CHAPTER ONE: The Gilded Execution

The scent of thousands of crushed jasmine flowers should have been romantic. Instead, to Aavya Malhotra, it smelled like a funeral.

She sat on the edge of the sprawling king-sized bed in the Rajpoot penthouse, the weight of her sixteen-pound red and gold lehenga pinning her down. Her neck ached from the diamond choker, and her wrists felt bruised under the dozens of glass bangles. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the Mumbai skyline glittered like a scattered bag of jewels—a city she was no longer free to roam.

The heavy teak door clicked open.

Vihaan Rajpoot walked in. He had already discarded his sherwani jacket, his white silk shirt unbuttoned at the throat, sleeves rolled up to reveal the expensive watch that timed his every calculated move. He didn't look like a groom. He looked like a man who had just closed a hostile takeover.

"You can take off the jewelry, Aavya," he said, his voice as cold as the air conditioning. "There are no cameras in here. The performance is over."

Aavya didn’t flinch. She met his gaze in the vanity mirror, her dark eyes defiant despite the exhaustion. "The performance? My father told me this was a union of two legacies. You make it sound like a heist."

Vihaan crossed the room, his footsteps silent on the Persian rug. He leaned down, his face inches from hers. The heat from his body contradicted the ice in his eyes. He reached out, his thumb tracing the sharp line of her jaw before gripping it—not with passion, but with the terrifying ownership of a victor.

"Your father is a fool who traded his daughter for a debt he can never repay," Vihaan whispered. "I didn't marry you to continue the Malhotra bloodline. I married you to end it."

Aavya’s heart hammered against her ribs, but she forced a bitter smile. "Is that why you looked so devoted at the mandap, Vihaan? All those vows... the fire... were they just scripts for your revenge?"

"Vengeance is the only thing that keeps me warm," he snapped, releasing her jaw as if she burned him. "Tomorrow, the liquidation of Malhotra Exports begins. By next month, your father will be in a cell, and your family name will be a footnote in the history of Mumbai’s failures."

He turned toward the balcony, dismissing her. "Sleep on the sofa. Sleep on the floor. I don't care. Just stay out of my way while I burn your world down."

"You think you’ve bought a victim, Vihaan," she said to his retreating back. "But you’ve just let the person who knows all your family’s deepest sins right into your bedroom. You’re so busy looking at my father, you haven't realized that I’m the one holding the match."

Vihaan froze, his hand on the balcony glass. He turned slowly, eyes narrowing. For the first time, the "Ice King" looked unsettled.

"What did you say?"

"I said," Aavya smirked, dropping a heavy diamond earring onto the marble floor with a sharp clink, "Welcome to the marriage from hell, darling. I hope you’re ready to lose more than just your heart."

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