That same evening, Vikrant's mother's voice floated out from the drawing room, pleased and almost giddy, as she spoke to Vikrant. 

"...Gauri ki engagement hai do din baad. Hum bhi kuch chhota sa gift bhej dena chahiye na? Sweets, kapde... ya koi chhoti si jewelry. Woh itni achhi ladki hai, mehnat karti hai."

("...Gauri's engagement is in two days. Should we send a small gift too? Sweets, clothes... or some little jewelry. She's such a good girl, works so hard.")

The words landed like slow acid. Vikrant didn't blink. Didn't breathe.

Just listened while the inside of his skull turned to static and then to something far uglier.

Two days.

He rose without a word, smooth and unhurried. No slammed doors, no raised voice. He simply walked to his study, shut the door with a soft, deliberate click, and turned the key in the lock.

The study room was already dim....curtains drawn against the last of the daylight, only the brass desk lamp spilling a warm, narrow pool across the polished wood. He sank into the high-backed leather chair, elbows braced on the edge of the desk, hands loosely clasped. For a long moment he stared at the blank wall opposite, seeing nothing.

Then he reached for the decanter without looking. Crystal clinked softly against crystal. He poured two fingers of whiskey—slow, measured. Brought the glass to his lips and drank in one long, unhurried swallow. The burn slid down his throat, familiar, almost soothing.

He set the glass down with a faint thud.

Pulled the cigarette pack from his shirt pocket. Tapped one out. Lit it with the silver lighter that always sat on the desk. Inhaled deeply. The first drag was sharp; smoke drifted upward in slow, tense spirals, catching the lamplight like faint ghosts.

"Liar," he whispered, the word barely disturbing the quiet. His voice was low, venomous, intimate, like he was speaking directly to her even though she was miles away. 

He exhaled through his nose, smoke curling around his face. Leaned back slowly. The chair creaked under his weight.

Two days.

"Two days," he murmured, voice dropping darker. "Two days, and you think you can slip that ring  around your finger like it erases everything? Like it wipes away the way you knelt for me? The way you begged?"

He took another drag, eyes narrowing as the smoke burned.

And you'll pretend it's real. Pretend you're free."

A low, bitter laugh escaped him.

"But you're not free, Gauri. You never were. You belong to me—every scar, every shiver, every secret you hide under that pretty dupatta. You think another man's touch will make you forget mine? It won't. It'll only make you ache for it more."

He crushed the cigarette in the ashtray—hard enough that the glass cracked. Blood beaded on his thumb. He didn't notice.

He poured another drink. Drank it in one go.

Then he smiled.

A slow, cruel, curling thing that didn't reach his eyes.

"You want to play house with him? Fine. I'll let you have your little ceremony. But I'll be there. Personally. With a gift of my own."

"Something small. Elegant. Wrapped so prettily they'll all coo over it. And when you open it in front of your mother, your father, your precious Rahul, His family and everyone —I'll watch your face. I'll watch you remember. Every mark I left. Every time you whispered my name in the dark. Every promise you broke when you ran."

His voice turned softer, almost tender, but laced with poison.

"I'll make sure the whole village sees it. Sees how you tremble. Sees how your eyes beg me to stop even as you smile for them. And when the night comes, when he tries to claim what's mine... you'll feel me in every breath you take. You'll feel me ruining it for him. Ruining it for you."

The smile grew darker.

"Because if I can't have you whole—"

He stubbed out the second cigarette.

Stood.

Walked to the window.

Looked out at the dark garden.

And whispered to his own reflection:

"—then no one else will ever truly have you."

He touched the glass—fingers leaving a faint smear of blood.

"Two days, Gauri."

"I'll remind you who owns you."

"Then I'll watch you break... all over again."

-----------------------

The courtyard was alive — golden haze of late morning, marigold garlands swaying, priest's voice rising in Sanskrit. Relatives clapped and laughed. Rahul stood in cream kurta, smiling gently when he saw her.

Gauri walked toward him.....steps slow.

The ring ceremony was moments away. The priest gestured for the rings.

Then the air changed.

A hush rippled outward like a stone dropped in still water. Heads turned. Conversations died mid-sentence.

Vikrant stepped through the gate.

He carried a large bouquet of white lilies and red roses in one hand, a silver tray of sweets and dry fruits in the other, and a small black velvet box tucked in his pocket. Dressed in a crisp charcoal kurta, he looked every bit the gracious guest ...calm, composed. The crowd parted instinctively as he approached.

Gauri's father spotted him first. His face lit up with surprised warmth.

"Arre, Vikrant beta! Aap aa gaye? Bahut achha laga!" He hurried forward, hands joined in welcome. 

("Oh, Vikrant child! You've come? We're so happy!")

"Aaiye, aaiye. Ghar aapka hai."

("Come, come. This house is yours.")

Gauri's mother followed, wiping her eyes with the edge of her pallu, smiling through fresh tears of emotion. "accha lga aapka aana." 

("How nice that you came.")

Rahul turned, blinking in polite confusion, then broke into a respectful grin. "Hi sir! Aap yahan? Mujhe nahi pata tha aap aayenge." He laughed lightly, rubbing the back of his neck. 

("Hi sir! You're here? I didn't know you were coming.")

"Ab tum itne acche employee ho hamare company mein — kaise nahi aata mein?"

("Now you're such a good employee in our company, how could I not come?")

The words landed innocently, but they sliced straight through Gauri. She felt them like a blade twisting in her chest. Vikrant had said the 'employee' casually as if he was just an boss dropping by for blessings. But to her, it was a reminder wrapped in kindness: the life she had once lived under Vikrant's roof, under his rules, reduced to nothing.

She kept her eyes down, lashes wet. Tears gathered, hot and silent, threatening to spill over the kohl lining her eyes. She waited, prayed for him to say something. To stop this ritual. To claim her, even now, in front of everyone. To shatter the illusion.

But Vikrant only smiled.

A slow, perfect, devastating smile that reached his eyes just enough to look genuine to everyone else.

He inclined his head to Rahul. "Congratulations. She's a wonderful girl. You got lucky."

The priest cleared his throat, sensing the momentary awkwardness but pushing forward.

"Ring ceremony shuru karte hain." (Let's start ring ceremony)

Gauri's hands trembled as she lifted the gold ring for Rahul. Her fingers shook so badly the metal clinked against his. She slipped it onto his finger — slow, mechanical — while the crowd clapped and cheered. Rahul beamed, taking her hand gently, sliding the matching ring onto her finger with care.

Everyone smiled.

Everyone except her.

Inside, Gauri was breaking — shatteringly, quietly. Each clap felt like a nail in her ribs. The ring on her finger burned like a brand that wasn't his.

Vikrant stepped closer then, the small black velvet box in his outstretched hand.

"For the bride," he said softly, voice carrying just to the mandap. "Specially for you, Gauri. What a wonderful girl Rahul has got."

He placed the box in her palm. Their fingers brushed — deliberately, briefly and she felt the old electricity jolt through her like a live current.

Rahul glanced at the box, a flicker of unease crossing his face for the first time. Something felt... off. But Vikrant's smile never wavered — warm, congratulatory, utterly convincing.

Gauri stared at the box. Her throat closed. She couldn't open it here. Not now. Not with everyone watching.

The priest resumed the mantras. The music swelled again.

Vikrant stepped back, folding his hands behind him, watching.

As the family pressed forward with more sweets and blessings, he caught her eye one last time.

The smile lingered — cruel in its gentleness.

And as the courtyard filled with laughter and congratulations, Gauri stood there, engaged adorned, smiling for the cameras while something inside her cracked open and bled.

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