just?"
Shivansh stepped closer.
"So now you belong to him?"
She swallowed. "Why do you care?"
That sentence…
It sliced him open.
He stared at her— eyes dark, stormy, intense.
"I care," he said through clenched teeth, "because whether you like it or not— you are mine."
Before she could respond, he lifted his left hand— Mehendi still wet.
And her eyes widened.
There— hidden inside intricate royal patterns—
her name.
"Isha."
Neat. Sharp. Permanent for the night.
He saw the shock in her eyes and smirked bitterly.
"Searching for his name on your hand with so much excitement…"
He leaned closer, voice a low growl:
"Now look at mine."
Her lips parted, mind spinning.
"Shivansh…" she whispered.
"Yes," he breathed, stepping even closer.
"So you don't forget."
Her heartbeat pounded like drums under her skin.
"You're jealous," she said, barely a breath.
He laughed once— short, humorless.
"Jealous?"
His hand slid to her waist, pulling her sharply against him.
"I'm furious. I'm losing my mind watching someone else touch what's meant to be in my arms."
Her breath hitched.
She tried stepping back but he didn't allow it.
Her back hit the wall— trapped completely.
His face dipped close to hers, lips brushing the corner of her mouth.
"Tell me to stop," he whispered.
Silence.
Isha couldn't speak.
Didn't want to.
And that silence was his permission.
He grabbed her chin gently but firmly—
and crushed his mouth to hers.
The kiss was not gentle.
It was war and surrender.
Possession and apology.
Rage melting into desperation.
His palm curved around her waist, dragging her impossibly closer.
Isha's fingers— Mehendi drying— curled into his sherwani, breath stolen away.
The world outside— gone.
Only heat.
Only lips.
Only them.
He slowed, finally…
Foreheads touching… breaths tangled…
"Isha," he whispered, voice trembling for the first time,
"I can't watch another man get what's mine."
Her cheeks burned, lips still tingling.
"You hurt me," she breathed, eyes glistening.
"You push me away… and then pull me like this…"
His thumb brushed her lower lip as if claiming the kiss again.
"I'm trying to win you back…"
His honesty slipped out in a raw whisper.
"And I will. Any way I have to."
Footsteps echoed in the distance.
Someone calling her name.
Shivansh's jaw flexed— reluctant to let go.
He leaned in once more— soft quick peck on her lips.
"This is not over," he murmured.
"Not even close."
And then he stepped away…
Leaving Isha breathless against the wall…
With his initial glowing in Mehendi and his kiss burning on her lips.
The garden lights twinkled like fireflies, casting soft glows over the lush Mehendi setup — a dreamy fairytale that suddenly felt too real, too dangerous.
Isha stepped back into the garden, her breaths uneven and her eyes still glassy from the storm Shivansh had created moments earlier in the silent corridor. Her lips still carried the trace of a stolen kiss — a kiss that had ignited chaos inside her heart.
She tried to compose herself.
Fix her dupatta.
Fix her heartbeat.
Fix her thoughts.
But how do you fix something that keeps breaking again and again?
Before she could fully steady herself — Luka rushed toward her.
His voice was gentle, concerned, but his hand… trembling as it reached for hers.
"Isha… are you okay? You look… shaken."
She stiffened.
A flicker of guilt.
A flash of panic.
Her hand pulled back instinctively — and Luka noticed it immediately.
His brows pressed together.
"Did he do something?"
Luka's tone sharpened — anger simmering beneath his polite exterior.
Isha quickly shook her head, forcing a small smile.
"No. I just… needed a moment."
Luka leaned slightly closer, trying to hold her hand again — slower this time, gentler — as if asking for permission.
"I'm here… you can trust me, Isha."
Across the garden…
Shivansh saw everything.
His body went rigid —
Jealousy hit him like wildfire.
That fire turned his eyes into a perfect reflection of rage… and regret.
He stood rooted, fists clenched, jaw tight… the pattern of mehendi on his hand shining freshly under the lights.
The intricately hidden name…
ISHA.
A secret he had just proudly claimed.
A secret he wasn't ready to share.
But Luka — curious and unaware of the danger — followed the direction of Shivansh's burning stare.
His eyes dropped…
And he saw it.
Right there, bold and unapologetic —
The bride's name on her ex's hand.
Luka's expression changed instantly.
Confusion.
Shock.
Then a slow, rising fury.
"That's… your name." Luka whispered, looking at Isha.
Isha froze.
Her breath caught.
Her heart caught.
The entire world caught.
Luka's voice dropped dangerously low:
"Why is your name… on his hand?"
Isha's lips parted — no words.
Only guilt.
Only chaos.
Before she could answer —
Before she could even breathe —
Shivansh moved.
Like a predator finally provoked.
He approached them with long, controlled strides — anger radiating with every step. His presence alone was enough to silence the music, to slow down the air.
Luka straightened, protective — placing himself slightly in front of Isha.
And Shivansh… he didn't like that.
Not one bit.
He smiled — a cold, sharp smile that held both warning and victory.
"Problem, Luka?"
His voice was calm — too calm — the kind before a storm.
Luka didn't back down.
"Yes. There is a problem."
He pointed at Shivansh's Mehendi-covered hand.
"Isha's name doesn't belong there."
Shivansh lifted his hand — proudly — eyes locked on Isha's.
"It does."
One slow step forward.
"Because she belongs with me."
Silence exploded into pieces.
Isha's heart felt crushed between them — two worlds fighting to own her.
Luka's voice cracked with disbelief:
"She is my fiancée."
