Dharini’s POV

I was lying on my bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, wondering what the hell tomorrow was going to do to my life.

How would everything change once the sun rose?

How different would I be when I woke up tomorrow?

And for fuck's sake...

I was actually going to become someone's wife.

The thought itself wasn't frightening.

Marriage wasn't the monster hiding under my bed. It was everything society had attached to that one word that terrified me.

Wife. Such a small word. Yet somehow, it carried the weight of an entire lifetime. A wife was expected to adjust. A wife was expected to understand. A wife was expected to compromise. A wife was expected to leave behind the home where she had grown up and walk into another house with a smile on her face, as if abandoning a part of herself was some beautiful tradition she should be grateful for.

And nobody ever seemed to question how much of herself she was expected to leave behind.

The responsibilities of marriage scared me more than the marriage itself. Because marriage wasn't merely two people deciding to spend their lives together. At least, that was how it was supposed to be.

In reality, for a girl, marriage often came with an invisible contract written long before she even met the man. Be respectful. Adjust. Don't answer back.

Take care of his family.

Learn their ways.

Forget your old habits.

Change your priorities.

Understand your husband.

Protect his reputation.

Protect his family's reputation.

And if you ever became unhappy?

Try harder.

Adjust more.

Because apparently, a woman's ability to endure was considered one of her greatest virtues. If this had been a marriage I had chosen willingly, maybe I could have accepted some of it. Maybe I would have compromised because I wanted to. Maybe I would have changed because I loved someone enough to change.

But there was a difference between sacrifice and surrender. A sacrifice was something you chose. Surrender was something expected of you. And this marriage?

This entire marriage was a compromise before it had even begun. So what the hell was I supposed to do? And as if that wasn't enough, I was becoming the wife of a billionaire.

A billionaire whose family probably had generations of traditions, expectations, rules and invisible boundaries that I wasn't even aware existed.

They would probably expect perfect manners.

Perfect etiquette.

Perfect clothes.

Perfect behaviour.

The graceful smile.

The carefully chosen words.

The ability to walk into a room full of powerful people and behave like I had been born knowing exactly where I belonged.

And I?

I had absolutely none of that. I was just Dharini. I said what I thought. I questioned things. I got angry. I argued. I didn't know how to pretend to be comfortable when I wasn't.

And most importantly...

I didn't know how to quietly accept something simply because someone older, richer, more powerful or more respected told me that it was tradition.

Maybe that's what frightened me the most. Not marriage. Power. The power that came with being someone's wife. Or perhaps more accurately, the power that everyone else believed they suddenly had over me because I had become someone's wife.

Because the moment a woman gets married, society somehow develops an ownership mentality over her life. Before marriage, she is someone's daughter.

After marriage, she becomes someone's wife. Someone's daughter-in-law. Someone's sister-in-law. Someone's mother. Someone's responsibility. Someone's honour. Someone's reputation.

But when, exactly, does she remain simply... herself?

I frowned at the ceiling. Nobody ever seemed to ask that question. A girl was asked whether she liked the boy. Whether she agreed to marry him. Whether she was comfortable with the wedding.

But how often did anyone ask her something else? "Are you ready for the family you're marrying into?" "Do you feel safe around them?" "Do you want their traditions?" "Do you agree with their expectations?" "Are you ready to let these strangers become a part of your everyday life?"

Nobody asked.

Because apparently, once she said yes to the man, she was expected to say yes to everything that came with him.

His parents. His siblings. His traditions. His lifestyle. His expectations. His family politics. His relatives. His definition of respect. His definition of obedience.

And sometimes...

Even his family's definition of what kind of woman she was allowed to be. That was the part of marriage nobody put in the wedding invitation. The groom wasn't the only person a girl married.

Sometimes, she married an entire system. And the worst part?

She was expected to call that system family. A girl's in-laws automatically became her family after marriage.

But did anyone ever stop and ask her whether she was ready to accept them as family?

No. Of course not. Because society had already decided the answer for her. She would adjust. She would learn. She would love them eventually. And if she didn't?

Then there was always the same old word waiting for her. "Adjustment."

Funny.

Nobody ever told the family to adjust. Nobody told the husband to adjust. Nobody told the parents-in-law to understand that this girl had spent twenty, twenty-five or thirty years living according to an entirely different set of values.

