Prologue
2020, Delhi – Khurana Mansion
The Khurana Mansion gleamed like a bride herself, adorned with lights, flowers, and grandeur, ready to host the most awaited event of the year—Rithvik Khurana’s wedding. This was no ordinary celebration; it was the culmination of dreams cherished by the Khurana family for years.
Rithvik, the eldest son, was a 29-year-old entrepreneur who had taken over his father’s business three years ago. His vision and determination had elevated the family’s empire to unparalleled heights. A joint family by tradition, the Khuranas were known for their lavish celebrations, and today was no different.
Despite being an arranged marriage, Rithvik had fallen for the bride the moment he saw her. His heart had silently vowed, “She will be the queen of my heart and the soul of this home.” As he adjusted his wristwatch, his thoughts wandered to the moment he would finally see her as his bride.
Just then, his father placed a pagdi on his head, his uncle adorned him with a garland of crisp currency notes, and his younger uncle handed him a ceremonial sword. Like a prince from a fairy tale, Rithvik mounted the white mare, ready to lead the grand baraat.
The procession danced its way to the bride’s house amidst the beats of dhol and the shimmer of fireworks. Expectations were high—everyone anticipated a royal welcome for the groom and his entourage.
But as they arrived, the atmosphere shifted. The vibrant energy dissipated, replaced by an eerie tension. Faces that should have been jubilant bore expressions of sorrow.
Rithvik dismounted the horse, his brows furrowed. He approached Sameer, the bride’s brother, who stood with a hesitant demeanor.
“What happened? Is there a problem?” Rithvik asked, his voice calm but laced with concern.
Sameer wordlessly handed him a folded letter, his hands trembling slightly. Rithvik unfolded the paper, his eyes scanning the handwritten words.
—
**“Dear Rithvik,
I know this letter will shock you, but I have no other option. I am in love with someone else. I tried telling my family, but I couldn’t muster the courage. That’s why I am leaving, abandoning this marriage.
I know you once asked me if I liked you. I lied. I didn’t have the strength to tell you the truth. Please forgive me.
— Yours, never truly yours.”**
—
The words hit him like a storm. His grip on the letter tightened before he crumpled it in anger and threw it to the ground. His chest heaved as emotions surged—betrayal, humiliation, rage. His carefully constructed dreams shattered into fragments with each word of that letter.
Without a word, Rithvik stormed toward his car. Ignoring the concerned murmurs around him, he slammed the door shut and drove off, his mind a whirlwind of emotions.
Inside, his heart burned. “How dare she? How dare she betray me like this, after everything? After I dreamed of a future with her, trusted her?”
But beneath the fury lay a deep wound—an ache he couldn’t ignore. Rithvik Khurana, the man who had everything, was left with nothing but broken promises and a wedding that never was.
As the car sped through the quiet Delhi streets, the lights of the Mansion faded into the distance, leaving Rithvik with only his thoughts and the haunting words of a letter that changed everything.
***********************
Forest Area – The Other Side of the Story
The dense forest was eerily quiet, broken only by the sound of crunching leaves under hurried steps. Amrita ran as fast as her trembling legs could carry her. Her torn bridal lehenga clung to her bruised body, its vibrant red now stained with dirt and blood. Her face, swollen and marred with slap marks, bore the evidence of the nightmare she had just endured.
Her breath came in ragged gasps as she clutched her torn dupatta, pressing it against the wound on her forehead. Blood trickled down her temple, warm and relentless. Her nose bled profusely, the result of her nose ring being ripped out with ruthless force. Her once-beautiful wedding jewelry now lay scattered in the forest, discarded like her shattered dreams.
Collapsing behind a bush, she pressed her hand tightly over her mouth, desperate to muffle the sound of her sobs. Her heart pounded wildly as she heard the man’s voice again.
“Baby, kaha ho tum?” Rishab Khurana’s voice was sickeningly sweet, laced with a venomous tone. “Dekho, mujhe aur pareshaan mat karo. Tumhe koi nahi bacha sakta ab. Come out like a good girl.”
