Chapter Three: The Gun at the Mandap

(Rose's POV)

The silence was unbearable. It clung to the air, thick and suffocating, pressing down on every heartbeat.

V stood at the center of it all — calm, poised, terrifying. His sherwani gleamed under the chandelier's light, gold threads catching every glimmer like a mockery of divinity.

His eyes, dark and fathomless, swept over the room.

"I'll ask one last time," he said quietly, each syllable slicing through the fear.

"Where is my bride?"

No one spoke. My mother's quiet sobs were the only sound.

V's jaw flexed.

"The mandap is ready. The priests are waiting. Five hundred guests — senators, investors, dignitaries — are seated outside. Do you know what happens if I walk out there alone?"

His gaze locked on me.

"The bride is missing. My bride."

He began pacing, every step deliberate, echoing like a countdown. Then he crouched before me, his face mere inches from mine — his calm so precise it was horrifying.

"Rose," he said softly, voice silk wrapped around steel. "You know where she is. Just tell me, and this ends. No one gets hurt."

I could only shake my head, tears slipping silently down my cheeks.

Something inside him shifted — a cold click, the sound of restraint snapping.

He reached inside his sherwani.

And drew a gun.

Screams erupted. My mother stumbled backward, clutching her chest. My father's voice broke, trembling with disbelief.

"V— put that away! You've gone mad!"

But V didn't move. His hand was steady, the gun aimed squarely at my father.

"You should have taught your daughters respect," he said, calm as winter. "Now you'll learn the cost of disobedience."

The glint of the weapon froze the room.

Then, chaos — I was lifted off my feet.

JK.

He burst forward, fury carved into his face, pulling me into his arms.

"I'm not letting this happen!"

He turned toward the door, holding me close — but we didn't even reach the threshold before—

BANG!

The shot rang out, deafening. The bullet tore into the doorframe, inches from JK's head. Splinters flew. People screamed.

V's arm didn't tremble. He shifted the gun slightly — now aimed at JK's chest.

"Put. Her. Down," he said. "The next one doesn't miss."

JK froze, his muscles tense, fury and helplessness colliding in his eyes. Slowly, he set me down.

I grabbed his sleeve, trying to hold onto him — but before I could react, V's men were already there.

"Take him," V ordered coldly. "Lock him up."

The bodyguards seized JK, dragging him across the hall as he struggled and shouted my name.

"ROSE!"

I fought back, reaching for him, but V's grip found my arm, yanking me backward.

"Enough," he hissed. "You don't touch another man in my house."

I struggled against him, tears streaming, but his hand only tightened.

"You want to help him?" he sneered. "Then watch how I help you."

He turned toward his men again.

"Put him in the bathroom. Bolt the door. No one opens it until I say."

They obeyed instantly. The sound of the lock sliding shut echoed like a coffin closing.

V turned back to me — fury and something darker burning in his eyes.

"You belong beside me," he said lowly, his thumb brushing against my trembling wrist. "And that's where you'll stay."

He raised his gaze toward the crowd, then called out sharply:

"Ma. Prepare her."

His real mother, Mrs. Kim, who had been standing in cold silence, finally moved. Her expression was unreadable — poised, elegant, and terrifyingly composed.

She crossed the room, taking my mother by the arm.

"Come," she said softly. "We have a wedding to complete."

My mother shook her head, sobbing. "Please— she's just a girl—"

But Mrs. Kim didn't stop. Her grip was iron.

"Do not make this harder," she murmured, and pulled her away.

They stripped me of my soft blue lehenga — the one I had chosen myself, laughing with Shanaya only days ago — and forced me into her red and gold bridal attire.

The heavy silk weighed me down like chains. The embroidery cut into my skin.

When they led me back to the hall, the whispers stopped. I was a ghost draped in another woman's life.

V stood before the sacred fire, watching me like a predator savoring his victory. His lips curved into a faint, cruel smile.

He extended his hand.

"Come."

I didn't move.

His eyes flickered — the calm surface breaking. He strode forward, seized my hand, and forced it into his.

"Don't test me here," he murmured. "Smile, or I'll start counting how many of your family members disappear before dawn."

My breath hitched. His grip was bruising.

He turned sharply as the pandit began the chants.

And then, from behind him — a voice broke through the chanting.

Jimin.

"You think this is a wedding?" he spat, stepping forward. "You're out of your mind, V. You're not doing this."

V turned, his expression twisting into a smirk.

"Careful, little brother. You sound jealous."

"Jealous?" Jimin laughed bitterly. "You're destroying lives for pride! She doesn't love you—"

"She doesn't need to," V interrupted coldly. "She just needs to remember her place."

Jimin took a step closer, eyes blazing.

"You saw me with her, didn't you? That's why you're doing this. Because you can't stand anyone touching something you want."

A dangerous flicker passed through V's eyes — and for a split second, he looked less like a man and more like something broken, burning.

"You're right," he said quietly. "You looked at her like she was yours. That's why she'll be mine."

The air in the hall crackled with tension.

V's father — Mr. Kim — finally stormed in, drawn by the commotion. His presence silenced everyone.

"Enough," he thundered. "This wedding will happen. We will not be disgraced in front of our guests."

Jimin turned toward him, voice hoarse. "Appa, please— you can't let him—"

"Quiet," his father snapped. "Do not forget who built this family's name. You will stand beside your brother, smile, and act as if everything is perfect."

Jimin's shoulders stiffened. He wanted to fight. But one look from his father ended it.

His silence was loud — a scream swallowed whole.

The ceremony began.

V reached for my hand again — and that's when he saw it.

The bracelet.

His eyes narrowed, the muscles in his jaw tightening.

He knew it. He'd seen it before — on Jimin's wrist.

For a moment, his calm shattered.

"You've been busy, haven't you?" he whispered. His voice was soft, but his grip was iron.

Then, as he picked up the mangalsutra, something else caught his attention — a silver necklace, delicate and small, tucked beneath the red fabric. Something that didn't belong to this ceremony.

He froze, the smile fading from his lips.

"Whose is this?"

I didn't answer.

He stared at it for a long, dangerous second — then tied the mangalsutra around my neck with deliberate force.

"We'll talk about that later," he whispered coldly.

The pheras began.

First Phera.

"With this step, you lose your name.

You belong to me now."

Second Phera.

"Your sister will see you live her life.

And it will break her."