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Had this been the old Raichand house, I would have rushed to my reserved room and got showered but since this home is new and I have no effing clue which room is allotted to me until I get married to Mohit and shift to his bedroom permanently, I decide to wait for Daadi and Mohit to show up. The driver has gone to call them which means it won’t be long. The moment they would know I am here; they would come running.

Dropping my handbag and coat on the couch, I stroll around to check the artistic paintings on the wall. I have had a special liking for art since my childhood. Even my home in London is full of such artistic monuments and crafts. Just then my gaze shifts to the huge painting of a woman on the wall beside. She’s beautiful, innocent and despite a smiling face, there’s so much pain in her eyes that I could tell is true. Suddenly I recall I have seen this woman somewhere, in some pictures.Where?

In the next five seconds, I remember, and realization dawns on me. She is Geeta Raichand, the mother of Aarav Raichand and the woman who was never accepted as a daughter-in-law of the Raichand family. Why will Daadi hang her picture in the house? She hates her and Aarav. I don’t understand. And whilst my eyes are still glued to the portrait, I see his reflection in the picture.

Aarav Raichand is standing right behind me.

Is that really him? How? How can he be here? The Raichands have forbidden him from every tag and property, so what is he doing in their house? Or is it that I am in his? Damn!! I had seen the board of ‘Raichands’and assumed that the driver and car were for me. Maybe Aarav was expecting some other guest from the Airport and his driver brought me instead. Now I know why this entire setup seems awkward. The thought of being in Aarav Raichand’s mansion throws me off-balance. I turn around, as calmly as possible, framing words in my head which he might believe. I have heard a lot about him and nothing very pleasing enough so far. He’s a man whose name is at the top in charitable trusts of this country, but he’s had temper issues, a lot of them recently. He had allegedly punched a reporter, and that didn’t go well with the media who didn’t leave a chance to tarnish his image. But his self-earned money, power, and influence took care of the situation.

Now as I turn back, I take in this strong built-up man standing before me in a tailored grey suit, with both hands in his pant pockets, challenging me to finally meet his eyes. He’s a stark resemblance to his father, a bit more handsome than the latter, but he has his mother’s eyes. Now that I have seen the portrait of his mother from so close, I can say that easily. His well-defined chiseled jawline and the two-day-old stubble does enough justice to the heated look he has on his face right now.

I recall this famous dialogue that Mohit keeps telling me always.

Aarav Raichand is fire. You want to burn him, you burn too.

It is obvious Mohit hates him too and despite being stepbrothers, I don’t see any similarity in them.

“Welcome home, Jhanvi Sikhand.”

His voice!! Damn Hell!! Why am I so nervous? He won’t eat me up for mistakenly coming into his mansion, will he? But why did he say‘Welcome home?’Was he expecting me here? How? I don’t ponder over that topic and instead, apologize.

“I am sorry, I… I thought that the car you sent was for me. I mean.. I thought Mohit..”

“Isent that car foryou,” he interrupts, emphasizing on‘I’and‘You.’

He did?

“Why?” I don’t hesitate to ask.

A devilish smirk cracks on his face, which is too dangerous for me to dissect. He takes just three steps to reach me, and I already feel overcrowded. This man has such a powerful dominant aura that it can weaken any confident person the very instant he is around. Aarav takes out something from his pocket, which I assume is a platinum bracelet with diamonds at the center.

“I wanted to gift the would-be wife.”

I haven’t even finished analyzing what that means when he grabs my cold hand and makes me wear the bracelet. He’s burning. Heat radiates off him like he’s a scorching sun. I literally choke when he presses that bracelet on my wrist such that it’s locked and there’s no way I can take it off. I shrug off from his hold, taking a step back and trying to remove the bracelet.

“I can’t take this from you.”

Since Mohit and Daadi hate him, I don’t want to upset them by accepting this gift, but damn hell!! The bracelet is like a puzzle. I can’t take it out and all my attempts are futile.

Why the hell is it not coming off? Aarav watches my petty efforts with the same devilish grin on his face. I stop.

“Take this off. Now. Please. I don’t want to accept gifts from you.”

“It’s a tradition, Jhanvi.”

Tradition?

“What tradition?”

“A tradition where the would-be husband gifts the most precious jewel of the family to his would-be wife.”

His reply baffles me.

“Would-be husband?” I scoff. “I am marrying -”

“Aarav Raichand,” he declares. “You are marrying Aarav Raichand in a week, Jhanvi Sikand, and that’s me.”

Damn hell!

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