"Will you marry me?"
Clapping.
"No."
The words shattered the air, leaving only silence echoing in the grand hall.
On the stage—draped in gold, heavy with flowers, chandeliers burning like stars—stood the bride and groom. They stared at each other in that frozen hush. One pair of eyes held disappointment. The other, disbelief.
Today was meant to be flawless. A retired mafia boss's granddaughter marrying the grandson of his oldest friend. A union blessed by wealth, power, and decades of friendship and loyalty.
The hall glowed with extravagance: towering bouquets spilling white roses, crystal chandeliers raining light, velvet drapes framing the stage like a royal theater. Every detail whispered luxury—live strings murmured in the corner, wine glimmered in crystal flutes, a banquet waited under silver domes.
It should have been joy. It should have been history in the making.
But her voice… her voice had slit the celebration's throat.
The groom knelt on the stage, ring trembling in his hand, cold floor biting through his knees. For a moment, he didn't breathe. Didn't blink. The words refused to make sense.
"…What… what did you say?"
The bride didn't flinch. Her face was carved from stone, her voice empty.
"No. I don't want to marry you."
His heart lurched. The room tilted.
Bittu stared at Aisha.
"I want to marry him."
These words, Bittu didn't hear. Didn't process. He clung to the earlier denial like a man dangling from a cliff. He couldn't believe what he heard. She would never do this to him. He must have heard wrong.
She raised her hand and pointed into the crowd. Every head turned. Chairs creaked. Murmurs swelled like a storm.
Who?
Aisha's eyes cut through the whispers.
"Max. Come here."
The hall erupted.
"Isn't Max… Bittu's friend?"
"What the hell happened?"
Max stood. Smiling. Enjoying the heat of every stare as he walked down the aisle. Each step dripped satisfaction—years of jealousy finally ripened to triumph.
Inside, he was laughing.
I told you, Bittu. I told you I'd burn your shadow.
He had fed Aisha lies. Photos forged in venom—Bittu in bed with women he never touched. All for this moment. All for this stage.
Aisha met him halfway. Her fingers laced with his, dragging him into the center light—right beside the man still kneeling. The man who once held her in his dreams like something sacred.
Hope flickered within him—just for a second—then despair and hope and despair like a loop. He thought of all possible reasons and scenarios which will help him clung to the hope that what he heard was not true however before the hope even sparked it died in his chest. He could not find any reason.
Bittu's head hung low, hands slack, the diamond ring limp between his fingers. The shine that once lit his world was nothing but a cold shard now.
'Why? Why? What did I do wrong?'
Anger clawed through the grief choking him. His voice ripped out, raw:
"WHY?!"
He questioned and then came the blade that gutted him, alive.
He lifted his face. Tears clung to his lashes. Pain turned his features into something feral, but he was shocked to see his friend, Max, standing beside his bride.
"Max? What are you doing here?"
"None of your business"
Aisha didn't even look at him. Her gaze stayed soft—on Max. "As for your question? Why? No reason other than my love for him."
The words hollowed him. Stripped him. His love—the love that had shaped his childhood—reduced to dust in a single breath.
His eyes dimmed. His soul burned.
"AISHA! What are you saying?!"
Stefan—the old lion, her grandfather—roared from the crowd, fury snapping chains of restraint. His stride thundered toward the stage, eyes blazing. Behind him, family surged like an angry tide.
"What do you mean?!" His voice cracked like a whip as he faced her.
The hall split into chaos—whispers slithering, tempers hissing. Behind Stefan, Aisha's father's glare could have broken bones. Max's smirk faltered for the first time, fear slicing through his pride.
But Aisha stood tall, cold defiance in her veins.
This is your fault, her thoughts spat. You lied to me. You broke me first. You should have told me the truth instead of what you did.
Meanwhile, Bittu's friends crowded him, voices blurring.
"Bittu, Are you okay?"
"Say something!"
"Stand up, brother."
But he didn't hear. Didn't speak.
He saw only Aisha. Saw her fingers curling around Max like chains. Saw the life he built in his mind collapse in silence.
Loves him… not me.
Something within him broke.
He rose—slow, hollow-eyed. Shoved past the circle of arms trying to hold him. Snatched a bottle of liquor from the bar.
"What is he doing?"
"Alcohol? But he never drinks."
"Bittu—!"
Glass shattered.
"DON'T FOLLOW ME!" His scream was jagged enough to cut skin.
Everyone turned. Saw his tears glint under the chandelier. Saw him stagger, clutching two bottles now, heading for the exit like a man escaping fire—when the fire was in his chest.
Grandfather Stefan froze mid-sentence. Grief softened his rage.
Poor child…
But before he could speak again, the world detonated.
A click.
A glint of steel in Aisha's hand.
Max blinked, confusion curdling into dread.
"Aisha—what the hell are you—"
BANG.
The shot ripped silence apart. Max's skull burst crimson, brains painting the marble.
Gasps strangled the hall. Some screamed. Some just stared. Aisha stood over Max's corpse, smoke curling from the barrel like a question no one could answer.
...
Gulp.
Bittu drained the bottle as he stumbled out of the hotel, ignoring the cries behind him. Tears burned tracks down his face, mixing with the bite of liquor on his lips.
He slid into a waiting taxi. The driver turned, wide-eyed.
"Where to, sir?"
Bittu stared through the window—at hills crouching under a bruised sky.
"Take me… to the hills," he rasped, voice thick with alcohol and ruin.
The engine growled to life. The city lights bled away. And with them, everything that barely kept Bittu alive.