Amrita’s body shook with fear, tears streaming down her cheeks as she bit down on her trembling lip to stay silent. She prayed for some miracle, for someone to save her from the monster stalking her.
“Amrita baby,” Rishab’s voice turned harsher, his patience waning. “Zidd mat karo! Surrender yourself varna anjaam aur bhi bura hoga.”
His steps grew louder, the crunch of leaves betraying his proximity. Amrita’s heart sank as she realized she had nowhere to go, nowhere to hide.
Rishab’s laugh echoed through the trees, cruel and taunting. “You slapped me, right? Sabke saamne, mere doston ke saamne! Ab dekho, main tumhe kaisa barbad karta hoon. Aur woh Rithvik? Uska toh dil toot gaya hoga ab tak. Tumhare liye toh woh aane wala nahi hai, baby.”
Before Amrita could react, a hand grabbed her hair, yanking her out from behind the bush. She screamed as her scalp burned with pain, her hands clawing at his grip.
“Chup!” Rishab roared, slapping her hard across the face. Her head snapped to the side, and she stumbled but didn’t fall, held up only by his iron grip.
“Rishab, please! Chhod dijiye mujhe!” she begged, her voice trembling with desperation. “Main aapke pair padti hoon. Please mujhe jaane dijiye!”
Rishab sneered, his eyes dark with malice. “Pair padne ka time tab tha jab mujhe sabke saamne neecha nahi dikhaya hota.”
He dragged her to the clearing, where his friends waited, their faces twisted with vile anticipation. Amrita’s screams echoed through the forest, pleading and crying, but no one came. Her pleas fell on deaf ears as the men closed in on her, their laughter a grotesque backdrop to her torment.
Hours felt like days as the nightmare unfolded. Amrita’s body gave up before her spirit did. The pain was unbearable, her soul crushed under the weight of their inhumanity. She stopped screaming, her voice too hoarse to cry out anymore. Her vision blurred, darkness slowly creeping in as her consciousness slipped away.
When they were done, the men left her there, broken and bleeding, as if she were nothing more than a discarded object.
The forest stood silent again, a haunting witness to the brutality. Amrita lay motionless on the cold ground, her lifeless eyes staring at the canopy above , the once vibrant girl was now reduced to a shell , her body battered and soul shattered .
The monsters disappeared into the shadows , leaving behind the girl they believed to be as good as dead.
________________________________________________________________________________________________
CHAPTER 1
Rithvik pov..
5 years later
Khurana Mansion was once again adorned like a bride, but this time, I didn’t even know who the bride-to-be was. And honestly? Who cares? This wedding was happening solely because of Dadaji’s stubbornness. At 34, he’s worried I’ll remain single forever.
But once, just once, I trusted someone. And what did I get in return? Betrayal. That’s why I’ve vowed never to trust anyone again.
It’s not like my life ended when she left me. But the humiliation my family faced? That’s something I can never forget. Because of me, my family had to bow their heads in shame. And the worst part? It wasn’t even my fault. That’s why I’ve resolved not to repeat that mistake.
This marriage is nothing more than a deal for me. Yes, this girl will get money, a luxurious life—but love? She’ll never get that. So, welcome to the materialistic life of Rithvik Khurana, my dear bride.
—
As these thoughts consumed me, I settled into my customized car. Unlike last time, I didn’t want any drama. But for my family, this celebration was monumental. They danced in front of my car—Papa, Maa, Badi Maa, Bade Papa, and all my siblings.
Meanwhile, I was engrossed in my laptop. To me, all this hullabaloo was nothing more than a waste of time.
—
We reached the venue in half an hour. Someone unlocked my car door. I assumed it was my driver, but to my surprise, it was Shourya Sinha.
What is he doing here?
