Past

Manik sat in his study, his sharp gaze fixed on Arnav, his manager, who stood by the door, reporting on the final preparations.

Manik: "No... not yet. How are the other arrangements coming along?"

Arnav: "Everything is ready, sir. The mandap is set up in the basement, priests are confirmed, and the guests will arrive soon."

Manik nodded, a faint smirk playing on his lips.

Manik: "Good. Send the girls to her room. Make sure she's dressed on time."

Arnav: "I've sent them already... but she's refusing, Manik. We can't force her."

Manik's eyes flashed with fury. A 'no' was an alien word to him. He was used to getting exactly what he wanted, no questions asked.

Manik: (coldly) "If she refuses, make her wear it by force. Do I make myself clear? I don't have time for games."

He waved Arnav away dismissively.

Manik: "And tell her, if she doesn't get ready, I'll come myself. And trust me, she won't like that."

Down the hall, in the room where Nandini sat trembling, the door suddenly opened. Several women entered carrying an exquisite bridal lehenga and heavy jewelry.

Nandini instinctively tried to move away, but the door slammed shut and locked behind them.

Nandini: (voice trembling) "Who are you? What do you want? Please, let me go."

The women said nothing. They simply began laying out the bridal attire.

Fear gripped Nandini's heart as memories of Manik's words echoed in her mind:

"Get used to it... every night from now on, you're going to experience this."

Her hands shook as the women urged her to get dressed quietly.

Nandini: (whispering) "I won't... I can't."

But her protests were ignored. The clock was ticking — she had only thirty minutes to comply.

With tears streaming down her face, she finally allowed them to dress her. The mirror reflected a beautiful bride, yet beneath the stunning exterior was a broken, scared girl — a beautiful mess.

After the women left, the door slammed shut and locked again, leaving Nandini trapped inside her gilded prison.

Frantically, she banged on the door.

Suddenly, it swung open.

Manik stood there, his eyes dark with possessiveness.

Nandini: (voice cracking) "Why me? Why are you doing this?"

Manik: (softly, yet with authority) "Because you're my princess, Nandini. My beautiful princess. And yes... you and I are getting married today, right here, in this house. No one will stop me."

He took her hand and led her down the stairs to the basement. The mandap was decorated with fresh marigolds and jasmine, the priest awaiting their arrival. Guests stood quietly, sensing the tension.

Nandini's heart pounded wildly. She tried to pull away, but Manik held her firmly, almost possessively.

I'm numb, she thought. Like a part of me has died already. This isn't marriage — this is captivity.

She sat beside him on the low wooden bench, tears streaming down her cheeks.

The rituals began. With each round of the seven pheras, Nandini felt more like a prisoner than a bride.

When Manik finally tied the mangalsutra around her neck and applied sindoor on her forehead, a shiver ran through her.

They were now husband and wife.

But Nandini knew, deep inside, this was only the beginning of her nightmare.