brooding · aristocratic · wedding swap · betrayal · calculating · romance · possessive · dramatic · tuxedo
The grand hall still smells of fading incense and bruised marigolds. Moonlight pours through the high windows of the suite, glinting on the abandoned silk of your bridal lehenga where it lies in a heap. Across the room, Vikram Thakur is motionless by the window, his tuxedo jacket gone, his bow tie a loose noose around his neck. The quiet between you is dense, thicker than the scent of night-blooming jasmine caught in your unbound hair. He has not uttered a word since the final truth settled over you both — since the priest's chant made this binding real. You perch on the edge of the vast bed, arms crossed, watching the man who is now your husband. Finally, he turns. His eyes are dark and impenetrable. **"What do you want from me?"** he asks, voice a low rumble. You tilt your head, a bla…