Destined – A Marriage of Convenience Love Story: Chapter 1

This entry is part 2 of 2 in the series Destined: A Marriage of Convenience

Destined: A Marriage of Convenience and not Love: Blurb
Destined – A Marriage of Convenience Love Story: Chapter 1

Destined – A Marriage of Convenience Romance

A Marriage of Convenience Love Story Set in Kolkata

Destined: A Marriage of Convenience Love Story – Chapter 1

Mehek

I was in a garden, my fingers threaded with someone else’s. The air felt soft, almost glowing, like those slow-motion scenes in old romantic films. Dew clung to the grass, and somewhere nearby a breeze stirred the flowers.

His hand was warm around mine. Solid. Real enough that my skin tingled where our palms touched. I ran my thumb slowly across the back of his hand, and goosebumps rippled along my arms.

I wanted to see his face. God, I wanted to. I tilted my head, trying to look up at him, but somehow the sunlight fell just wrong, the branches shifted, the moment blurred, and his face stayed hidden.

Still, my heart did that strange little flutter. Just the fact that I was with someone was nothing less than a miracle.

Love. I had always dreamt about the word, yet here I was feeling the very emotion so close.

“Baccha, we will get late. Get up now. It’s already seven a.m.”

The voice cut straight through me. My fingers tightened instinctively, but the hand was gone. Just like that. The mist cleared and I was alone and cold. The warmth was gone.

I frowned, my eyes still shut, trying to find him again, hold him again.

“Mehek…”

The voice, again. This time sharp and clear. It hovered somewhere between sleep and reality, but I knew it instantly. I recognized it. Maa. It was my mother.

The garden dissolved like a canvas that unpainted itself, like I was going back in time. The warmth disappeared. The faceless man vanished like mist.

Dream. It was a dream. A broken one. I stifled a yawn, burying my face deeper into the pillow, hoping… just hoping sleep might drag me back there. I need to see his face. I really need to.

“Baccha, get up,” Maa said again, this time closer, her voice ringing in my ears.

Clearly she wasn’t going anywhere. With great reluctance, I cracked one eye open, and she was there, wearing a white and red saree, glowing early in the morning. Her hair was wrapped in a thin white towel, and she held a diya that she kept in a small mandir I had in my room. Then she returned to me and smiled at me while I glared at her.

“Late for what, Maa?” My voice came out thick with sleep. “You broke my dream.”

She didn’t even look guilty. She just chuckled and shook her head.

“Get up first. I will tell you.” She folded her arms, unimpressed by my suffering. “Reality is better than dreams. Dreams hold you back. Reality takes you forward.”

I groaned and pushed myself upright.

Dreams never held anyone back. Fear did. Dreams were the part where you imagined something bigger, something different. They were the moment you stood at the edge of a cliff and wondered what would happen if you jumped.

Some people jumped. Some people stepped back.

And the ones who stepped back… they stayed exactly where they were. Slowly, quietly resenting the life they had chosen.

Dreams weren’t the problem. The lack of courage was. But Maa would never understand that.

She had once been a classical dancer. And it wasn’t just a hobby. She did stage shows. I knew the story too well. Then she married Baba, and her life changed. He hated the idea of her traveling for her shows, so he decided she shouldn’t dance anymore.

And she stopped. Just like that. She couldn’t make him understand, she couldn’t make him see her dreams. She simply stepped back, readily accepting his decision.

The ghungroos disappeared. The stage lights vanished. And though Maa never complained, something in her eyes had dimmed after that. A small quiet light that never quite returned.

How did I know that? Mashima told me. She didn’t like when her sister left dancing forever. She resented my dad for that.

My mother had chosen compromise. For the family. For her marriage to work because my Baba made all the decisions. As happened in all families. I knew how all of this worked, and it scared me. For myself, for my future, because if I found someone like my father… then I was doomed. Just the thought of that terrified the hell out of me. But I could do nothing to change that. I could only pray for a different future, a progressive future.