Shivansh's reply was a dagger:
"She is my wife."
Isha's breath shattered.
Tears stung her eyes — she couldn't watch this war.
Luka took another step, fists curling.
"You hurt her.
You don't deserve her."
Shivansh's eyes darkened — fierce, wounded, dangerous.
"I hurt myself more."
He glanced at Isha — his voice lowering only for her.
"Every time I stay away."
Her heart… stumbled.
They started — three lives colliding — none willing to step back.
Guests around whispered, sensing tension, unaware they were witnessing history.
Shivansh lifted his hand — showing his Mehendi again — and spoke with a claim carved into every syllable:
"This name…
is not decoration.
It's a promise."
Luka stepped closer — no fear.
"Then keep your promises far away from her."
Shivansh smirked — but his eyes were deadly serious.
"I won't."
Another step… dangerously close.
"I'm done staying away."
Isha felt tears slip down her cheek — overwhelmed, torn.
Both men turned toward her at the same time —
One with love he's ready to fight for.
One with love he's scared to lose.
Her voice finally broke free — soft but trembling:
"Stop… please."
Both froze.
Because even in a whisper…
she was the only one who could command them.
The garden continues buzzing with laughter, music, and the scent of fresh henna… but for Isha, the world has shrunk into a tight, suffocating circle around her chest. Her eyes sting with the residue of that kiss — not the kiss itself, but what it meant.
Shivansh.
His possessiveness.
His confusion.
His power over her heart.
She wants to run — away from both men, away from this chaos her life has become.
But she doesn't get a chance.
Because Shivansh is still watching her — not like a man in love, but like a storm trying to control where the wind blows.
Luka tries to step closer, voice gentle, "Alina, please, look at—"
Before the sentence finishes, a hand grips her wrist.
A firm, commanding grip.
Shivansh.
His jaw tight, veins visible near his temples, breath uneven like he's losing control of himself.
"I told you we're not done," he mutters sharply.
Luka steps forward, furious. "Let her go. She doesn't want to talk to you."
Shivansh's eyes turn deadly.
"You don't get to decide that."
There's a challenge in Luka's eyes — a warning — but Isha squeezes Luka's arm slightly, whispering, "It's okay."
She doesn't want a scene.
Doesn't want to destroy anyone's happiness further.
She pulls her hand free, but instead of walking away, Shivansh catches her gaze —
A silent Follow me.
Now.
Her heart races. She hesitates… but her feet betray her.
He leads her away — past the fairy lights, past the decorated mandap, past all curious eyes — until they reach a darker corner of the palace corridor, where music becomes a distant hum.
He finally turns.
His breathing heavy.
His voice shaking with emotion he doesn't dare name.
"why are you doing this, isha. Please just listen to me. "
Isha doesn't respond.
Because she doesn't trust her voice.
Because she isn't sure if she'll scream or sob.
Shivansh steps closer.
Too close.
"Answer me, Isha."
She gathers her courage — what's left of it — and says in a trembling voice,
"You don't own me."
His chest rises sharply — as if that single sentence cut him.
"I never said I did," he argues, his voice strained.
"But you act like it," she snaps.
"All this time you pushed me away… hurt me… made me feel unwanted. And now—now you think you can just pull me back whenever you want?"
Shivansh's eyes show a flicker of pain — quickly masked with anger.
"You think I was pushing you away? I was protecting you!"
"From what?!" she cries.
"From me," he whispers.
Silence.
That one confession strikes her.
She is shaking now — with heartbreak, confusion, all the feelings she tried to bury.
"Why, Shivansh? Why am I the one paying for your complications? Why do I have to be the one suffering?"
Her voice cracks. Tears slip.
Shivansh looks like a man who'd rather take a bullet than see her cry.
He reaches to wipe her tears — hesitant, gentle —
But she steps back.
"No. Don't… don't touch me," Isha chokes.
His hand freezes mid-air.
She continues, voice breaking:
"You kiss me… you claim me with every look… and yet you push me into darkness every single time."
Shivansh lowers his gaze — the weight of his mistakes crashing onto his shoulders.
"Isha… I am trying," he breathes, voice raw.
"I am trying to be better for you."
"And what if I don't want to wait anymore?" she asks painfully.
His head snaps up — fear flashing in his eyes.
"Shaadi morning h toh mujhe kar lijiye, Isha jii. " He whispers softly.
"Dimaag Kharab hai kya Mera Jo tum se shaadi karungi, look at your age and look at mine, you are older than me and yeh toh achi baat nhi h na.. "
"You don't mean that…"
"I do."
The lie tastes bitter, but she speaks it anyway — because she needs to survive him.
She turns to leave.
But he grabs her again — softer this time, almost pleading.
"Isha, look at me."
She meets his eyes — and wishes she hadn't.
Because that's where her heart lives.
Shivansh swallows hard. "Don't walk away."
"I have to," she whispers, tears falling freely now.
"Because you already did."
And before he can stop her again, she runs.
Through the hallway, up the stairs — this time, she doesn't look back.
She reaches her room, slams the door shut, and leans against it — breathless, shattered.
Her Mehendi-stained hands cover her face as she slides to the floor.
Then she sobs.
All the pain she has swallowed spills out — in gasps and tears and heartbroken trembling.
Outside the door…
Shivansh stands there in silence.
Listening.
Punishing himself.
His fist rests against the wood — not knocking, just staying there, as if that touch keeps him connected to her.
"I'm sorry…" he whispers — voice breaking for the first time.
But the door remains closed.
And for the first time…
Isha doesn't open it.
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Ish💗