The venue was a masterpiece of opulence, drenched in a warm, golden glow that felt more like a dream than reality.

Every corner hummed with the high-society chatter of business tycoons and A-list celebrities. Outside, the paparazzi were in a frenzy—lenses polished and shutters ready. They were vultures circling a feast, desperate to capture For the first time ever, Vansh and Riddhima were going to appear together in front of the world.

The Singhanias had made their grand entrance, followed closely by the Raichands.

Shaili had invite  to Aryan, but he was reportedly "chained to a boardroom table" and couldn't make it.

And Vihan, was also  buried under the weight of back-to-back surgeries.

Meanwhile, Vansh was a vision of lethal elegance. He wore a jet-black tailored suit over a deep crimson shirt—unbuttoned at the collar, daring and tie-less. A luxury watch hugged his wrist with surgical precision, completing a look that screamed power. He was sharp, dangerous, and utterly captivating.

"Sir, everyone is waiting ," Pranav whispered, approaching Vansh. "We just need you and Madam to make the entrance."

Vansh checked his watch, his jaw tightening. "I’m ready. But where on earth is your 'Madam'?"

"Actually, sir... she’s still at the parlor. You’re expected to pick her up."

Vansh’s eyes flashed with irritation. "What am I? Her chauffeur?"

“I’m sorry, sir,” Pranav said carefully,

“but if you both make a joint entry, it’ll leave a strong impression—business and media, both.”

With a frustrated huff, Vansh conceded. "Fine."

When Vansh arrived at the location, his calls went straight to voicemail. Gritting his teeth, he stormed inside, ready to demand why she was stalling. But the words died in his throat.

There she was.

Riddhima was posing for two photographers, looking less like a bride and more like a goddess of war and beauty. She was draped in a deep, commanding crimson saree—the kind of red that didn't just ask for attention; it demanded absolute surrender.

The fabric clung to her like a second skin, while a long pallu flowed behind her with bold defiance. Her sleeveless, high-neck blouse revealed a daringly open back, accessorized only by her mangalsutra and  Her hair was pulled into a sleek, lethal bun, framing a face defined by sharp, smoky eyes and blood-red lips.

Grace and power wrapped into one woman..

Vansh stood frozen. He had come here to breathe fire, but looking at her, he felt like he’d forgotten how to breathe entirely.

She didn’t look real.

She looked like something pulled straight out of his imagination.

Since when did she look like this?

She was a walking contradiction—was she a brilliant mastermind or a breathtaking siren?

“Get a grip, Vansh,” he scolded himself, taking a stabilizing breath. “She’s the same Ridhima. The one who makes your blood boil.”

Riddhima caught his gaze in the mirror. "Shall we?" she asked coolly.

"After you," he replied, his voice a notch deeper than usual.

As they drove to the venue the car pulled up, the announcer’s voice boomed over the speakers: "Ladies and gentlemen, the moment you’ve been waiting for!

Please welcome the King and Queen of the business world, the ultimate power couple and everyone's favourite Vansh and Riddhima!"

They stepped out, hands entwined in a calculated display of unity. They flashed million-dollar fake smiles for the cameras, playing the part of the doting couple to perfection.

A song followed~ Begum bagair badshah kis kaam ka badshah bagair begum kis kaam ki...

On stage, Ridhima took the mic. She hesitated for a fraction of a second, her grip tightening until her knuckles turned white. Then, she spoke the words she never thought she’d utter: "I am... Mrs. Riddhima Vansh Rai Singhania."

Mamata’s face lit up with a triumphant smirk. The branding was complete.

But Vansh wasn't done. He took the mic, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "And  he announced, "I am Vansh Riddhima Raichand Singhania."

Riddhima just stared her stunned  muttering under her breathe again drama

The room went silent for a heartbeat. Mamata’s smile vanished instantly, replaced by a look of shock. Meanwhile, Ashish, Rajeshwari, and the rest of the inner circle beamed with pride. Vansh had just leveled the playing field.

Please enjoy the party

As they descended from the stage

A reporter stood up.

“Sir, congratulations. You both look perfect together.

One question—are you wearing a chain with Mrs. Riddhima’s name?”

Vansh smiled—a wide, predatory grin. This was the moment he’d been waiting for.

Riddhima noticed the chain then.

RIDDHIMA engraved on it.

“Of course, this was all that was left. How does he even have so much free time?”

"Well," Vansh said, his voice carrying through the hall. "Women wear symbols of marriage to show they are taken. Why shouldn't I? I am also married and I wear her name because I am damn proud to be Riddhima’s husband."

The crowd erupted in applause.

"Checkmate," Vansh whispered in Riddhima’s ear as they moved away.

"I don't get you," she hissed. "What do you gain from all this theatrics?"

