The Lion’s Den

The gates of the Malhotra Estate didn’t just open; they groaned, a massive iron maw swallowing the SUV whole.

Inside the car, the silence was a physical weight. Zoya pressed her back against the leather seat, her spine screaming in protest. Every bump in the road sent a jolt of white-hot lightning through her healing ribs. She wanted to gasp, to curl into a ball and weep for the girl she was two weeks ago, but she couldn't. Not with him sitting three feet away, the orange cherry of his cigarette glowing like the eye of a demon in the dark.

Don’t let him see you bleed, she told herself, her heart hammering against her chest like a trapped bird. If you show him the wound, he’ll put his finger in it.

She was terrified. It was a cold, soul-deep dread that made her fingers numb. Everyone—her father, her brothers, the nurses—had told her she was helpless. A "broken" Qureshi. And now, she was shackled to the very monster they used to scare her with in childhood stories.

The car stopped. The door was jerked open by a guard whose face looked like it was made of granite.

"Out," Aryan commanded. He didn't wait for her. He stepped into the pouring rain, his long black coat billowing behind him.

Zoya took a breath, clutching the door handle. Her legs felt like water. For a second, she thought she might actually collapse on the gravel. She forced herself up, her heavy, rain-soaked lehenga dragging her down like lead weights. The physical pain was a mercy compared to the mental panic—the realization that there was no one coming for her. No one was hiding in the bushes to rescue the princess. The Qureshis had cashed their check; she was Aryan’s problem now.

The Malhotra mansion was a brutalist fortress of black stone and glass. Inside, the foyer was vast and echoing. Aryan stripped off his coat, tossing it to a waiting servant without looking. He turned to Zoya, his eyes raking over her pale, trembling form.

"You're shaking," he noted, his voice devoid of pity.

"It’s cold," she lied, her voice paper-thin.

"It’s not the cold, Zoya. It’s the realization that you’re finally alone." He stepped toward her, and she instinctively flinched, a sharp intake of breath escaping her lips as her bruised ribs flared.

Aryan stopped. His eyes narrowed, dropping to the scarf wrapped around her neck. In one swift movement, before she could pull away, his hand shot out and gripped the silk. He didn't pull it hard, but the proximity made her lungs seize.

"The hospital said you were 'cleared'," he murmured, his face inches from hers. He could smell the antiseptic still clinging to her skin beneath the jasmine perfume. "But you look like a gust of wind would shatter you."

"Try it," she hissed, though her bottom lip trembled. "See if I break or if I cut you."

A flicker of something—amusement? annoyance?—crossed his face. He let go of the scarf. "I don't break things that are already shattered, Zoya. I find it boring."

He turned to a maid standing in the shadows. "Take her to the East Wing. Lock the doors. If she so much as looks at a window, call me."

As the maid led her away, Zoya felt the walls closing in. The East Wing was a labyrinth of shadows. When she finally reached the bedroom, the door clicked shut behind her, and the heavy bolt slid home.

Locked.

The strength she had been faking evaporated. Zoya sank to the floor, her heavy skirts pooling around her. She wrapped her arms around her knees, careful not to press too hard on her bandages, and finally let out the sob she had been choking on since the hospital.

She was a Mafia daughter who couldn't handle a gun. She was a bride who didn't want a husband. She was a fighter who was too exhausted to stand.

She looked around the room—it was beautiful, filled with gold and silk, but it was a cell. She was married to a man who saw her as a trophy of war, a monster who lived in the blood she had been taught to fear.

What do I do? she whispered into the empty, opulent room.

There was no answer. Only the sound of the rain against the bulletproof glass and the distant, heavy footsteps of the monster in the hallway outside.

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