After five years, this is the first time I’m seeing him. Since that night, we never crossed paths. And to top it off, why is the Sinha family here? Wasn’t the betrayal by their daughter enough? Now they’ve shown up, uninvited, to rub salt in old wounds?
—
With my family, I entered the grand hall. The decorations were exquisite. The Sinha family welcomed us, but I royally ignored them. What happened to my family that night was enough to fuel my disdain.
Straight to the mandap, I went, sitting before the sacred havan kund. The priest began chanting mantras.
“Panditji, just cut the crap and finish this thing as soon as possible. I don’t have time to waste on these rituals,” I said curtly.
Dadaji scolded me, but I didn’t care.
—
Finally, the priest announced the arrival of the bride. I had no interest in seeing her face, but the murmurs from the guests piqued my curiosity. Shock was etched across their faces, their whispers filling the air.
What kind of eighth wonder has walked in to cause this reaction?
I slightly turned my head towards the bride, and what I saw made my blood boil.
—
“What the hell? Yeh kya mazak hai? Is this some kind of joke?” I yelled at my family, ripping off the garland from my neck and throwing it to the ground.
Without waiting for an explanation, I stormed out of the mandap and headed straight to my room, slamming the door shut behind me.
—
As I stormed into my room, Dadaji followed me, refusing to back down. His determination was unshakable, but I was on the verge of breaking under the weight of this absurd situation.
“Dadaji, what’s wrong with you? I should marry her? Seriously? In this entire big city, you couldn’t find anyone else for me to marry? Only this girl?!”
Dadaji, however, wasn’t fazed. “Dekh beta, I know you’ll never accept her, but we all know that Amrutha is perfect for you. Whatever I’ve done, I’ve done with careful thought. Now, after coming this far, you can’t back out.”
I tried to stay calm, to explain logically, but my anger was teetering on the edge.
“Dadaji, tell me something. Should I marry that girl? The sister of the woman who betrayed us five years ago? Someone who is 12 years younger than me? Someone’s sister who was once my best friend but hasn’t been able to meet my eyes for five years because of her sister’s betrayal?”
My voice cracked, but I pressed on. “Do you remember when Amrutha was born? Shourya and I were in college back then! And now you’re saying I should marry her? Do you understand how bizarre all of this is?”
But Dadaji was relentless. “Khote da puttar, I understand all this. But I’ve seen the world. And I know that Amrutha is not like Roshni. She’s a very grounded girl. As for the age difference, age is just a number. It’s not necessary that just because Roshni turned out to be wrong, Amrutha will be the same.”
He tried to reason with me, but his words only fueled my frustration. The irony? Every single family member sided with him.
—
After a storm of arguments, I found myself back at the mandap, defeated. Without any other option, I sat beside her, my mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.
As I glanced at her, I noticed the same lack of enthusiasm mirrored in her expression. Her face was blank, her eyes blazing with quiet defiance. It was clear she wanted this marriage as little as I did. And why would she?
She’s just 22 years old. Why is her family forcing her to marry a 34-year-old man?
—
Lost in my thoughts, I didn’t even realize when the sacred thread, the mangalsutra, was tied around her neck or when I filled her maang with vermillion. The priest’s voice droned in the background, instructing us to take the pheras.
We walked around the sacred fire, each step heavier than the last, bound by a ritual neither of us wanted. The weight of our unwillingness was palpable, hanging in the air like a curse.
As the final ritual concluded, I untied the ghatbandhan and stood up. Without so much as a glance at her or anyone else, I left the venue.
**********************
Amruta pov ..
The moment my flight landed in Delhi, a familiar heaviness settled over me. It wasn’t just the city—it was the memories tied to it. Memories I had buried deep but could never truly escape. Memories that felt like shards of glass embedded in my soul.
“After five long years, I’m back here, but only because of Dadaji. He suffered a cardiac attack. Otherwise, I would never have returned to this city. After that night, there’s nothing left for me here except bitter memories.”