I sighed, letting it go. Rubbing my eyes, I forced them fully open. My gaze wandered lazily across my room until something on the shelf beside my bed caught my attention.

The book. My latest obsession. I had stayed up until two last night reading it, curled under the blanket with a torch like a guilty criminal. It was a romance novel set in London.

My fingers itched to grab it. The story had reached the best part. Anne and Luther were finally getting married, and Luther… perfect, impossible Luther, was planning her dream wedding.

I leaned slightly toward the shelf, hoping to read a chapter before I start with my day.

“No books right now, baccha,” Maa said immediately, as if she had radar for these things. “There is a lot to do.”

A lot to do? For what?

I pulled the covers tighter around myself as a cold gust swept through the room. Maa had opened the windows. The chilly mid-November air slipped under my blanket and bit straight into my skin. I shivered.

I had worn a thin cotton nightdress to sleep, and Kolkata had suddenly decided to flirt with winter over the last two days.

“Maa,” I muttered, wrapping my arms around myself, “why do you open the windows so early?”

She moved to the curtains, tying them neatly to the side.

“Fresh air is good for the house.”

Of course it was.

Maa loved fresh air, sunlight, open windows, and breezes wandering freely through the rooms.

I, on the other hand, preferred my room warm, cozy, and slightly cocooned, like the world outside could stay exactly where it was while I remained under my blanket with my book.

Pulling my hands out from under the covers, I folded them together in a small prayer and bowed my head. My eyes slipped shut as I whispered a quick prayer to Lord Ganesha and Shiv Shakti, my favorite divine couple, along with every other God I could remember.

First came the apology. That was a daily ritual. Forgiveness for whatever mistakes I had made knowingly or unknowingly the previous day. Then I asked the higher consciousness to keep my family safe, healthy, and happy.

After that came my turn.

But I never really prayed for myself. I imagined instead.

The eternal love story of Lord Shiva and Mata Shakti drifted through my mind like it always did in the mornings. I liked starting my day with their story. It felt positive, auspicious, like sending the right kind of energy into the universe.

Manifestation.

I wanted someone like him. Someone strong and steady. Someone mature enough to understand me. Someone who would love me, take care of me, and still let me keep my wings. Someone who would not clip them, but help me fly higher.

I had dreams. Too many of them. And I wanted a partner who would stand beside me while I chased them.

Let Maa Durga hear me clearly. I wanted love. Not a marriage where two people simply lived together like polite strangers. I wanted the kind of love that filled a room.

Love was all I had ever read about anyway. Romance after romance, one after the other, thanks to the tiny library near our house that had unknowingly shaped half my expectations from life.

A soft smile crept across my lips as I remembered one of my favorite stories from the marriage of Shiv and Shakti. It was such a small moment, yet so full of quiet affection that it had stayed with me ever since I saw it.

Lord Shiva, the divine groom himself, had sat down to eat during the wedding festivities at Mata Parvati’s house. The family had prepared an enormous feast for the wedding procession. Pots and bowls filled with food lined the room.

But Lord Shiva simply kept eating. Plate after plate. Bowl after bowl. The entire feast disappeared. The hosts began to panic. Faces turned pale. Whispers spread around the room. Had they not prepared enough for the great Lord himself?

And then Mata Parvati stepped forward. Calm. Graceful. Completely unbothered by the growing chaos. She picked up a small morsel of food and gently fed it to him with her own hands.

That was all it took.

In the next moment, the miracle happened. Every dish that Lord Shiva had finished slowly refilled itself. The bowls that had been emptied were once again overflowing with food.

The entire room stared in stunned silence.

Only the two of them looked peaceful, as if nothing extraordinary had happened.

I had seen this scene in one of the television shows about Lord Shiva years ago, and it had stayed with me ever since. It felt like romance in its sweetest form.

No kissing required. No dramatic declarations. No grand gestures.

Just one quiet action that only the two of them truly understood.

A small message meant only for your better half.

What more could anyone want in life?

My smile widened a little as my imagination wandered where it always did.

I wanted to walk in a garden with my future husband, my fingers tucked into his hand just like in the dream I had been pulled out of earlier.

