Prologue

Kanika lay still on the edge of a king-sized bed, her body draped in a heavy bridal lehenga that felt more like a shackle than a celebration. Strands of her long, dark hair fanned out across the silk pillow, tangled and wild—mirroring the chaos within her. The weight of the ornate necklace around her neck pressed against her throat, making it harder to breathe. Her makeup, once perfect, was now a smudged mess—kohl-streaked tears trailing down her pale cheeks. Her wide, empty eyes stared at the ceiling, unmoving—her body as lifeless as a broken doll.

But her stillness screamed louder than any words ever could—a soul shattered beyond repair.

Beside her, Anakveer clung to her like a drowning man desperate for air. His face was buried against her bare stomach, his strong arms wrapped around her as if letting go would destroy them both. Silent tears fell from his eyes, soaking into the delicate fabric of her bridal attire—tears of regret, remorse, and a pain he couldn’t voice.

His voice was raw, trembling as he pleaded, “You said I’m more important to you than life itself… Then why can’t I be your life, Kanika?”

A single tear slipped from the corner of her eye—lonely and cold—sliding down her bruised heart. And as the memory of that day surged back, the ache became unbearable.

Flashback – Days Before

“Kanika, get down. I’m already outside,” Anakveer’s deep, commanding voice cut through the phone, urgent and impatient.

“What now?” she huffed, frowning. “At least give me half an hour to get ready. Why are you so random—”

“Calm down, woman. Stop arguing,” he snapped, his tone brooking no protest. “I’m here, so come out in five minutes—or I’ll drag you out, however you are. No excuses.”

And with that, the call ended.

Muttering curses under her breath, Kanika stormed out of the house, still adjusting her wristwatch. "Idiot. Crazy. Who does he think he is?"

Sliding into the passenger seat of his sleek black car, she folded her arms across her chest, glaring at him. “What’s wrong with you? I’m not your slave, Anakveer! Always bossing me around—where are we even going?”

Without sparing her a glance, he reached for the pink cup sitting in the holder and handed it to her—a strawberry smoothie. Her favorite.

Kanika blinked, her anger softening as she snatched the drink from his hand. Typical Anakveer. Always annoying—always knowing exactly how to shut her up.

“That’s my good girl,” he murmured, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. “You look so much better when you’re quiet. You should do it more often—you know, to preserve those limited brain cells of yours.”

She shot him a glare mid-sip. “Whoever named you Anakveer clearly got it wrong—you’re nothing but Sanakveer. Pure crazy.”

He laughed—a deep, husky sound that sent an unwelcome shiver down her spine.

At the Boutique

“Why do you want me to try this on? This is a bridal lehenga, Anak.” Kanika held the deep crimson fabric between her fingers, glancing at him through the mirror.

He sat sprawled across the plush sofa—legs wide, body relaxed—but his eyes…his eyes told a different story. There was something unreadable in his gaze, something heavy and unspoken.

“It’s for Randheer’s bride,” he answered, far too casually. “What better gift for a new bride than a bridal lehenga?”

She wrinkled her nose. “But it’s too much, Anak. You’re not her husband—buy her something more… casual. Like a party outfit.”

His expression shifted—lips curling into a dangerous, knowing smirk. “Why?” His voice dropped an octave, thick with mockery. “Are you jealous because I’m buying a gift for another woman?”

Kanika scoffed, but the heat crawling up her neck betrayed her. “Jealous? You wish.”

Kanika's heart pounded violently against her ribs, a surge of rage igniting within her. Without a second thought, she marched toward Anakveer and hurled the bridal lehenga at his chest, wiping the smug smirk off his face.

“Don’t think too highly of yourself!” she spat, her voice sharp as a blade. “Even if you marry someone else, I wouldn’t care. Your cousin's bride means nothing to me—and neither does your stupid gift. And for the record, try it yourself. I’m not helping you.”

She spun on her heel, ready to walk away with her signature flair, only to be yanked back by a firm grip on her wrist. In one swift motion, Anakveer pulled her onto his lap, his strong arms caging her in as he stood up, carrying her effortlessly toward the changing room.

“What the hell, Anakveer?” she hissed, struggling against his iron grip.