As Shourya Bhai and I drove from the airport to the Sinha Mansion, the streets began to blur. The city’s hustle and noise faded into the haunting echoes of my past.
“The night when Rishab Khurana stripped me of my dignity like a predator, tearing at my body…”
I shut my eyes tightly, but the images forced their way back.
“It took me 20 days to regain consciousness. Even now, I don’t know who saved me, who admitted me to the hospital. All I remember is waking up, every inch of my body in pain, covered in bandages—even my private parts.”
—
Flashback: 5 Years Ago
City Hospital – VVIP Room
A soft voice stirred me awake.
“Madam, aapko hosh aa gayi?”
(“Madam, you’ve regained consciousness?”)
It was a nurse, standing by my bedside, her face a mix of relief and concern.
She hurriedly added, “Mein abhi doctor ko inform karke aati hoon.”
(“I’ll inform the doctor right away.”)
And just like that, she was gone.
Moments later, Shourya Bhai stormed into the room, his face etched with worry and pain.
“Ammu, tum… tum theek ho?!”
(“Ammu, are you… are you okay?!”)
His voice shattered the dam I had built inside me. Tears streamed down my face as I took a moment to process everything. I flung my arms around him, sobbing uncontrollably. For a 17-year-old girl, surviving such a nightmare was nothing short of a battle.
But the brief solace of my brother’s embrace was interrupted as the door opened again. This time, the doctor entered, followed by my so-called family.
Shourya’s concern quickly turned to rage as he confronted them.
“Clam down, doll. Calm down. I won’t leave that bstard who did this to you. Just tell me his name, and I’ll—”*
Before he could finish, our mother cut him off, her voice sharp and cold.
“What will you do, Shourya? What will you do? Do you even realize what will happen if this matter becomes public? What about our family’s reputation? The Sinha family’s honor will be dragged through the mud!”
Shourya’s fists clenched as he retorted,
“Par Maa, how can we let this go? Someone dared to lay a hand on our girl, and you’re asking me to stay silent?!”
But her response was like ice.
“For once, I agree with your mother,” my father added. “Our business is already suffering because of Roshini’s actions. We cannot afford another scandal.”
Shourya’s voice cracked with fury.
“If this had happened to Roshini, would you have said the same thing? Would you have stayed quiet, Maa? Papa?”
The silence was deafening until my mother spat out words that cut deeper than any wound.
“Roshini aur yeh ladki kabhi ek nahi ho sakti hai, Shourya.”
(“Roshini and this girl can never be the same, Shourya.”)
Shourya’s jaw tightened.
“Yes, because Amrutha isn’t your daughter, right? She’s illegitimate, isn’t she? But that’s not her fault. It’s equally Papa’s fault for having a relationship outside of marriage and bringing a child into this world!”
The sound of my father’s slap echoed in the room, silencing everyone. Shourya stumbled but stood his ground, his eyes blazing with defiance.
“Shourya,” my father said coldly, “I’ve given this girl my surname, a place in my house, and now I’m even providing her treatment in a VVIP ward. Don’t expect anything more from me.”
Dadaji, who had been silently watching the chaos, finally spoke. His voice was firm and final.
“Shourya, prepare the discharge papers. We’re leaving this city and this country for good. Amrutha’s treatment will continue in Canada. I cannot stay in a place where my granddaughter’s dignity has no value.”
I remained silent, too broken to say a word. My body was in pain, but my soul was shattered beyond repair.
—
Present Day: In Front of Sinha Mansion
A sudden jolt snapped me out of my thoughts. The car had come to an abrupt halt. I looked out the window and saw the imposing gates of the Sinha Mansion.
“Five years… Five years since I last saw this place. Dadaji had come to India for the Maha Kumbh Mela, a once-in-12-year event. But his health deteriorated, forcing me to return to a city I had vowed never to step foot in again.”
My chest tightened as memories of betrayal, pain, and abandonment swirled in my mind. But I swallowed the lump in my throat and stepped out of the car.
