AUTHOR'S POV

🥀 Scene: Confrontation Before Vows

Location: Inside the Palace Library, 1 hour before the wedding ceremony
Time: Afternoon sun flooding through stained-glass windows

---

The palace was dressed in gold.
Guests gathered. Priests murmured.
Sacred chants echoed through ancient stone corridors.

In one hour, Aarav Varma would be a married man.

But he wasn’t with his bride.
He was standing in the palace library, breathing heavily, fists clenched around a photo.

A photo he'd just found in an old wedding planning file.
One that fell from a locked drawer in the guest list archives — labeled under a code: V.R.
And in that photo…

Kritika Rajput.
Laughing.
At age 16.
With him.

The same girl who now called herself Aaria Mehta .

The same girl who’d vanished from his life like a ghost.

---

The door creaked.

She walked in — clipboard in hand — calm as ever.

" Kritika ,” he said, low and sharp.

She froze.
Not at the name — but at the pain in his voice.

Slowly, she turned.

His eyes were storming. “You lied to me  .”

Her voice was barely a whisper. “You were never supposed to know.”

“ why ?” he snapped. “Why show up at my wedding? As a planner? Was this your game?”

“No.”
Her eyes dropped. “I didn’t know it was you, Aarav. Not until I stepped into this palace.”

He laughed — bitter and broken. “You expect me to believe that?”

She looked up then, and the mask cracked.

“No. I don’t. But it’s the truth.”

Aarav took a slow step forward. “You disappeared. No goodbye. No letter. I searched everywhere.”

“My father was murdered,”she said, voice flat.  “I was sent away overnight. Aaria was the only one who knew. And after that… I was no one.”

His throat tightened.  “You were mine.”

Kritika looked away. “I couldn’t be. Not after what I became.”

He reached into his pocket — pulled out the old velvet thread bracelet she’d once tied to his wrist under the banyan tree.

“I kept this,”he said, his voice cracking. “For 8 years. I thought maybe… just maybe you’d come back.”

Kritika stepped closer now, her heart bleeding from the silence she had swallowed for years.

But she didn’t cry.

“I did come back,”  she which "To watch you belong to someone else"

Aarav stared at her, torn open, trembling.

“What are you now, Kritika?” he asked.

She smiled faintly. “A shadow.”

---

Before either could speak again — a knock came.

“Sir… they’re waiting.”

Aarav turned to the door… then back to her.

“I loved you,”  he said.  “Still do.”

And then…

He left.

To marry another.

Leaving Kritika standing alone.

In silence.

---

The palace was wrapped in celebration — music in the courtyard, flowers in the air, chandeliers glowing like stars.

But down the silent corridor near the east wing library…

Aarav and Kritika stepped out together.

Her eyes were distant. His were broken.
Neither spoke — just heavy silence between two souls still bleeding.

And watching from across the hallway, in the shadows, was Rivanth Rathore.

His jaw clenched the moment he saw them together.

Why was the planner walking out of a locked library with the groom?
Why was her dupatta clutched in her hand like she'd been shaken?
Why did Aarav look like he’d lost something he never deserved to have back?

Rivanth’s world went red.

In two long strides, he was in front of them.

His voice? Cold. Sharp. Deadly.

> “Is this what your KR Groups service includes?”

Kritika looked up slowly, her face blank.
Aarav stepped in. “Rivanth, listen—”

> “Shut up.”

Rivanth’s eyes stayed locked on her.

> “You came here under a fake name. No records. No ID. My palace staff doesn’t know where you stay. My guards say you vanish between events. And now—this?”

He took another step toward her.

> “What are you playing at?”

Kritika didn’t blink. “You misunderstand.”

> “Do I?”

His hand shot out — grabbed her wrist hard enough to make Aarav flinch.

Aarav: “Let her go.”

> Rivanth:  “Or what? You’ll break your own engagement an hour before the wedding?”

Kritika’s voice was like frost.
“No one’s breaking anything.”

> “You’re damn right they’re not.”

Rivanth dragged her with him, ignoring Aarav’s protests.
His mind clouded. His chest heavy with betrayal.
He didn’t know why it burned — but it did.