But the daughter-in-law? She was supposed to become part of the family overnight. As if a wedding ceremony could erase the emotional distance between strangers.

As if seven rounds around a fire could magically make unfamiliar people feel like home.

And then there was that word everyone loved throwing around— Sanskaar.

A woman's character was measured by how quietly she endured. Her respect was measured by how obedient she was. Her goodness was measured by how much she sacrificed.

And somehow, a woman who questioned things was labelled difficult. A woman who demanded respect was labelled arrogant. A woman who refused to tolerate humiliation was labelled stubborn. A woman who wanted independence was labelled selfish. And a woman who finally walked away from an unhappy marriage?

That woman was often asked the most ridiculous question of all. "Why couldn't you adjust?" Why was adjustment always expected from the woman? Why wasn't compromise a two-way street?

Why did marriage sometimes feel like a negotiation where the woman's freedom was the first thing placed on the table?

I understood that getting married and bringing a daughter-in-law into the family was completely normal in Indian society.

Families were built this way for generations. Traditions were passed down. People found comfort in familiarity. I wasn't against that. I wasn't against families. I wasn't against marriage. I was against the idea that tradition should become an excuse to take away someone's voice. Because tradition was supposed to preserve values. Not preserve inequality.

And then there was the darker side of it. The stories that never remained stories for the women who actually lived them.

Domestic violence. Dowry harassment. Emotional abuse.

Women being forced to stay in marriages because divorce was considered a bigger shame than suffering.

Families protecting their reputation instead of protecting the woman standing in front of them.

And sometimes...

Women dying because someone decided that family honour was more valuable than a human life. My mind suddenly wandered toward all those horrible headlines I'd read.

What if tomorrow's headline read: "Raizada Family Kills Daughter-in-Law for Honour After She Seeks Divorce from Their Son."

My heart suddenly started pounding. I immediately shook my head.

No. No. That couldn't happen.

Their history didn't say anything like that. At least... According to the newspapers.

But what if— "Stop it, Dharini."

I closed my eyes. Why the hell was my brain inventing horror stories at midnight?

Maybe because fear didn't always come from what had happened. Sometimes it came from everything you knew could happen. And I was walking willingly into a family I knew almost nothing about.

A family with money. Influence. Power. Reputation.

And I had no idea what they would expect from me once the cameras disappeared and the wedding celebrations were over. The thought made my stomach twist.

I grabbed my phone and dialled a number before I could change my mind. The call connected after a few rings. A sleepy voice came through the speaker.

"Hello?" His voice was deep and slightly husky from sleep. Sexy.

My brain immediately supplied the thought. I mentally slapped myself. What the hell am I thinking?

I glanced at the time. It was well past midnight. I immediately regretted calling him. His voice came again, this time irritated.

"Shesh , agar tumne aadhi raat ko phone karke kuch nahi kaha, toh main tumhe job se fire kar dunga meri neend disturb karne ke liye."

(Shesh, if you called me at midnight and don't have anything to say, I'll fire you for disturbing my sleep.)

I took a deep breath.

Then his voice changed.

He murmured something, and a moment later his tone became concerned.

"Dhani... it's you? Is waqt? Tum theek ho? Kuch hua hai? Ruko, main aa raha hoon. Bas pandrah minute do mujhe."

(Dhani... it's you? At this hour? Are you okay? Did something happen? Wait, I'm coming. Just give me fifteen minutes.)

I heard sounds in the background—something that sounded like a wardrobe opening.

"Stop!"

The sounds immediately stopped. I swallowed.

"I... I want to know something. That's why I called you. And you don't need to come. I'm okay."

"Hmm. Tell me. What do you want to know?"

I tapped my fingers nervously against the table. "Actually... I wanted to know something about your... your family."

There was a pause. "Hmm."

I took a deep breath. "Why... what happened to your first... sis—umm, I mean your brother's first wife?"

My voice became quieter.

"I mean... what did your family do to her?"

The question left my mouth, and suddenly the room felt much quieter. For several seconds, he said nothing.

"Hello?"

"Hmm."

His voice was suddenly cold. "Tumhe yeh jaanne ki zarurat nahi hai. Iska tumse koi lena-dena nahi hai."

(You don't need to know this. It has nothing to do with you.)

I immediately frowned.

"It is."

I tightened my grip around the phone.

"Main tumhare Ghar ki bahu banne wali hoon. Haan, fake wali... but still. Mujhe jaana hai."

