It began with silence.

Then came the rules.

The morning after their wedding, Aarika sat on the edge of the massive bed, her bridal jewelry now laid in a tangled pile on the dresser. Her eyes were heavy from crying in the dark, but she forced herself to appear calm.

Vihaan entered the room, already dressed in a charcoal-grey suit, every hair in place, a gold watch clasped neatly on his wrist. His face betrayed no emotion. Just cool efficiency.

He didn't look at her, not even once, as he adjusted his cufflinks.

"You'll stop wearing bright colors," he said casually. "Keep your voice low when we're out. No unnecessary smiles to strangers. No long phone calls with friends. And you'll only speak to your parents when I allow it."

Aarika blinked. "Excuse me?"

He turned to her finally, and the look in his eyes made her throat tighten.

"I own you now, Aarika," he said softly, like he was stating a weather forecast. "I fixed your father's mess. That makes you my repayment. So don't make the mistake of believing this marriage is anything more."

She felt her heart lurch.

It had barely been twenty-four hours.

Was this a test? Some twisted way of setting boundaries?

At first, she thought he was joking. Surely, this couldn't be real.

Until the first slap came.

It wasn't dramatic. There were no yelling matches, no flying glass. No theatrics like in the movies.

Just a quiet, calculated blow.

It landed across her cheek like ice. She froze—not from the pain, but from the shock. Vihaan didn't even flinch.

"Don't talk back to me," he had said.

That night, she lay awake as he locked the bedroom door from outside and left her alone.

He didn't return till morning.

And when he did, it was like nothing had happened.

To the world, Vihaan Malhotra was the perfect man.

CEO of Malhotra Corp by twenty-six. Cover model for Forbes India. Philanthropist who donated to orphanages, smiled for cameras, and kissed babies during charity events.

Women admired him. Men respected him. Magazines adored him.

But to Aarika?

He was the nightmare behind her wedding veil. The shadow that crept into her dreams and refused to let her sleep in peace.

He never raised his voice. He never bruised where the world could see. But his rage was cold, methodical, and precise.

Every insult was subtle but sharp. Every humiliation was private yet unforgettable.

He criticized the way she sat, the way she walked, the way she poured tea.

"You're embarrassing. You speak like a servant's daughter."

"You smile too much. It's unattractive."

"You think your parents did you a favor marrying you off to me? They sold you, Aarika. You're just a signed contract."

Each word chipped away at her self-worth until the reflection in the mirror no longer looked like a girl with dreams.

Just a doll on display.

Perfect on the outside. Hollow inside.

She tried to tell her parents once.

She called her mother late one night when Vihaan had gone to Mumbai for work.

"Ma..." her voice trembled, "I'm not okay. Something's wrong. He—"

Before she could finish, the call dropped.

And the next day, Vihaan changed the password to her phone and installed surveillance in the room.

Her mother called once more that week. Vihaan answered.

"She's doing fine, aunty," he said smoothly. "She's just been a little overwhelmed. You know how new brides are."

He kissed the phone with a chuckle, then hung up.

When he turned to Aarika, there was no trace of charm left.

"No more calls," he said.

She never spoke to her family again without him in the room.

No one knew what happened behind those mahogany doors.

No one knew the girl who used to laugh loudly, who used to dance in the rain and dream of building her own art studio, now flinched every time footsteps approached her door.

She was disappearing.

Piece by piece.

Day by day.

She tried writing. She tried praying. She tried escaping into memories of her childhood.

But nothing could free her from this golden cage.

Because Vihaan wasn't a man.

He was a monster in a tailored suit.

And no one saved the princess from the prince.

Not in her story.

Not yet.