And in that moment, one twisted thought consumed him:

> "If you’ve already given yourself to someone else… you’ll still belong to me."

---

: Private Room — 20 Minutes Later

The heavy door slammed shut behind them.

Kritika yanked her arm free, eyes sharp now — but still not revealing anything.

> Rivanth paced like a storm.
“What were you doing with him?”

She was silent.

> “Answer me!”

“Does it matter?” she finally snapped. “I’m just a planner. Or is it easier to lash out at me than face your own insecurities?”

That hit him. Hard.

But his pride refused to step back.

> “You’re hiding something.”

Kritika walked closer, chin raised.

> “what if I am?”

Rivanth’s breath caught.

For a second — just one second — he saw it.
Not a planner.
Not an assistant.
But something far, far more dangerous.

And yet… he said nothing.

Because her silence was louder than any truth.

---

🔻 Downstairs…

Aaria entered the palace in a rush — eyes scanning.

She’d just arrived from the KR base with news:
Someone had leaked Kritika’s real name to the black market.

A hit had been placed.
Anonymous.
Deadly.

And the hunter?

Already inside the palace.

---

Location: Palace Courtyard – Mehendi Ceremony, Just Before Sundown
Time: 30 minutes before Aarav’s wedding

---

The palace glimmered with marigolds, classical music, and women dancing in shades of green and gold. Laughter rang through the garden as the bride sat on the central swing, hands painted in henna.

Kritika, still in her pastel pink saree, stood near the catering tent, reviewing final instructions. Her eyes scanned every movement like a hawk—every waiter, every guest, every exit.

Aaria’s voice buzzed through her private comm.

> Aaria (whispering): "Kai. Code Black. I just intercepted a hit confirmation. It’s live. On palace ground. I repeat—inside."

Kritika’s blood turned still.

> “Target?”she asked, almost silently.

> Aaria: "Possibly you… but also Rivanth. They think he knows who you are."

Kritika’s lips tightened. She looked to the far end of the courtyard.

There stood Rivanth Rathore, greeting guests with that royal indifference… completely unaware.

> “Track the shooter,” she ordered.

>“Already doing it. I’m inside the tech wing. Go calmly.”

---

🥀 Ten Minutes Later – The Attack

Everything happened in five seconds.

The music paused.
A soft thud echoed.
One chandelier above Rivanth shivered—then cracked.

A soft pop.
A suppressed shot.

Screams.

A bullet whizzed through the air — aimed straight for Rivanth’s head.

And just before it could hit—

Kritika moved.

She lunged, spinning him back and down in one clean motion.
The bullet missed him by inches — shattering a silver urn behind.

Rivanth crashed against the marble floor, stunned, as Kritika landed beside him — her arm shielding his chest, her eyes calm like death.

Gasps echoed. Panic spread.

Guards scrambled.

Guests ducked.

But Kritika didn’t flinch.

She looked up — and locked eyes with the shooter on the palace rooftop.

He froze.

Because in that moment…
He recognized her.

Not from her face.
But from her stillness.

The kind of stillness only killers had.

She didn’t blink.
Didn’t speak.

Just gave a slow, chilling nod.

Run.
That was all she said — without a word.

And the shooter? He dropped the rifle and fled.

---

🔥 Aftermath — Private Room

Rivanth stood now, bruised and stunned.

“Who the hell are you?” he breathed, staring at her like she was a stranger.

Kritika wiped a small scratch on her arm, eyes calm.

> “A wedding  planner,”she said coldly
“Apparently worth more than you thought.”

Rivanth stepped forwar: “That wasn’t just reflex. You knew. You saw him.”

She didn’t answer.

Instead, she turned to Aaria, who’d just arrived in a silk shawl, pretending to panic.

>“Get the bride to safety. Quietly. I’ll clean this up.”

Rivanth reached for her arm.

> “You saved me.”

Kritika looked over her shoulder.

> “Don’t mistake strategy for sentiment.”

And then she walked out of the room, saree flowing like a storm that had just passed.

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