Maybe we would watch a movie together one evening, with me curled comfortably into his arms while he pretended to pay attention to the film.

Or we could go out for dinner somewhere nice, sitting across from each other while he smiled and fed me the first bite from his plate.

Simple things. But to me, they felt like the most beautiful parts of love.

My dad was pretty strict, which meant I had never really had a guy friend. The closest I had ever come to one was Meesha’s brother. Sometimes when Meesha and I sat in their living room chatting and Supreet walked in or joined the conversation, my breath always hitched for a second.

Meesha and I had grown up together. Same school, same college, same classrooms, same teachers. We were always side by side. Because of that, we never really felt the need to make a big friend circle.

Eventually it had shrunk down to just the two of us.

“Mehek, suprobhat, baccha, get up. Today is a big day.”

I smiled one last time, still feeling those warm, positive vibrations floating through my body. Bringing my hands to my face, I rubbed them gently over my cheeks and eyes, like I always did after praying. It was something I believed in strongly. The energy from prayer should travel through the body.

Once I felt properly awake and energized, I opened my eyes and looked at Maa.

Without warning, I lunged forward and wrapped my arms around her.

She squealed in surprise, but then laughed and patted my arm.

“Suprobhat, Maa,” I said, squeezing her tightly before finally letting her breathe.

“What is so special today?” I asked as I crawled toward the edge of the bed and planted my feet on the cool floor.

Following my usual morning ritual, I grabbed my blanket and tossed it over the back of a nearby chair by the window.

Maa had moved to the balcony area and was sitting on the white marble ledge built under the window. But instead of replying immediately, she stayed quiet.

Very quiet.

She looked troubled.

My brows furrowed as I turned back to my bed and began pulling the bedsheet loose from the mattress. I lifted it high into the air and gave it a strong shake.

A faint cloud of dust rose up and floated toward the sunlight streaming through the window.

I shook it again.

And again.

The cloth billowed around me like a sail before settling down.

Something was definitely up with my mother.

When you live with someone your entire life, and spend nine months in their womb before that, you learn their expressions very well. Every small shift in their face. Every pause in their speech.

Right now Maa looked like she wanted to say something but was hesitating.

Probably worried about my reaction.

A grin slowly spread across my face.

Seeing the always confident Indu Bagchi looking nervous was surprisingly entertaining.

Leaving her alone with her thoughts for a few more minutes, I set the bedsheet aside along with the pillows and walked over to my cupboard. From the bottom shelf I pulled out the small cleaning brush I used every morning.

Returning to the bed, I began brushing the mattress carefully. Long strokes. One corner. Then the other. Across the center. I worked methodically, making sure no dust, stray thread, or hair was left behind before making the bed again.

Once that was done, I grabbed the blanket from the chair and gave it a few strong shakes before folding it neatly. I placed it back on the bed and adjusted the corners.

Finally I picked up the pillows and thumped them a few times until they looked properly plump again.

Only then did I walk over to Maa.

She was still sitting there, staring at nothing in particular.

I sat down beside her and nudged her lightly with my shoulder.

“Tell me,” I said, looking at her sideways. “What happened?”

We had a small sitting area by the window, and I did most of my freelancing work there. A long wooden desk stood against the wall, just beside the window, with my notebooks, thread spools, and tiny boxes of beads neatly arranged across it.

From that spot I had the perfect view of the temple right across the street.

The temple was never quiet. Devotees came all day long for darshan, ringing the bell at the entrance before stepping inside. Their voices floated up to our balcony along with the faint sound of bhajans and the rustle of people moving in and out.

Evenings were the busiest. The chatter grew louder, the bells rang more often, and the whole street felt alive.

Strangely, I loved it.

The chaos soothed me. While people talked and moved outside, I sat by the window with my threads and beads, letting my mind wander while my hands created something new.

“I have something to share, Mehek,” Maa said quietly. “And you won’t like it.”

“What is it, Maa?” I frowned, but a sudden heaviness settled in my stomach. Only one thought rushed to the front of my mind. “Baba said no for my trip?”

