His eyes found hers across the distance, and Advika's breath caught.
There was no warmth in that gaze. No joy. Just the same cold assessment she'd seen at the restaurant, like she was a problem to be solved, an asset to be acquired.
She wanted to run. Wanted to gather her heavy skirts and flee into the night, consequences be damned.
But Abhishek's hand was firm on her arm, guiding her forward, and the eyes of three hundred guests tracked her every step. There was nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.
The walk down the aisle felt eternal and far too short all at once. She was aware of everything—the whispers of guests, the flash of cameras (because of course the press was here, documenting the alliance for tomorrow's papers), the oppressive weight of jewels and silk and expectation.
And then she was standing beside Sidharth under the mandap, and Abhishek was placing her hand in his with a smirk before retreating to his seat.
Sidharth's hand was warm, his grip firm but not painful. She couldn't look at him. Couldn't bear to see that indifference up close.
The pandit began the ceremony, his voice rising and falling in Sanskrit shlokas that Advika barely understood. The rituals passed in a blur—the kanyadaan that should have been performed by her father but was done by Abhishek with visible reluctance, the tying of their garments in the gathbandhan, the sacred knot that bound them together.
Her hands trembled as they performed each ritual, guided by the pandit's instructions. Sidharth's movements were precise, mechanical, as if he were signing business documents rather than participating in a sacred ceremony.
Then came the pheras—seven circles around the sacred fire that would seal their marriage.
"Come," Sidharth said, the first word he'd spoken to her directly since she'd arrived at the mandap. His voice was low, controlled, devoid of emotion.
He led her around the agni, their hands still tied together by the gathbandhan. One circle. Two. Three. With each round, the pandit chanted mantras, speaking of promises and duties and eternal bonds.
Four. Five. Six.
Advika's vision blurred. The smoke from the sacred fire stung her eyes, or maybe those were tears. She blinked them back furiously. She wouldn't cry. Not here. Not in front of all these people who were watching her fate being sealed.
Seven circles completed.
They were married now. Bound by sacred vows and witnessed by fire and gods and three hundred guests who couldn't care less about the bride's breaking heart.
The pandit called for the sindoor ceremony—the final seal of marriage.
Sidharth picked up the small container of vermillion powder. His face was impassive as he turned to her, his amber eyes meeting hers for just a moment. In that brief glance, she searched desperately for something—hesitation, regret, even satisfaction. Anything human.
She found nothing.
His fingers were steady as he parted her hair, the touch impersonal despite its intimacy. The sindoor felt heavy as he applied it to her parting, the red powder stark against her skin—a brand marking her as his.
Mrs. Advika Singhania.
The guests erupted in applause and cheers. Flower petals rained down on them, released from somewhere above. Music began playing—celebratory, joyous, utterly at odds with the emptiness Advika felt.
She was married.
To a stranger.
For the rest of her life.
The pandit blessed them, speaking words about happiness and prosperity and children. Advika heard none of it. She was too busy trying to remember how to breathe, how to smile, how to pretend this was anything other than a funeral for the life she'd wanted.
The receiving line was torture. Guest after guest congratulated them, kissed her cheeks, told her how lucky she was. Lucky. As if being sold to secure peace was luck.
Sidharth remained at her side throughout, his hand occasionally resting on her lower back—proprietary and impersonal at once. He accepted congratulations with the same controlled demeanor he'd maintained throughout the ceremony, as if this were just another business deal successfully closed.
Maybe to him, it was.
The reception was held in the mansion's ballroom, another testament to excess and power. Advika smiled until her face hurt, accepted congratulations from people whose names she didn't catch, played the role of the blushing bride.
