It had been eleven days since she told him she hated him.
Eleven days of silence. Eleven days of watching her rebuild her life, of hearing that the wedding to Officer Rishabh was still on track.
Rael Valtor had always believed in control. But control meant nothing when she belonged to someone else.
That night, the darkness inside him finally took over.
---
Ananya was walking home from a late class. The streets were quiet, wet with leftover monsoon drizzle. Her dupatta was damp, and her heels clicked against the pavement in rhythm with her tired breaths.
She didn't hear the car. Didn't see the black SUV pull up behind her.
A hand grabbed her. A cloth over her mouth. Darkness.
---
She woke up in a candlelit room.
Not a dungeon. A palace. A private estate she didn't recognize. Drapes of silk. Marble floors. A bed far too ornate.
And Rael Valtor standing in a black sherwani, staring at her with fire in his eyes.
"Where am I?" she croaked.
"Where you should've been all along," he said.
"You kidnapped me?"
"No," he said softly. "I rescued you. From a lie. From being someone else's bride."
"You're insane."
"No," he said again, stepping closer. "I'm desperate."
She tried to get up — the door was locked. Her phone? Gone.
He took her wrist, knelt before her, and pulled out vermillion.
"You're already mine, Ananya. This just makes it official."
She jerked her arm back. "Don't you dare—"
He didn't listen. He filled her parting with sindoor in one swift move.
She gasped. Eyes wide.
"We're married now," he whispered. "No priest, no papers needed. You're my wife. My obsession. My punishment."
Tears burned in her eyes.
"You'll never be free again."