"Oh, you’ll find out soon enough," he teased, disappearing into the crowd to mingle.

Riddhima went to Ashish and Rajeshwari.

“How are you, beta?” Ashish asked gently.

She only nodded tightly.

Riddhima wrapped her arms around Rajeshwari and whispered,

“Mom… how are you?”

Rajeshwari pulled back slightly, feigning irritation.

“How I am doesn’t matter to you anymore. When do you even have the time to talk to your mother?”

“I’m sorry, Mom,” Riddhima said softly. “I’ve just been busy.”

“I know. I know,” Rajeshwari replied, her tone easing despite herself. “You’re always busy.”

She lifted her hand and gently cupped Riddhima’s cheek.

Riddhima smiled faintly. “You should come visit me at home .”

Rajeshwari shook her head. “No. I won’t come to your house.”

“Why?” Riddhima asked, confused.

“Because the moment I step into that house,” Rajeshwari said firmly,

“I’ll be known as someone’s daughter-in-law’s mother.”

She met Riddhima’s eyes, pride shining through.

“If I want to meet you, I’ll come to your office. There, I’ll be known as the mother of one of the finest business minds this industry has ever seen.”

She squeezed Riddhima’s hand.

“And I’m proud of you. Always.”

Riddhima’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears as she pulled her mother into a tight embrace once again.

The evening took a sentimental turn when a surprise video began to play. It was archival footage from their childhood. A six-year-old Vansh and a three-year-old Riddhima were playing in a sun-drenched living room.

"You were actually cute back then," Vansh leaned in, whispering. "When did you turn into a witch?"

"The same time you turned into a monster, I suppose," Riddhima shot back without missing a beat.

"Even as a monster, I’m the best-looking man in this room," Vansh smirked.

The video showed a young Vansh flexing his remote-control car skills. Little Riddhima, mesmerized, asked, "Why are your eyes green and mine black?"

Little Vansh tapped her forehead. "Because I eat  green vegetables, silly!"

"If I eat them, will mine turn green too?"

"Of course! Come on, I'll show you."

The footage cut to the kitchen where Vansh handed her a bright green chili. "Eat this, it'll work instantly."

The moment she bit into it, her face turned beet red and she burst into tears. Hearing her voice Ashish, Rajeshwari, Rajveer, Arjun  rushing in—Ashish scooping  crying Riddhima up while Rajeshwari scrambled for water and sweets.  Vansh’s father, Rajveer, growling, "Just wait until your mother, Avantika, hears about this, Vansh!"

As the lights came up, the room was filled with laughter. But Vansh’s playful smirk had vanished. The mention of his mother’s name made his expression crumble, a flicker of raw pain crossing his face before he masked it with embarrassment.

Riddhima was also feeling embarrassment

"Look at them," Kartik joked from the back. "Even as kids, they couldn't go two minutes without trying to destroy each other!"

While the reception hall  roared with music and laughter The music swelled, the beat dropping as guests flooded the dance floor.

Shaili was enjoying the party, but Kartik’s mind was stuck on one thought—why hadn’t Nitya come to the reception?

Music softened.

Lights dimmed just enough to shift the mood—

from celebration to something dangerously intimate.

Vansh stood a little away, talking to guests, when his eyes flicked toward the dance floor.

Couples had started moving.

Soft laughter.

Gentle spins.

And then

his gaze stopped at Riddhima.

She stood near Rajeshwari, calm on the surface, guarded beneath.

Vansh excused himself without a word.

He walked straight to her.

The moment he stopped in front of her, the space between them felt… heavier.

He extended his hand.

Palm open.

Confident.

Unavoidable.

And in a voice low enough for only her to hear, he said—

“Dance.”

Not a request.

Not a command.

Riddhima’s eyes widened.

“What?” she whispered.

He leaned closer, lips barely curving.

“Reception hai, Riddhima,” he murmured.

“Sab dekh rahe hain.”

She glanced around.

Media cameras, Guest, Curious eyes.

Refusing him here would turn into headlines by morning.

She clenched her jaw.

“You planned this,” she accused under her breath. He smirked

Every eye was now on them.

Slowly—reluctantly—

she placed her hand in his.

Gasps rippled.

“For five minutes,” she said through clenched teeth.

“No drama.”

A faint smile tugged at Vansh’s lips.

“Relax,” he murmured.

“I’m very well-behaved… in public.”

On the Dance Floor

The moment he pulled her closer, the world faded.

One hand at her waist.

Firm. Steady.

Her palm rested on his shoulder—hesitant at first, then still.

They began to move.

Shaili was caught in a different kind of noise. Her phone buzzed relentlessly—Aryan. She swiped to answer, but his voice was drowned out by the thumping bass of the party. Desperate for a moment of quiet, she climbed to the second floor, seeking a sanctuary of silence..