“No, Priyo. I mean…” she hesitated, twisting the end of her saree pallu between her fingers. “Baba is occupied, so we need to discuss that.”

“What discussion?” I straightened immediately. “My bookings are done, Maa. You cannot do that at the last moment.”

“Your Baba did something and…”

“What?” I asked, my voice rising before I could stop it as I cut her off.

Now I was fully alert.

Because one thing was very clear. I could never argue with Baba directly. The moment he spoke, the conversation ended. Maa usually stood beside him too, not really against me.

After all, Baba had been her first love.

I had arrived later.

If Baba had “done something,” then it was serious.

Oh no. What had he done now?

My Baba, Bhaskor Bagchi, was a respected professor by profession. But the Bagchi name was known for something else too. Our family owned several gold showrooms across Kolkata, and that reputation mattered a great deal to him.

Baba guarded the Bagchi name like it was a sacred treasure.

Which was exactly why he had never wanted me to work outside.

According to him, Bagchi women did not go out to work.

They simply did not work at all.

But I had wanted to. Desperately. I had argued, pleaded, and finally promised him that I would never do anything that could embarrass the family name.

After weeks of discussions, he had finally agreed.

His solution was simple. If I wanted to work, I could work within the family. So he placed me under my Kaku, my father’s elder brother, Amitava Bagchi, who managed most of the business operations.

Meesha always thought I had the easiest job in the world. If only she knew Amitava Bagchi. My Kaku believed in discipline the way saints believed in prayer. Work started at eight in the morning sharp. Not eight-oh-five. Not eight-ten. Eight.

I worked there until late morning, finishing my tasks before lunch. After that I returned home and spent the rest of the day on my freelancing projects.

My dream label. Anouki.

I specialized in thread jewelry. Intricate earrings, necklaces, and bangles made from colorful threads twisted into delicate designs. Slowly, orders had started coming in from different parts of the city.

Every time I packed one of my pieces, my heart swelled with pride.

“Baccha, he has called the Chatterjee family today for dinner.”

Maa’s words snapped me out of my thoughts.

I blinked and looked at her.

The Chatterjee family?

I frowned, trying to place the name. I did not know any Chatterjees personally. Maybe they were distant relatives I had never met. Or perhaps some new business associates of Kaku’s.

Still, I usually knew most of our clients.

“Which family?” I asked slowly. “Do I know them?”

Maa looked at me for a long moment before answering.

“Mehek,” she said softly, “your Baba has chosen the groom for you.”

“What?”

The word burst out of me before I could stop it. I shot up from the marble seating so quickly my knee hit the edge of the ledge.

“What are you saying, Maa?” I asked again, staring at her as if she had suddenly started speaking a different language.

“You are twenty-one,” she said quietly, still not meeting my eyes.

Her fingers kept twisting the end of her saree pallu. It was her usual sign when she felt helpless. Not that she could do much even if she wanted to. Bagchi women did not argue. They rarely even raised their voices.

My eyes burned instantly.

Just last night, when I had gone to sleep, all I had thought about was my trip.

My first solo trip.

Baba had agreed after days of convincing. A rare miracle. When he finally said yes, I had jumped on my bed like a lunatic, squealing with happiness until Maa had marched into the room and pulled me down with a sharp glare.

“Mehek…”

“So?” I cut her off, my voice sharp. “Just twenty-one. Not thirty-one or forty-one, Maa. I’m just twenty-one.”

“It is good for a girl to marry at the right time,” she said softly. “And the Chatterjees own a diamond business. The boy… he has his own business too. Something related to computers. He earns well. Very respected family, Baccha. Reputed family, you won’t find a family like this again. We need to seize the opportunity.”

“No. This is too soon.”

She sighed. “Things happen because Maa Durga wants them to happen. No point in crying and throwing a fit over it, Baccha. Maa Durga wants you to get married, start your own life, have kids. She has plans for you.”

She didn’t. You guys did, but I didn’t tell her that.

