Her trembling fingers clutched the pen like it weighed a thousand bricks. With her parents’ broken shouts and cries as they asked her not to sign the certificate.

Each stroke of ink felt like carving chains around her own soul.

The moment the final letter was signed, the pen slipped from her fingers.

Before it could hit the ground, a hand shot out, Abhimanyu’s hand. He caught it effortlessly, as if even gravity dared not disobey him.

Ishika lifted her gaze. Hatred blazed in her eyes, but her tears stayed unshed. She refused to cry. Not in front of this monster.

Abhimanyu’s expression softened with something twisted, something dangerous. He bent slightly, his voice dripping with affection that mocked her pain. “Congratulations, love. We are married now. From today, you are Mrs. Ishika Abhimanyu Singh Rathore.”

The title sounded like poison wrapped in silk.

He leaned closer, near her trembling form. “We’ll have a full marriage in a week. Be ready.”

His hand rose, reaching for her cheek, but the moment his eyes caught the tears and fear threatening to escape her eyes, he froze. Panic, strange flashed in his dark gaze. For the first time, the invincible king faltered. His fingers curled mid-air before he pulled his hand back sharply, as though her tears burned him.

Without another word, he turned and walked away, his heavy steps echoing in the suffocating silence.

Siddhartha lingered behind, his eyes dark with pity. He looked at Ishika, then at her parents slumped and barely holding each other upright. His jaw clenched. But he said nothing. He couldn’t. He followed Abhimanyu out.

The guards withdrew, and with them went the air of suffocating power. Ishika’s parents ran towards their daughter who stood like a statue.

The restaurant, moments ago buzzing with whispers, was now silent.  Customers shifted uncomfortably, their pitying stares darting to the broken family. Not one dared speak. Quietly, one by one, they finished their meals in silence, dropped their payments, and slipped out, heads lowered, so many people yet no one could help them. All because they feared the Abhimanyu Singh Rathore.

Within minutes, the staff closed the restaurant gates and windows and quiçy cleaned up everything as few staff members brought water and took care of the small family.

Ishika’s chest rose and fell sharply. Then suddenly, a name broke through the fog in her head, Mahi.

“Mom!” Ishika’s voice cracked. “Call Mahi home right now. Tell her not to go anywhere. Please.”

Her mother fumbled for her phone, her fingers shaking but obeying.

Ishika’s own hands scrambled for her phone. She dialed Anya with desperate urgency. The line clicked after a few seconds.

“Ishika?” Anya’s voice came through, thin and terrified, like she was holding back sobs.

“Anya, where are you? Come home right now,” Ishika begged, her words rushing out in panic.

There was silence, only the sound of Anya’s shaky breath. Then, softly but firmly, Anya whispered, “I’m coming. Right now.”

The line went dead, leaving Ishika staring at the phone, her heart pounding with dread.

Anya was more than just Ishika’s best friend. She had been family for years. They had first met in college, two strangers from different worlds who somehow fit together like missing pieces of the same puzzle.

Anya had come to the city on a scholarship, her parents reluctant but proud. But when her degree was done, she was left with a cruel choice: stay here alone which her parents didn't want or leave her dream job and return to the village. Her parents didn't want to lose her just like they lost their another child.

They couldn’t bear the thought of losing her too.

It was Ishika who had convinced them. She won’t be alone. She’ll stay with me. And to make Anya feel less like a burden, she had let Anya pay rent. That way, she could hold her head high, independent as always.

And so, for years now, Anya had lived in Ishika’s home, not as a tenant, not even as a friend, but as another daughter of the house.

The front door burst open with hurried steps.

“Maa! Papa!” Mahi’s voice cracked as she stumbled into the restaurant, her wide eyes immediately landing on her parents, who were half-collapsed in their chairs.

She ran to them, falling on her knees, clutching their hands. “What happened?! Maa! Papa! What happened to you both?” Her voice was desperate, trembling. She looked around wildly, but no one spoke. Not Ishika. Not their parents. No one had the strength.

