Katha's POV
Location: Rathore Mansion, Juhu Time: 9:15 PM
The Rathore Mansion wasn't a home. As the massive iron gates swung open, groaning under their own weight, I realized what it truly was.
It was a fortress.
The black SUV glided through the entrance, and suddenly, the world changed. Outside, the rain was a chaotic, muddy deluge. Inside these gates, the rain looked like liquid gold, illuminated by soft yellow garden lights that lined a driveway longer than my entire street.
And there it stood. A massive white building that loomed over us, silent and imposing. It looked less like a house and more like a palace designed to make everyone standing in its shadow feel small.
The car rolled to a stop at the porch. Immediately, a uniformed driver rushed to open the rear door.
Dhruv stepped out first. He didn't look back. He didn't check if I was following. He simply buttoned his suit jacket and started walking up the marble stairs, his strides long and confident.
I scrambled to grab my plastic bag, stumbling out of the car before the driver could close the door on me. The cold wind slapped my face instantly, cutting through my wet clothes and chilling me to the bone. My salwar kameez clung to my skin, heavy with rainwater and mud.
I ran after him, my bare sandals slapping loudly against the wet concrete, terrified of being left behind in this alien world.
As the massive teak wood doors swung open, my steps faltered.
I stopped.
If the outside was a palace, the inside was a dreamscape. The floor was Italian marble, polished to such a mirror-like shine that I could see my own pathetic reflection in it—a ragged, dripping ghost. Above me, a chandelier the size of a small car hung from the ceiling, its thousands of crystal droplets scattering light like diamonds.
But the grandeur didn't hold my attention for long. The silence did.
Three people stood in the center of the vast hall, waiting. And the tension radiating from them was thick enough to choke on. It was the silence before a storm breaks.
Standing near a velvet armchair was a woman who radiated authority—Rohini Rathore, Dhruv's mother. She looked to be around fifty, draped in a silk saree that shimmered under the lights. A string of pearls rested against her throat, but her face was hard, etched with lines of deep worry.
To her right was a man who looked like a slightly softer version of Dhruv—Arav Rathore. He was tall and broad, but his eyes lacked the terrifying cruelty of his younger brother. He looked tired. Defeated.
And beside him stood a woman who looked like she had stepped out of a fashion magazine. Suhana, the elder daughter-in-law. She was stunning, but her beauty was sharp, like cut glass. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and her foot tapped rhythmically against the floor.
Dhruv stopped in the center of the hall. He peeled off his wet coat and handed it to a servant who materialized out of nowhere.
"She is here?" Rohini's voice echoed off the high ceiling. She didn't look at her son. Her eyes were locked on me.
I shrank back against the doorframe, trying to make myself smaller. My muddy feet were leaving dark, ugly stains on the spotless white floor.
I am a stain, I thought, clutching my plastic bag tighter until my knuckles turned white. Look at them. They are royalty. And I am just the dirt they bought to sweep under the rug.
"Yes," Dhruv replied, his voice clipped. He walked past his family without a greeting, loosened his tie, and collapsed onto a sofa as if he had just finished a tedious business transaction.
Suhana wrinkled her nose, as if a foul smell had just wafted in. She took a few steps toward me, her eyes raking over my drenched form with unmasked disgust.
"Oh my God, Dhruv," she scoffed, her voice high and incredulous. "Where did you pick this up from? She looks like... like a roadside beggar! Look at her, she's covered in mud. This is going to be our 'daughter-in-law'? If the media sees her, they will laugh us out of the city!"
Heat rushed to my face. I bowed my head, trying to hide my muddy feet behind the hem of my salwar.
She's right. I wanted to disappear. I am a beggar compared to them. Uncle sold me, and now I am here to be their joke.
Dhruv didn't react. He didn't defend me. He didn't even look at me with disgust like Suhana did. He just looked at me with a flat, clinical gaze. To him, I wasn't a person being insulted. I was just an object that needed cleaning.
"We had no choice, Suhana," Arav intervened, his voice weary. He looked at me, but I found no pity in his eyes—only helplessness. "We need a 'Mrs. Dhruv Rathore' before tomorrow morning's press conference. No matter who she is."
Mrs. Dhruv Rathore? My head snapped up. What do they mean?