Last night when I slept, I was the happiest person on earth. And now… how could life flip in one night. The guy in my dreams… he didn’t even have a face yet… and now it was all over.

My face fell and tears stung my eyes. They had not even shown me his photograph. They had not asked me a single question before arranging this meeting. Everything had been decided already and then casually dropped in my lap at the last moment.

So what exactly was I supposed to do now?

It was not like I was the kind of girl who would pack a bag and run away from home. I could not throw dramatic tantrums either. That kind of rebellion simply did not exist in me.

And even if I did rebel, nothing would change. My father wouldn’t entertain my arguments. He would simply brush them off.

But this still felt wrong. And Maa knew it. She knew I had dreams, I had plans for Anouki.

And my trip… I was so excited for it. No… nothing could happen to that plan. I won’t let any guy cancel it.

“Next month I am going to Panchgani,” I said, forcing my voice to stay firm. “Nothing changes that, Maa. Baba already gave me permission.”

“I know,” she replied gently. “But see, trips and roaming can wait. This is far more important.”

“It’s not roaming,” I said quickly. My fingers tightened around the edge of my dupatta. “I love that artwork and the woman who makes it lives in Panchgani. She invited me there. She said she will teach me how to do it. I cannot miss that.”

“You can take permission from Abhoy later.”

“What?” I blinked at her. “Who?”

“Now there is no time to argue about this, Mehek,” she said, her voice suddenly brisk as if the decision had already been sealed. “Get ready, then go to the mandir and take Maa Durga’s blessings. Today is an auspicious day for us. You are our only child and we want the best for you.”

“Who Abhoy?” I asked again, slower this time.

“Your future husband, Priyo.”

My mouth opened but no words came out. She was serious. I nodded slowly. But inside, everything felt strangely numb.

Abhoy Chatterjee. My future husband.

And now I had to take his permission. I did not even know what he looked like, yet suddenly he would decide whether I could go on my trip or not. He would make all the decisions in my life now.

Before Maa could say anything else, I rushed to the bathroom and shut the door behind me.

The moment the latch clicked, my legs gave way. I slid down and sank onto the cool floor, tears spilling freely down my cheeks.

I had thought I still had time. Maybe a year. Maybe two.

I knew marriage would happen eventually. In families like ours, it always did. My Kaku was extremely particular about these traditions. He had married off his own daughter when she was only nineteen.

But I thought Baba was slightly different. A little more forward thinking. At least that was what I had believed.

How could everything change so suddenly?

I knew my family was traditional. I had grown up with those expectations around me. I had prepared myself for it.

Just not so soon.

Why now? And why drag my trip into this?

I had waited for that trip like a child waits for Durga Puja. Waited for Baba’s approval. Waited for the moment he would finally say yes. And now this.

Now some stranger would decide whether I could go or not. Some man I had never even seen. Maa should have been on my side.

I wiped my tears angrily with the back of my hand. I did not even know who this Abhoy Chatterjee was, yet suddenly I had to ask his permission to go on my dream trip.

He better say yes. Because if he didn’t, I would make his life hell.

My chest tightened as another wave of emotion hit me. All my dreams felt like they were cracking apart right in front of me.

Why, Maa Durga? I never forgot a day to pray to you. I tried to stay positive. I tried to smile enough and believe that good things come to people who keep faith.

And yet here I was. Thrown under the bus. I wanted love. Just love. And right now I was not even sure if it was part of my destiny anymore.

∞

Later that morning, I stood in front of Maa Durga, staring up at her calm face. The incense curled lazily through the air, bells chimed somewhere behind me, and devotees murmured their prayers. I said nothing. I didn’t even know what to say. All I knew was that I was angry. Furious, actually. She had played me.

A tear slipped down before I could stop it. I quickly wiped it away with the back of my hand. I never liked crying in front of Maa Durga. It felt wrong, almost like worrying her for no reason. I had always believed I could fight my own battles. But today everything felt impossible.