Ignoring her protests, he set her down inside the changing room, his face inches from hers, his warm breath tickling her ear as he leaned in.

“Then prove me wrong,” he murmured, his voice low and challenging. “If you’re not jealous, Kanika, put it on and show me.”

Her breathing grew ragged, anger bubbling beneath the surface. With a fierce shove to his chest, she pushed him out of the room and slammed the door shut, locking it with a sharp click.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered to himself, a dark, amused smirk curling his lips. “She’s so damn predictable.”

A few minutes later, the door creaked open, and she stepped out, adorned in the bridal lehenga. The crimson fabric clung to her curves, making her look ethereal even without heavy jewelry or makeup. But to him, she wasn’t just beautiful—she looked like his. His bride. His everything.

“Oye, Mr. Sanki,” she teased, raising an eyebrow. “How do I look?”

His lips parted slightly, his gaze devouring her with an intensity that made her stomach twist. He didn’t speak for a long moment, lost in the vision before him, before he finally murmured a single word under his breath—“Mine.”

Before he could drown any further in his thoughts, his phone buzzed sharply, snapping him back to reality. His face darkened the second he answered the call, his expression shifting into something cold and unreadable.

Without a word, he grabbed Kanika’s wrist and began dragging her out of the store.

“Anak, what the hell are you doing?” she snapped, trying to pull free. “Let me change first!”

“I don’t have time for this,” he said curtly, his grip unrelenting. “You can change later. I have something important to handle.”

Her protests fell on deaf ears as he ushered her into his car, locking the door behind her. He slid into the driver’s seat, starting the engine without another glance.

“What is wrong with you?” she demanded, her voice rising in frustration. “You’re acting crazy! It's a Ridhima gift. Remember, I need to change.!”

His jaw clenched. “I’ll buy another gift. Right now, nothing else matters.”

The tension hung heavy in the air as he sped through the city streets. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

When he finally pulled up in front of a lavish wedding venue, the words "Randheer weds Ridhima" blazed across the grand entrance in bold letters. Her stomach twisted with unease.

“Anakveer, what are we doing here?” she asked hesitantly, her fingers curling into fists.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he got out, opened her door, and without a word, dragged her toward the wedding mandap. Though the ceremony wasn’t scheduled until later that night, the pavilion was already decorated in glittering gold, with family members bustling around, finalizing arrangements.

Then, without warning, Anakveer pulled a gun from the waistband of his jeans and fired a deafening round into the air.

Panic erupted. Gasps and screams filled the venue as his men appeared from the shadows, armed and deadly, taking control of the palace grounds.

Kanika’s heart pounded wildly, her breath hitching in her throat as the reality of the situation sank in. Fear gnawed at her insides, and she turned toward him with wide, questioning eyes.

“Bhai,” one of his men called out, his voice steady. “Sab tayyar hai. Pandit ab shuru kar sakte hain.” (Everything is ready, Brother. The priest can begin.)

Before she could react, Anakveer pulled her toward the mandap, forcing her to sit in the bride’s place. Tears welled up in her eyes as the weight of his betrayal shattered her heart.

“Anak, have you lost your mind?” she cried, struggling against his hold. “If this is some twisted prank, stop it right now! I’m not joking!”

His expression hardened, but a storm brewed behind his eyes. A storm of obsession. Of possession. Of something far darker.

She lashed out, her palm connecting with his cheek in a sharp slap. “You can’t force me to marry you! I’ll die before I become your wife!”

A terrifying silence followed her words. His hand shot out, gripping her jaw with an iron hold as he forced her to look toward the second floor. Her blood ran cold.

Ridhima and Randheer stood there, trembling, held at gunpoint by his men.

“Either you marry me,” he said quietly, his voice like steel, “or I blow their heads off right now.”

Her heart shattered, the last sliver of hope crumbling into dust. She had known him for over a decade, and she knew one thing with chilling certainty—Anakveer Rajput never made empty threats.

Her voice broke as she clung to the last thread of sanity. “I’m your best friend, Anak. Don’t do this.”

A bitter smile curved his lips. “And now,” he said, dragging her closer, “I’m your husband.”

With that final declaration, he pulled her into the mandap, binding her to him in a wedding neit

her of them could ever walk away from—a marriage born not of love, but of obsession and betrayal.