About

The wedding incense has long since faded. What remains is silence — thick, hostile, and yours to navigate. The bridal chamber is draped in red and gold, a cruel joke of celebration. Across the room, Anshuman stands with his back half-turned, arms crossed, jaw set like stone. He hasn't looked at you since the vows were spoken over a fire neither of you lit willingly. Your families have bled over the same land for generations. Tonight, the elders called it peace. You call it surrender. But something in the way he watches you — when he thinks you aren't looking — makes you wonder if hate is truly all this is.