Page 1 of Mrs. Rathore

Prologue

I was in front of the mirror, struggling to recognize myself.

People always praised my beauty, but I had never paid them much mind. My reflection only ever stirred something in me when I danced, when I lost myself in the rhythm of kathak, in the stories I told with each pirouette, each footfall.

But today, I couldn’t even look away.

The saree was ivory silk threaded with gold and hugged my frame with effortless grace. Rhea had insisted on minimal makeup but forced a bold tomato-red lipstick on me. She left my hair loose, waves tumbling around my shoulders, and when I applied a smudge of red powder along my parting, something inside me shifted.

I didn’t just look different.

I looked… married.

“Bhai won’t be able to take his eyes off you,” Rhea teased with a gleam in her eyes.

“I don’t want his appreciation,” I said flatly. “Could you get me a glass of water? It’s time for my medicine.”

“Of course, Bhabhi.” She nodded and left.

I was just pulling my medicine from the drawer when the door opened again and Aryan walked in.

Dressed now, his presence still sucked all the air out of the room. His white shirt clung faintly to his damp skin, and his navy-blue trousers fit with tailored sharpness. Water still glistened in his dark hair, a droplet sliding down the side of his temple. I tried not to look but God help me, I did.

He crossed the room in a few long strides, grabbing his cufflinks, watch, and cologne in silence. I turned away, quietly tucking my medicine back into my purse.

Then I heard him move toward me. His footsteps were sharp, deliberate.

Before I could react, he snatched something off the vanity.

My breath hitched when I saw what it was.

The mangalsutra.

“Don’t you dare take this off again,” he growled.

His hand brushed my neck. Rough. Possessive. He fastened the chain around me with a force that made my pulse spike. My breath caught as his fingers grazed my skin, lingering a moment too long.

It wasn’t a loving touch. But it wasn’t cold, either.

It was fire.

I could smell his skin - woodsy and warm, tinged with something darker and the scent of his aftershave lingered as he hovered behind me.

Then his fingers slipped away.

“There’s your water…” Rhea’s voice cut through the moment.

We both jolted.

She stepped inside, oblivious or maybe pretending to be. Her eyes flicked between us, then she placed the glass on the table. “Mom says to come into the living room in a few minutes. Don’t take too long.”

She left. Aryan didn’t say a word. He walked across the room, slammed the door shut behind her with a bang.

And then he turned to me.

His eyes burned.

He strode forward, his height a shadow over me as he leaned down. There was barely an inch between us. I could feel the heat of him, the restrained fury, the tension, the tightly coiled power.

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