“This isn’t just a mansion—it’s a prison of memories I’ve been trying to escape. But for Dadaji, I’ll endure it once more.”
*********************
The chaos around me felt suffocating, like I was drowning in a sea of betrayal and manipulation. My parents, the very people who were supposed to protect me, had lured me back to India under the pretense of my grandfather’s failing health. But the truth was far more sinister.
Their plan? To trade my freedom for their failing business.
As I stood there, my voice trembled, but my anger surged. “So, this is why you called me back? To use me as a pawn in your deals? To save your sinking business, you want to sell me off, don’t you?” My words echoed in the room, heavy with my disbelief.
The silence that followed was deafening, punctuated only by my father’s stoic demeanor.
“I’m going back to Canada,” I declared, reaching for my bag. “I’m not marrying some rich brat who agrees to this marriage without even consulting me.”
Before I could leave, Dadaji—my only solace in this mess—grabbed my wrist. His grip was frail, but his voice carried the weight of a lifetime. “Bacche,” he began, his tone pleading, “this isn’t just about business. The boy is good, truly good. This marriage is for your future too. Please, beta, consider it.”
Dadaji had never asked me for anything before, and the pain in his eyes made my resolve falter.
I turned to Shourya Bhaiyya, my pillar, my father figure in every sense but blood. If anyone would stand by me, it would be him. “Shourya,” I whispered, my voice cracking, “you’re not okay with this, are you?”
But his eyes betrayed me. The silent nod he gave was a dagger to my heart. My knees gave way, and I collapsed onto the couch, clutching my chest as panic clawed its way up my throat.
Shourya knelt beside me, his warm hand on my trembling shoulder. “Ammu,” he said softly, “do you trust me?”
His words hung in the air, and despite the storm inside me, I nodded. Of course, I trusted him. He was the only one I ever truly trusted.
“Then believe me when I say this is the right decision. The groom is a good man. Trust me on this.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat, the weight of their collective hopes crushing me. How could I say no when the two people who mattered most to me were asking this of me?
And so, I agreed.
The hours blurred into moments. Before I knew it, I was dressed in a red bridal lehenga, a stranger to myself in the mirror. The heavy dupatta on my head mirrored the weight in my chest. I walked to the mandap on autopilot, my mind screaming for escape, my heart too heavy to resist.
Then I saw him.
Rithvik Khurana.
My breath hitched, and my vision swam. Him?
The man sitting across from me was none other than my childhood nemesis, my sister’s former fiancé, and, most importantly, the younger brother of Rishab Khurana—the man who had destroyed my life.
How could they do this? How could he do this?
Before I could process the betrayal, Rithvik stood abruptly and walked out of the mandap, his face a mask of anger. I rose too, ready to flee, but Shourya stopped me.
Kneeling beside me, he adjusted my ghunghat and whispered, “I know what you’re thinking, doll, but you need to think with your mind, not your heart right now.”
I stared at him, confusion and anger swirling within me.
“I know Rishab was your culprit,” he confessed, his voice low.
My heart stopped. He knew? All this time, he had known?
“Yes,” he admitted, reading the disbelief in my eyes. “I couldn’t go against Papa then, but I’ve been waiting for the right moment. And now, you have the chance to fight back. Don’t let this slip away.”
His words were a lifeline in my storm of emotions. “This isn’t just your fight, Amrutha. This is for every girl whose life was ruined by people like Rishab. You’re stronger than this. And your brother will always stand by you in this war.”
He pressed a kiss to my forehead, his touch grounding me.
Rithvik returned to the mandap, his jaw tight, his movements stiff. The rituals continued, and before I could fully comprehend it, I was married.
But as Rithvik walked away, leaving me alone, I realized something.
I didn’t care.
I wasn’t interested in him, nor in this marriage. My focus was clear now.
“Mahadev,” I prayed silently, clutching my mangalsutra, “give me strength in this fight. Help me bring justice—not just for myself, but for all those who suffered.”