Letting out a slow sigh, I stepped forward and held out my hand to the panditji. He poured a few drops of sacred water onto my palm. I touched it to my forehead and accepted the prasad he offered. Just then my phone began ringing loudly inside my bag.

The panditji gave me a stern look.

“Sorry,” I muttered under my breath, quickly stepping aside. I moved to a quiet corner of the mandir and checked the caller ID.

Meesha.

Relief washed over me for a moment. I hurried outside, the cool stone floor giving way to the warm sunlight. Sitting down on the temple steps, I answered the call.

“Hey,” I said.

My voice sounded dull even to my own ears.

“What happened?” she asked immediately.

I sighed, staring down at the busy street in front of the temple. “Meesha… all hell broke loose in my life.”

“What? I’m not understanding.”

“Baba… he found someone for me.”

“Still blank, dear.”

I groaned and rubbed my forehead. “A groom, Meesha. How stupid can you be?”

There was a small pause.

“What? Oh my God.” Her voice suddenly shot up with excitement. “You’re getting married? I need new clothes.”

“Are you crazy?” I almost shouted. A few people turned to look at me and I lowered my voice. “I don’t want to get married. I mean… arranged marriage? Where there is no love? How can I do that? I want love.”

She sighed dramatically on the other end. “Maybe you fall in love after marriage.”

“Yeah, right.” I rolled my eyes. “All the uptight Bengali guys know everything about love.”

“So who’s the guy? How does he look?”

“I don’t know,” I said miserably. “I know nothing about him except his name. That’s it. And even that isn’t good.”

“What’s the name?”

“Abhoy. Abhoy Chatterjee.” I made a face even though she couldn’t see me. “Even the name sounds grumpy. Like love is beneath him.”

There was sudden silence on the other end.

I frowned.

“Meesha? Are you there?”

A few seconds passed.

Then she spoke again, her voice sounding very different now.

“Oh God.”

My stomach tightened.

“What?” I asked quickly.

“I found him,” she said.

“Where?”

“On Google.”

“What?” I blurted out, completely shocked. He was on Google? How could that be? Even I wasn’t on Google and I ran my own small business. Maa had said he had a business too, but still.

Maybe… maybe he was famous.

“Yes. If he’s the same guy you are talking about…” Meesha’s voice slowed a little. “Mehek… he is a business tycoon. A big one. And he… he is handsome. With a beard. And he’s wearing a tie.”

My heart nearly stopped.

A tie.

I had always had a strange weakness for men in ties. They just looked… important. Sophisticated. For a second the image formed in my head without permission.

Then suddenly my heart started beating loudly. So loudly that I was sure everyone around the temple could hear it.

Meesha thought he was handsome.

Was he?

“Here you are. Let’s go, you need to get ready.”

I turned quickly. Maa stood a few steps away, holding a pooja thali. The small diya flickered softly in the breeze and the smell of camphor lingered around her.

“Mom…” I started.

“Are you there?” Meesha’s voice came through the phone.

“Um… I need to go. Bye.”

Before she could say anything else, I ended the call and slipped the phone back into my bag. Then, without thinking too much, I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around my mother.

She seemed surprised.

“What happened?” she asked softly.

“I don’t know,” I whispered, my voice shaking a little. “I’m scared, Maa.”

Her hand came up to gently pat my back.

“Don’t be. If you don’t trust me, trust Maa Durga, Priyo.”

I pulled back slowly and nodded, though my chest still felt tight.

For a moment neither of us spoke. The temple bells rang again somewhere behind us.

“Sometimes things happen for a reason,” Maa said quietly. “We didn’t seek this nuptial. It found us. Whenever something finds us, it is meant for us. Maa Durga sends such things into our lives.”

I looked down at the stone steps, tracing a faint crack with my eyes.

“I’m just scared and not prepared, Maa,” I murmured. “I want love.”

“Priyo…”

“I don’t want to sacrifice like you.”

The words slipped out before I could stop them.

For a moment Maa didn’t say anything. The silence between us grew heavy.

I swallowed and continued, my voice softer now. “You compromised everything for Baba. And he doesn’t even appreciate that.”