"Hello? Aryan?" she muttered, pacing the hallway. The signals were flatlining. She moved further into the dimly lit corridor, her eyes glued to the screen, redialing him like a lifeline.

She was so preoccupied that she didn't see the waiter emerging from the shadows.

CRASH.

A tray of vibrant fruit juices collided with her dress. The cold liquid seeped into the delicate fabric of her designer dress, blooming like a dark, ugly stain.

"Madam! I am so sorry! Please, forgive me!" the waiter stammered, his hands shaking as he grabbed a handful of tissues. He began dabbing at her dress in a panic, but the cheap paper only smeared the stain further, ruining the embroidery.

"Stop, stop!" Shaili groaned, holding up a hand. "It’s okay. It was my fault too. I can clean it myself please tell me  Just... where is the  washroom?"

The waiter pointed a trembling finger toward a row of doors shrouded in near-total darkness. "Down there, Madam. The last door."

Shaili squinted into the gloom. A cold shiver crawled up her spine. "It’s pitch black back there."

"The lights are sensor-activated, Madam," he assured her with a quick bow. "They’ll flicker on as soon as you step inside."

Reluctantly, Shaili nodded and hurried toward the dark room.

The Room of Shadows

She pushed the door open, bracing for the burst of light. Nothing. The room remained a tomb of shadows. Pressed for time and desperate to get back to the party,

Shaili didn't turn back. She clicked on her phone’s flashlight, the narrow beam cutting through the dark as she ducked into the attached washroom.

She scrubbed at her dress, her heart hammering against her ribs for no reason she could name.

Meanwhile downstairs Vansh spun Riddhima —clean, controlled, flawless.

Riddhima turned back to him smoothly, her saree flowing just enough to draw appreciative glances from the crowd.

The audience saw chemistry.

They felt tension.

“You’re holding too lightly,” she whispered.

“It looks fake.”

His eyes flicked to hers, sharp.

“Careful what you wish for.”

He adjusted his grip—still respectful, still distant—but convincing.

Cameras flashed.

Applause followed every turn.

They danced like professionals playing a role neither wanted. “I hope this satisfies your image,” Riddhima said coolly.

“It does,” Vansh replied. “You’re playing your part well.” The music slowed to its end.

They stopped in perfect sync.Applause filled the hall.Vansh released her hand instantly. Riddhima stepped back just as fast.As they walked away in opposite directions, one thing was clear—

They didn’t dance because they wanted to. They danced because they had to.

When shaili finally emerged, her breath hitched. The lights were on.

Sitting on a plush leather sofa across the room was a man in his late forties. He looked like the definition of "polished filth." Two or three empty bourbon bottles littered the glass table in front of him. He held a half-full glass, swirling the amber liquid lazily.

But it was his lustful eyes that made Shaili’s blood run cold. He wasn't just looking at her; he was undressing her with a gaze that felt like slime on her skin. It was a look of pure, unadulterated lust.

Shaili’s grip on her phone tightened until her knuckles turned white. A cold sweat broke out on her forehead. Without a word, hurridely  she spun around and grabbed the door handle.

Click. Click. Thud.

It wouldn't budge. The door was locked from the outside.

She yanked at the handle, her breath coming in ragged gasps, while the man remained seated, watching her struggle like a predator watching a trapped bird. He took a slow, deliberate making creepy look with his tounge sip of his drink, enjoying her terror.

"I... I walked into the wrong room by mistake," Shaili’s voice trembled, her body beginning to shake. "Please. Open the door."

The man didn't answer. He downed the rest of his glass in one go, slammed it onto the table, and stood up. He cracked his neck, his eyes never leaving hers as he began to walk toward her—slow, heavy steps that echoed in the silent room.

Shaili’s eyes widened in horror. She backed away until her spine hit the cold wood of the locked door.

"Stay back! Don't come any closer!" she screamed, her voice breaking. "You don't know me who I am"

He didn't stop. He moved like a man who knew no one could hear her over the music downstairs. Tears blurred her vision, spilling over her cheeks as she let out a piercing cry.

"HELP!  HELP ME!"

He leaned toward her face, closing the distance until she could feel his breath.

The sharp stench of alcohol flooded Shaili’s senses, making her stomach churn.

She turned her face away instinctively, gripping her dress tightly in her trembling hands.

Her pulse raced.

The man stepped closer—too close.

With a sudden jerk, he knocked the phone out of her shaking grip, sending it skidding across the floor.

Shaili could only scream, her voice breaking,

“Give my phone back. Let me go from here… or this won’t end well for you.”

He answered in a low, chilling whisper,

“Shhh.”

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Thank you ♡