Chapter 4: The Wedding Night (Part 1)

The applause was still fading when Aarav extended his hand.

Not out of affection.

Not out of habit.

But because every eye in the room was still on them.

Waiting.

Watching.

Judging.

Zoya looked at his hand for a brief second.

Then—

she placed hers in it.

Not gently.

Not warmly.

Deliberately.

Her fingers curled around his, her grip steady as she stepped closer, her other hand resting against his arm—perfectly in sync with the image everyone expected to see.

The perfect couple.

The flawless union.

The lie.

Flash.

Flash.

Flash.

Cameras followed every step as they moved through the crowd, side by side, composed, controlled.

Aarav didn’t look at her.

Zoya didn’t look at him.

But to everyone else—

they looked exactly like they should.

Close.

Effortless.

Untouchable.

The moment they stepped into the private hallway—

everything changed.

No cameras.

No whispers.

No audience.

Silence.

And just like that—

their hands dropped.

In sync.

As if even that brief contact had meant nothing.

Zoya pulled her hand back first.

Aarav didn’t stop her.

Didn’t react.

He simply let go.

Like it was expected.

Like it was irrelevant.

They walked the rest of the way in silence.

Distance between them now.

Real.

Unhidden.

The door to the bridal suite opened.

Softly.

And then closed behind them.

The room was everything the world expected.

Elegant.

Dimly lit.

Rose petals scattered across the bed.

Candles flickering along the walls.

A setting meant for intimacy.

For closeness.

For something soft.

Zoya stopped in the middle of it.

Her gaze swept across the room once.

Then—

a quiet breath left her lips.

Cold.

Unaffected.

Without a word—

she turned toward the door again.

Done.

“Leaving already?”

His voice came from behind her.

Calm.

Unhurried.

Zoya didn’t turn.

“I’m not staying here.”

Her hand reached for the handle.

It didn’t open.

Her grip tightened.

Slowly—

she turned back.

Aarav was leaning against the wall, watching her.

Like he had been waiting for this exact moment.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he said.

Not loud.

Not forceful.

Certain.

Zoya walked toward him instead.

Each step deliberate.

Controlled.

“And who’s going to stop me?” she asked.

A faint pause.

Then—

he pushed himself off the wall.

One step closer.

“That depends,” he said.

“Are you leaving because you think you can’t handle this…?”

Another step.

“…or because you’re afraid you might lose control?”

The words hit exactly where they were meant to.

Zoya’s eyes hardened instantly.

“There’s nothing about you,” she said, stepping closer, closing the distance herself,

“that could ever make me lose control.”

A pause.

Her chin lifted slightly.

“Stop being so presumptuous.”

For a moment—

he just looked at her.

Long enough to make the silence feel deliberate.

Then—

something shifted.

Subtle.

But sharper now.

“Then stay.”

The words were simple.

But they carried a challenge.

Zoya didn’t respond.

Didn’t move.

Didn’t look away.

The silence stretched.

Tight.

Unbreakable.

And then—

she turned.

Walked past him.

Not toward the bed—

but toward the couch.

Fine.

She would stay.

But not like this.

Not on his terms.

Not in his space.

She reached for her bag.

Pulled it open.

Started taking out her things.

“I’ll take another room,” she said flatly.

“And if there isn’t one, I’ll make one.”

Aarav watched her.

Quiet.

Unreadable.

Zoya grabbed what she needed and turned toward the door again.

This time—

she made it two steps.

Before everything shifted.

Suddenly—

the ground wasn’t under her feet anymore.

A sharp breath escaped her as she was lifted.

Effortlessly.

“Put me down!” she snapped, struggling.

Aarav didn’t respond.

Didn’t slow down.

He carried her across the room, his hold firm, controlled, completely unaffected by her resistance.

“You don’t get to decide how this works,” he said calmly.

The bed came into view—

and before she could react—

he placed her down on it.

Deliberate.

Final.

Zoya pushed herself up instantly.

“Don’t you dare—”

“Don’t,” he cut in quietly.

Not louder.

Not harsher.

Just… lower.

More controlled.

“If I stop holding back,” he continued, his gaze locking onto hers,

“you won’t be the one deciding anything anymore.”

The words didn’t rise.

They settled.

Heavy.

Zoya didn’t move.

Didn’t look away.

“You think you can control everything?” she shot back.

“You think you can control me?”

Aarav didn’t answer immediately.

His gaze dropped.

Just briefly.

Then—

he crouched down in front of her.

Zoya stilled.

Confused.

His attention wasn’t on her face anymore.

It was lower.

Her ankle.

Faint scratches.

Bruised skin.

From running.

From trying to escape.

From him.

The air shifted.

Quieter.

Colder.

More focused.

Without a word, he reached for the drawer.

Took out a first aid kit.

Zoya frowned.

“What are you doing?”

“Stay still.”

The tone wasn’t harsh.

But it wasn’t optional either.

For once—

she didn’t argue.

He applied the ointment carefully.

Slow.

Precise.

Controlled.

No softness.

No hesitation.

Just… intent.

Zoya watched him.

Confused.

Trying to understand.

“This doesn’t change anything,” she said quietly.

Aarav didn’t look up.

“I know.”

A pause.

His fingers stilled for a second—

then continued.

“But pain doesn’t ask what it changes,” he said.

“It stays… until someone decides whether to ignore it—”

A slight pause.

“—or make it worse.”

The words lingered.

Not loud.

But impossible to ignore.

He finished.

Closed the kit.

And then—

finally—

he looked at her.

Straight.

Unfiltered.

“You’re still here,” he said.

“That’s enough.”

Her jaw tightened.

“That’s not your choice.”

“No,” he replied calmly.

“It’s yours.”

A beat.

“But you keep making the ones I expect.”

Silence fell again.

Different this time.

He stood up.

Stepped back.

Distance.

Again.

Like nothing had happened.

“Get some rest,” he said.

Zoya let out a quiet scoff.

“As if that’s possible.”

He turned toward the door.

Then paused.

“And Zoya…”

She didn’t look at him.

But she listened.

“You should stop pretending this doesn’t affect you.”

A beat.

“And be careful…”

His voice dropped slightly.

“…because denial is where control starts slipping.”

The door opened.

Then closed.

And just like that—

he was gone.

Zoya sat there.

Still.

Her gaze slowly dropped to her ankle.

To the place where his hand had been.

Her fingers curled into the bedsheet.

Annoyed.

Frustrated.

Unsettled.

“This doesn’t change anything,” she whispered.

But this time—

it didn’t sound convincing.

Her jaw tightened.

Her eyes darkened.

“Control?” she muttered.

A slow breath left her lips.

Cold.

Sharp.

“Let’s see who loses it first…”

A pause.

Her gaze lifted toward the door he had just walked out of.

Unyielding.

“Because I don’t break.”

Another beat.

Softer.

Darker.

“I ruin.”

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