Rohini walked slowly toward me. She stopped inches away, the scent of expensive sandalwood filling my nose. Suddenly, her hand shot out. She grabbed my chin, her fingers digging into my jaw with surprising strength, and forced my face up.
She turned my head side to side, inspecting me like a horse at a market.
"The face is fine," she analyzed coldly. "A little makeup and expensive jewelry will cover the poverty. At least she is... better than her. The one who ran away."
My eyes widened. Ran away?
Rohini let go of my face with a shove. She turned to Dhruv. "Does she know?"
"No," Dhruv said, pouring himself a glass of whiskey from a crystal decanter. "And she doesn't need to know. She just has to do what she is told."
"She needs to know, Dhruv," Arav argued. "If she says something wrong in front of the media, whatever honor we have left will be mixed in the dust."
Arav turned to me. "Listen, girl," he said, his voice grave. "You are here because we have a crisis."
I swallowed hard, my throat dry. "What... what crisis?"
"Dhruv was already married," Arav dropped the bomb. "Three days ago. To Tara."
The ground seemed to slip from beneath my feet. Dhruv... was married?
"But Tara..." Suhana's voice dripped with venom, her eyes flashing with hatred, "didn't leave because she was weak. Oh no. She wanted to destroy us. She ran away last night with her lover... specifically to humiliate us. It was her revenge."
Silence slammed into the room.
I looked at Dhruv. He had squeezed the heavy crystal glass in his hand so hard that his knuckles were white. There was a fire in his eyes—a cold, blue flame that could burn the world down. He wasn't sad about losing love.
He was enraged by the betrayal. His ego had been shattered, and he was looking for something to break in return.
"If this news gets out," Arav continued, "that the newlywed bride of the Rathores ran away three days after the wedding, our stocks will crash. Our reputation will be destroyed. People will say Dhruv Rathore couldn't handle his own wife."
Rohini looked at me again. "That is why we needed you. Overnight. A girl with no name, no existence. We will tell the world that Dhruv never married Tara. You are the one he married. You are the one who was under the veil."
I felt dizzy. The room spun slightly.
I am not just a deal. The realization hit me like a physical blow. I am a lie. I am a curtain they are using to hide their shame.
"You have to take Tara's place," Rohini ordered, her tone brooking no argument. "From tomorrow, you will walk like Tara, dress like Tara, and act like Dhruv's happy wife. In return, you will get a life you couldn't even dream of in that slum."
My heart pounded against my ribs. A lie. They wanted me to live a lie forever.
"And... and if I refuse?"
The words slipped out before I could stop them. My voice was barely a whisper, but in that silent hall, it sounded like a scream.
Dhruv, who had been sitting like a statue, suddenly stood up.
SLAM.
He set the glass down on the table with such force that I jumped. He took two long strides toward me. His shadow fell over me, swallowing me whole.
"Refuse?"
He laughed. It was a dry, terrifying sound that held no humor. "The option to refuse ended the moment your uncle cashed that check. You are mine, Katha. I bought you. If you don't act the part, I will do what I do best—destroy."
He leaned down, his lips brushing my ear. I shivered, paralyzed by fear.
"Those greedy relatives of yours..." he whispered, his voice smooth and lethal. "One phone call, and they will be rotting in jail for fraud. Or maybe... they will just disappear entirely. The choice is yours."
I trembled violently. I looked into his eyes and saw the truth. This wasn't a threat. It was a promise.
He is a monster, I thought, tears stinging my eyes. He doesn't want a wife. He wants a slave to clean up his mess.
"Suhana," Dhruv ordered, stepping back as if my proximity offended him. He looked at me not as a human, but as a project that was behind schedule. "Take her. Get her cleaned up. And by tomorrow morning, she better look like a 'Rathore'."
Suhana rolled her eyes. "Come on, 'Mrs. Rathore'. There is a lot of work to do."
She didn't offer her hand. She just jerked her head toward the grand staircase.
I looked at Dhruv one last time. He had already turned his back on me, typing on his phone. To him, I had ceased to exist the moment the deal was struck.
I gripped my plastic bag—my only connection to who I used to be—and followed Suhana.
With every step up those marble stairs, I felt like I wasn't ascending, but descending. I was walking down into a deep, dark trench.
Tara had ran away because she was free. She had a lover. She had a choice.
But me?
I am a bought doll.
And dolls don't have legs to run.