The families separated at the restaurant entrance. Advika watched the Singhanias climb into their luxury vehicles—Sidharth in a sleek black Mercedes, Nisha and Rishabh in a Range Rover. Mihika appeared from the bar, latching onto Nisha's arm and shooting Advika a triumphant smile before they drove away.
"Well," Abhishek said as their own car was brought around, "that was entertaining. She's going to eat you alive, little sister."
"Shut up," Advika muttered.
"He didn't even look at you," Anjana observed with barely concealed glee. "That's going to be your life now. Ignored. Tolerated. You should get used to it."
Advika said nothing. She stared out the window as they drove through the city, her mind replaying every moment of thedinner. Sidharth's cold indifference. Nisha's hostility. Mihika's possessive touch.
This was her future. A family that hated her, a husband who couldn't be bothered to look at her, a beautiful prison she'd never escape.
The illegitimate daughter, finally useful.
She'd never felt so alone.
One Month Later
The wedding day arrived with brutal efficiency.
Advika stared at herself in the mirror, barely recognizing the woman looking back. The bridal lehenga was a masterpiece—deep red silk embroidered with gold thread, the intricate patterns catching the light with every breath. The dupatta was sheer, edged with more gold, draped over her head like a veil. Jewelry adorned her neck, wrists, ears, fingers—all borrowed from Anjana's collection, because God forbid they spend money on actual bridal jewelry for the illegitimate daughter.
Her makeup was flawless, courtesy of the expensive makeup artist Sidharth's team had sent. Dark eyes, red lips, perfectly blushed cheeks. She looked like a bride from a magazine spread.
But her eyes... her eyes were hollow. Dead.
She looked like she was going to a funeral. Her own.
"You look beautiful," the makeup artist said, her voice gentle. She'd been kind throughout the morning, which had almost broken Advika. Kindness was dangerous when you were barely holding yourself together.
"Thank you," Advika whispered.
The wedding was being held at the Singhania Estate, in the massive gardens that had been transformed into something out of a fairytale. Thousands of flowers, twinkling lights strung between trees, a mandap decorated with roses and jasmine. It should have been beautiful.
It felt like a cage dressed in silk.
A knock on the door. "It's time," Abhishek's voice called.
Advika's hands clenched. In a traditional wedding, her father would walk her down the aisle. Would give her away with blessings and tears. But Yash had informed her yesterday that he had "other obligations" and Abhishek would do the honors.
One final insult. One last reminder that she'd never been a real daughter.
She stood on shaking legs, the heavy lehenga weighing her down. The door opened, and Abhishek leaned against the frame, looking her up and down with that familiar mocking smile.
"Ready to be a Singhania?" he asked.
No. Never. I'll never be ready.
But she said, "Let's get this over with."
They walked through the Singhania mansion—and it was a mansion, not just an estate. All marble floors and crystal chandeliers and artwork that probably cost more than her bakery. Everything screamed old money, power, legacy.
Everything she'd never be part of, not really.
The garden was packed. Hundreds of guests, all standing as she appeared at the entrance. Advika recognized some faces from the underworld elite, others from high society. The merge of twoworlds—criminal and legitimate—all here to witness this unholy alliance.
And at the end of the aisle, under the flower-draped mandap, stood Sidharth.
He wore a cream sherwani with gold embroidery that complemented her lehenga. It should have looked ridiculous on him, traditional clothes on a man who screamed modern power. But somehow, he made it work. He looked like a king from another era, dark and dangerous and utterly compelling.
