PROLOGUE
SHIVANI
“Shivani, beta, your father needs you to marry him. You know what our situation is,” my mother calls softly. Her soft voice should have put me at ease, but it only crumbles my hope.
She moves closer, the soft cushion of the sofa pressing down under her weight as she sits beside me. Her proximity unsettles me.
Slowly, I tear my eyes away from my lap and stare into her eyes, unable to believe this is the same woman who gave birth to me. A mother is supposed to protect her child, to fight the world for them—not hand them over to a man known to be ruthless and arrogant, just to save her and my father’s dying company.
Before I can even say a word to protest against their wish, my father’s voice pierces through the tense air, making the sudden heat rush into my veins.
“There’s no point in talking to her, Meera.” My hands are numb and cold in my lap as I hear the next set of my father’s words. “She’s become shameless. She’s forgotten everything we’ve done for her,” my father snarls, looking at me with disgust. The disgust he holds for me is alarmingly untamable. No matter how many times I’ve faced it, his disgust, hatred, it still feels unfamiliar — like a fresh wound.
Sometimes, I wonder if he regrets that I was ever born. I regret it, too. I don’t believe these people ever deserved a child. And I’m glad I have no siblings—no one else deserves this kind of manipulation, this emotional blackmail.
“If you won’t marry him, then return every single penny I’ve spent on you. And get out of my fucking house,” he announces and walks away from the small balcony where I have built my refuge. Even my favorite place couldn’t provide me with any sense of calm and hope.
My chest tightens, and my shoulders roll into tension. All my life, I’ve tried to be a good daughter—obedient, silent, compliant. I can’t recall a single moment I did something just for myself.
I did. Once, I picked up a pen and used it as my own voice. I used to love writing; it was my only refuge from my reality. But they took that away because it was “too shameful” for them. How could the daughter of Mr. Ranveer Singh Rathore, CEO of the Singh Empire, become just a writer?
Not only that, but I loved reading romance novels. I found my escape in it. But soon my small bubble of cozy dreams burst open when my mother found out. She slapped me, threatened me, and began monitoring every book I read. I wear what they want me to wear. I eat what they decide. And now, I’ll marry the man they choose. I was a puppet in their hands; They made me dance and sing when they were bored, and even that didn’t satisfy their souls. They pushed me towards every cliff that promised them gain. They used me for their own benefit.
Sure, I could rebel. But I know the consequences—and I hate that I do. A single tear slips down my cheek. I’m giving up. Surrendering to their will. Because there’s nothing else I coulddo. The pounding headache makes its way to the back of my mind as I remember it.
The past, the threats, and the violence. I remember the time I tried to run away as a teenager with the help of a friend. My father found me in a matter of hours. What followed still haunts me. The way he beat me with his belt. The way my mother took her turn. They beat me until I bled dry. They beat me until I was forced to promise that I would never leave their premises without their permission.
I was so injured I couldn’t move for a week. They didn’t show a shred of remorse—not even a single glance of sympathy. They handed me an ointment, and that was it. No doctor. No concern. Of course not—questions might have been asked. And they knew I couldn’t lie.
From that day on, I promised myself, The first chance I get, I’ll escape. No matter what the consequences will be, I will escape.
And maybe... this is my chance. A loveless marriage is better than this house. Because really, who would love me anyway? When my own parents never did? When I can’t even love myself?
I chuckle, humorless and hollow.
I step out of my balcony and walk into my room, feeling utterly defeated.
My parents were waiting for me to announce my decision in the living room, as if they really gave me a choice. When they saw me entering the room, their eyes lit up with victory.
“I will marry him.” The words choke out of my mouth. Even as I accept it, my body betrays my mind and shows my vulnerable side.
“Shivani, beta, we knew you’d come around,” my mother praises, her voice coated in sugar. “You’ll marry him, and everything will be okay.” She smiles. I hate that smile. “Besides, we are your parents; we know what’s best for you.”
Best for me or best for their bank balance?
I nod, tears threatening again. “Yes, Mother,” I whisper. “I’ll marry him.” I repeat my words.
The words burn my throat. They exchange a glance—satisfied. Triumphant. They’ve won. They’ve broken me. But even as I stand there, I know this isn’t the end.
It’s just the beginning. This marriage is my way out. My chance to breathe, to begin again. To find myself. Or maybe create a new version of me—one who isn’t shackled to their control.
Still, I can’t ignore the fear creeping in.
What if he’s like them? Or worse?
What if I’m just trading one hell for another?
But if there’s even a sliver of a chance that this marriage becomes my escape... I’ll take it.