(I'm going to become your house daughter-in-law. Yes, a fake one... but still. I want to know.)

I took a breath.

"Aur mujhe yeh bhi jaana hai ki agar maine tumhari ya tumhare family ki koi baat nahi maani, toh tum log kis had tak jaa sakte ho."

(And I also want to know how far you and your family can go if I don't obey something you or your family tell me.)

Silence.

A few seconds passed before he finally spoke.

"Tumhe kya lagta hai... hum kis had tak jaayenge?"

(What do you think... how far would we go?)

"No."

My voice hardened.

"Tumhe mere thoughts nahi jaanne. Bas mere questions ka answer do."

(No. You don't need to know my thoughts. Just answer my questions.)

His voice remained calm.

"Pehle tum batao. Tumhe kya lagta hai?"

(First you tell me. What do you think?)

I swallowed.

"So you really want to know?"

"Hmm."

I closed my eyes.

"You and your family are influential people."

I paused.

"For people like you, killing an ordinary girl probably isn't that difficult."

My voice trembled slightly, but I forced myself to continue.

"So... yeah."

I opened my eyes.

"I think you could kill me for your so-called honour if I disobeyed you."

There was complete silence on the other end.

And strangely, that silence frightened me more than an angry response would have.

Then, instead of answering my question, he asked something completely different.

"Sach-sach batao. Tumne dinner nahi kiya na?"

(Tell me honestly. You didn't have dinner, did you?)

I clenched my jaw.

"What?"

His voice became firm.

"Main tumhare liye khana order kar raha hoon. Khaana khaao aur so jao. Apne chhote se pea-sized brain ko itna mat daudao."

(I'm ordering food for you. Eat and go to sleep. Don't overwork that tiny pea-sized brain of yours.)

My jaw tightened even more.

"What the hell do you think you are?"

I was getting irritated now.

"And answer my question first! Don't change the subject."

"We'll talk about it later."

I opened my mouth to argue, but he continued before I could.

"Aur haan, khana kuch hi der mein aa jayega. Le lena."

(And yes, the food will arrive in a few minutes. Take it.)

Then his tone softened slightly.

"And... thank you for signing the contract, my soon-to-be wife."

I rolled my eyes.

"Okay, I'm hanging up. Go sleep peacefully and get your beauty sleep."

I paused.

"Tomorrow is our wedding, and let me sleep too. Otherwise, I'll look like a polar bear with dark circles under my eyes."

I was about to say something else when he added teasingly,

"And I want to look perfect at my wedding, you know... so that I can stand beside you and actually look worthy of you."

I froze for half a second.

Before I could respond, the doorbell suddenly rang.

He immediately said,

"Go. Take the food and eat."

Then, with a teasing softness in his voice, he added,

"Good night, Dhani."

A pause.

"Dream about me."

And before I could respond, the call ended.

I stared at my phone.

For a few seconds, I remained completely silent.

Then I whispered,

"Unbelievable."

Tomorrow was my wedding.

Tomorrow, society would officially give me a new identity.

Tomorrow, people would look at me and see someone's wife before they saw Dharini.

And perhaps that was what frightened me most.

Not becoming a wife.

Not changing my surname.

Not entering a new house.

But the possibility that somewhere along the way, everyone might forget that before I became someone's wife...

I was a person.

A person with a voice.

A person with choices.

A person with boundaries.

A person who deserved to be respected even when she disagreed.

A person who could love without surrendering herself.

A person who could compromise without being broken.

And if marriage meant losing that person...

Then I didn't know whether I was walking toward a new beginning tomorrow—

or walking toward the slow disappearance of myself.

I looked at the ceiling again.

Tomorrow was my wedding.

And somehow, the man I was marrying was already driving me crazy.

But beneath all the sarcasm, irritation and nervousness, one thought refused to leave my mind.

Maybe the real question wasn't whether I was ready to become someone's wife.

Maybe it was whether the world was ready to accept that a wife could still belong to herself.

The phone rang when it was almost midnight.

Kartavya's Pov

I picked it up without even looking at the screen.

At this hour, it was usually Shesh calling me. If something serious happened in the underworld, especially something that needed my immediate attention, he knew better than to wait until morning.

"Speak up, Shesh. Quickly."

There was no response.

I frowned.

"Shesh?"

Still nothing.

Then I heard it.