Tears burned down Mahi’s cheeks as fear clawed at her chest. Finally, her trembling hands reached the photo booth and pulled out the small camera she placed in restaurant. The restaurant had cameras installed, not for safety, but for her passion. For years, she had filmed the little joys, the laughter, the festivals, dreaming of making vlogs that showed the heart of their family’s world.

Her fingers hovered over the device. Her instincts screamed to know the truth. But just before she could begin—

The door opened again.

“Ishika!” Anya’s voice broke through the suffocating silence. She rushed inside, her face pale, her body shaking. Without a second thought, she threw herself into Ishika’s arms, clinging to her like a lifeline.

“They.... someone.... someone came… they put a gun to my head,” Anya sobbed, her words tumbling over each other, raw and terrified. “I couldn’t move, Ishika. I thought—I thought I was going to die.”

Ishika’s arms wrapped around her instinctively. Her heart twisted as guilt sank deep into her chest. “I’m so sorry, Anya… I’m so sorry…” Her voice cracked like broken glass.

Anya shook her head, confusion and tears blurring her vision. “Why are you apologizing? You didn’t—”

Mahi, too, looked at her sister with bewildered, tear-streaked eyes. “Didi… why are you saying sorry? What are you hiding?”

But Ishika couldn’t answer. The words strangled in her throat.

The silence was unbearable.

Finally, Mahi’s trembling hands moved. She pulled the tiny chip from the restaurant’s camera system and slid it into the laptop. The screen flickered to life.

Seconds later, the scene began to play out in front of them.

Mahi’s hand flew to her mouth. Anya’s eyes widened in horror. Their bodies went rigid as the monstrous reality unfolded, Abhimanyu, the guards, the marriage forced in front of helpless parents.

Mahi gasped, stumbling back. Her face drained of all color. “This… this can’t be real…”

But it was.

Every second on the screen burned the truth deeper into their hearts.

Meanwhile

The black car moved through the city swiftly. Inside, silence reigned, thick, suffocating, until Abhimanyu finally broke it.

The marriage certificate lay open on his lap, the ink still fresh. His eyes lingered on one spot, his thumb brushing gently over the strokes of her trembling signature. A soft smile tugged at his lips, almost tender, almost reverent.

“My Ishika…” he whispered, so low that even the leather seats seemed to lean closer to hear. “You’re mine now.”

He traced her name again, as though the ink carried her soul.

Beside him, Siddhartha’s jaw tightened. He glanced at his best friend, this ruthless man, feared by everyone from businessmen to politicians, now smiling at a piece of paper like a madman in love.

He’s finally gone insane.

Siddhartha was happy seeing his best friend's soft smile. But the truth was too sharp to ignore. His mind flickered back to the restaurant, the terror in Ishika’s eyes, her parents collapsing, the suffocating silence of witnesses who dared not move.

No one could stop Abhimanyu Singh Rathore. No one ever had.

Siddhartha turned his head, trying to shut it all out, when something else caught his eyes, the faint red imprint on Abhimanyu’s cheek. A slap. Her slap.

For a moment, Siddhartha just stared. Then, unexpectedly, he let out a short, dry laugh.

Abhimanyu turned sharply, brows knitting. “What?”

Siddhartha shook his head, still smirking, though there was no mirth in his eyes. “Nothing. Just… I never thought I’d see the day someone dared to mark your face like that. And that too, a girl.”

A shadow crossed Abhimanyu’s features. He lifted his hand and pressed his fingers lightly against the mark, his smile fading for a fraction of a second. But then, instead of anger, something else lit his gaze.

Pride.

“She’s so cute,” he murmured, leaning back. “Whenever she looks at me with those angry eyes.... I just find it so cute.”

Siddhartha said nothing. He stared out of the window, the laugh dying in his throat. He could only hope Abhimanyu didn’t hurt her.