Maa sighed slowly and adjusted the end of her saree on her shoulder.

“Things were different back then,” she said. “Your Baba has his own ways of showing love. What you see is not everything.”

She looked at me carefully.

“He cannot show emotions the way we do, Mehek. But that does not mean he does not love me. He does. There are things you do not know. And it is better that way.”

I frowned slightly but stayed quiet.

“You want love?” she continued gently. “Then tell Maa Durga that. Leave it to her.”

Her eyes softened.

“Your Baba is very happy today. The Chatterjees are a big name. Not just in Kolkata but in the whole of India. Maybe even outside India. Opportunities like this do not come easily. How can we say no to something like that?”

“I’m scared,” I whispered again.

Maa cupped my cheek with her warm hand.

“Do not be,” she said. “Compromise does not mean there will be no love.”

She smiled faintly.

“Sometimes compromise itself becomes a form of love.”

I nodded, but my heart was still beating loudly inside me. I just hoped Maa Durga didn’t decide to test me. I wanted love. Only love.

The End of Chapter 1 of Destined: A Marriage of Convenience Love Story. Thank you for reading it.
Stay tuned for the next chapter.

Author Payal Dedhia independently publishes books on Amazon. You can check out her collection by clicking here.

If you like Dark Romance Fiction, do read my Sctintilla Series. Click here to read.

Aayansh Ahluwalia isn’t just a billionaire business tycoon—he’s the kind of man who haunts people’s nightmares. The world may recognize Scintilla Corporations as a legitimate empire, but Aayansh isn’t confined to the light. In the shadows, he commands an empire of fear, power, and blood. He rules over the underdogs, the darkness that terrifies everyone else.
Ruthless and untouchable, they call him a devil for a reason—he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t blink when it comes to taking lives.
His existence is fearless. His power, unmatched. Yet beneath the wealth and carnage lies a void—a darkness so complete it consumes him. There’s no light, no hope. Just emptiness stretching endlessly, leaving him hollow.
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He saw her—a woman so radiant, so full of life, she made his chaos stand still. She erupted into his world like a dream, settling in his heart and claiming it as her own.
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Aayansh hadn’t been searching for her, hadn’t asked for her. But the moment he saw her, he knew—she would be his.
She didn’t belong in his world, and that only made him want her more. Her laughter, her light—it wasn’t meant to survive the darkness he thrived in, yet it pulled him in, unrelenting. Like a predator to prey, he followed. He didn’t want her to save him. No. He wanted to ruin her, piece by piece, until she belonged to him completely. He would drag her down, crown her queen in his Devil’s Paradise, and make her sit beside him on the devil’s throne while he ruled the world.

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The series is divided into four phases:

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Unleashing the Demons – Once awakened, there’s no turning back.
The Winner – Victory tastes sweeter when claimed by force.

🔥 The Possession – Where obsession takes root. Click here to read.

New Beginning – The chase ends. The real game begins.
The Rules – Boundaries are set, only to be broken.
Gilded Cage – Possession doesn’t feel like freedom.
Unleashed Fury – When control falters, chaos reigns.
Ensnared Hearts – Hearts trapped, souls scarred.

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Her Resistance – Light fights back. Darkness pushes harder.
Her Confession – Truths whispered in the dark.
The Good Times – A fleeting calm before the storm.
The Devil Struck – The predator strikes. The angel shatters.
Angel’s Judgement – When love turns to reckoning.

🔥 The Reward – Where love and darkness collide, leaving nothing unscarred. Click here to read.

The Storm – Chaos erupts, tearing apart the fragile ties of love and power.
The Punishment – Sins are judged, debts are paid, and vengeance claims its due.
Maalik – Sneak peek into Maurya Ahluwalia’s life
The Aftermath – Amid the wreckage, the cost of darkness comes to light.
Devastation – Another peek at Akhil and Inaaya’s life.
The Dawn – Hope flickers, fragile and hesitant, in the ruins of despair.
Devil’s Endgame – It’s time for the final move. What would be the devil’s endgame?