A soft, slightly nervous breath.

I knew that voice.

I could recognize it anywhere.

My eyes widened.

"Dhani?"

I immediately looked at the screen.

Oh, goodness.

It was my squirrel.

"Dhani..." I said again, this time softer.

She didn't answer.

And within seconds, a hundred possibilities flashed through my mind.

Was she in danger?

Had something happened to her?

Was someone bothering her?

Did she need my help?

My body reacted before my mind could catch up.

"I'm coming."

I immediately got out of bed and started looking for something to wear.

"Stop..."

Her voice came through the phone.

My hands froze.

Just one word.

One simple command from her, and I had stopped without even thinking.

I stared at the phone for a moment.

Since when do I follow anyone's orders this easily?

Apparently, since her.

She told me there was no need for me to come.

She just wanted to know something about my family.

I frowned.

"Hmm. Tell me."

Then she asked about my brother's first wife.

My hands clenched.

Of all the questions she could have asked tonight...

That one.

I knew someday I'd have to tell her the truth. I had always known that.

But not tonight.

Not when she was already nervous about tomorrow.

And perhaps she'd been searching the internet, digging through whatever information she could find about my family and frightening herself with every possibility.

So I told her she didn't need to know.

But the words came out colder and harsher than I intended.

I hadn't meant to sound like that.

I heard the determination in her voice when she insisted that she wanted to know.

Stubborn girl.

For a moment, I wondered if my tone had frightened her.

But no.

Of course not.

She went straight to the point.

She wanted to know exactly how far my family would go if she disobeyed us.

I stayed silent.

Then I asked her what she thought.

I wanted to know what was going on inside that little head of hers.

And then she said it.

The one thing that could make my blood boil instantly.

She believed that my family could kill her in the name of honour.

I didn't respond immediately.

I just listened.

But inside, anger surged through me.

How could she possibly think that?

If someone else had said those words about my family, I wouldn't have tolerated it for even a second.

And yet, with her...

I couldn't get angry.

Not really.

Because beneath the anger was something much stronger.

Fear.

The thought that she genuinely believed she could be harmed by me or my family unsettled me more than I wanted to admit.

Why does this girl get under my skin so easily?

Every time she said something that irritated me, I wondered whether she did it deliberately.

Was she trying to push my buttons?

Trying to make me lose my temper?

Trying to find a reason to walk away from this marriage?

Maybe she wanted me to become the villain so she could convince herself that saying no was the right thing.

But how could she think I would ever hurt her?

A bitter little voice inside my head answered immediately.

Because you can be ruthless enough to hurt anyone.

I went silent for a moment.

Then I muttered under my breath,

"Anyone... except her."

"What?"

She had heard me.

I quickly cleared my throat.

"Nothing."

I changed the subject.

"You didn't have dinner, did you?"

I already knew the answer.

Whenever she skipped dinner, she wouldn't sleep properly. Then her mind would start working overtime, creating one disaster after another inside that beautiful head of hers.

She stayed silent.

I sighed.

"I'm ordering food. Eat it and sleep."

I tried to divert her attention.

She caught me.

Of course she did.

She was stubborn, but she wasn't foolish.

She brought the conversation right back to the same question.

I wanted to tell her.

God, I wanted to tell her everything.

I wanted to explain what had happened to my brother's first wife, what my family had gone through, and why certain things were the way they were.

But tonight wasn't the right time.

Not over a phone call.

Not when tomorrow was already going to change her entire life.

Then the doorbell rang.

I knew exactly who it was.

I needed to end the call before the conversation circled back to that subject again.

"Go take the food when it arrives."

She was about to say something.

I smiled faintly.

"And thank you for signing the contract, my soon-to-be wife."

I couldn't resist teasing her.

Her reaction was exactly what I expected.

I ended the call before she could launch another argument at me.

For a few seconds, I simply stared at the phone.

Then I placed it beside me.

I should have gone back to sleep.

Instead, I found myself thinking about her.

Her voice.

Her stubbornness.

Her questions.

Her fears.

The way she trusted me enough to call at midnight, even while being afraid of what my family might do.

She had no idea how much that one phone call had affected me.

Tomorrow, she would become my wife.

Even if the world believed it was only a contract...

I knew my feelings had already stopped being contractual a long time ago.

Eventually, I closed my eyes.

And when sleep finally came...

I dreamed about her.