✨7. Giant wheel of thoughts

He leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his thick hair, frustration evident on his face. "In a cinch, my life has turned upside down," he thought bitterly, the weight of the day's events pressing heavily on his shoulders.

Marriage was never part of his plan—at least not like this. His life had been perfectly organized, every step calculated for success and power. But now, thanks to his father's compulsion and a whirlwind of circumstances, everything seemed chaotic.

He closed his eyes briefly, trying to make sense of his feelings. "I don't need this... her," he told himself, gripping the armrests tightly. Yet, despite his resolve, the image of Niharika's teary eyes and trembling hands as she signed the papers lingered in his mind.

Anger surged through him, directed more at himself than at her. "This is just another deal, another compromise. Nothing more," he rationalized, pushing away the unfamiliar emotions clawing at his guarded heart.

But deep down, Shivaay knew that no motivational book or logical explanation could prepare him for the storm this unexpected marriage was about to unleash in his carefully constructed life.

As Shivaay sat in his study, trying to focus on the words of his book, an unwelcome memory intruded, igniting a surge of anger. He clenched his jaw, his hand tightening around the book.

The image of his father, Indra Singh Ranawat, handing a suitcase of money to Vishal Verma replayed vividly in his mind. It wasn’t just the act that enraged him—it was the humiliation and the message it conveyed.

"Is this what my life has come to?" he thought bitterly. "A transaction? A deal struck like a business agreement without my consent?"

He slammed the book shut and threw it on the desk, the thud echoing in the room. The very idea that his father had to "pay" to get him a wife stung his pride deeply. It wasn’t about Niharika; it was about the principle, the Ranawat name, his own autonomy.

"How dare Vishal Verma accept that money?" Shivaay's fury boiled over. To him, it was an insult to his stature, a stain on the legacy of the Ranawats. And yet, a small, nagging voice whispered, "What about her? Did she know about it? Was she just a pawn too?"

He shook his head, dismissing the thought. He refused to consider her perspective. To him, she was part of the deal, complicit in the arrangement that had turned his life upside down.

The anger fueled his determination. "I will never let anyone manipulate me like this again. Not her, not my father, no one," he vowed, his eyes burning with resolve as he stared out of the window into the dark night.

Shivaay's hands gripped the edge of the desk as his thoughts spiraled darker. His fury wasn’t just directed at his father or Vishal Verma; it now fixated on Niharika.

"She’s the reason I’m stuck in this mess," he thought bitterly, his jaw tightening. "She may look innocent, but she’s part of their plan. They’ve ruined my life, and she’s the face of it."

A cold resolve settled in his mind, hardening his heart further. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing. "If they think I’ll just accept this quietly, they’re wrong. I will make her regret becoming a part of this deal. If my life has been turned upside down, I’ll ensure hers isn’t spared either."

The very idea of revenge gave him a twisted sense of satisfaction, fueling his resolve. To him, it wasn’t about fairness—it was about reclaiming control over the situation.

He got up from his chair, his towering frame exuding authority and menace. "She’ll learn what it means to cross Shivaay Singh Ranawat. This marriage might be a bond on paper, but in reality, it’ll be her worst nightmare."

With that thought, he walked to the window, staring into the dark horizon. The night seemed to echo his cold determination. His mind was made up. Whatever happened next, Niharika would bear the brunt of his anger and resentment.

Shivaay’s expression darkened as he paced the study, his thoughts venomous.

"She’s no different from her father," he muttered under his breath. "Greedy, selfish, and ready to sell her dignity for money. What else could she be? A woman raised by a man like Vishal Verma can’t have any integrity."

His fists clenched as the memory of his father handing over that suitcase flashed vividly in his mind. "A price tag on their daughter—on her. It’s disgusting."

He scoffed, his lips curling into a sneer. "And that veil, those tears... an act, I’m sure. She’s just as manipulative as the rest of them. Playing the role of a meek, innocent girl. But I see through it all. She’s no different from her father, willing to do anything for wealth and status."

His anger simmered as he leaned against the desk, his eyes cold and calculating. "But I won’t let her fool me. If she thinks she’s stepped into a life of comfort and luxury, she’s mistaken. I’ll make sure she knows exactly where she stands in my world—nowhere."

The thought brought a bitter satisfaction to his heart, even as the storm of emotions raged within him. To Shivaay, Niharika was just another pawn in a game he never agreed to play—a symbol of betrayal he couldn’t forgive.

Shivaay sighed heavily, pushing aside the turbulent thoughts swirling in his mind. He picked up the motivational novel he had been reading earlier, hoping it would distract him from the bitterness that had consumed him since the wedding.

Settling onto the couch in the study, he flipped through the pages, his eyes scanning the familiar words, but his focus wavered. The weight of the day, the unwelcome marriage, and his seething anger at both his father and Niharika lingered in the back of his mind.

"I need to stay composed," he thought, gripping the book tightly. "No one controls my life but me. Not my father, not her."

Despite his determination to immerse himself in the novel, the exhaustion of the day soon crept up on him. His eyes grew heavy, the words on the page blurring as sleep began to claim him.

Moments later, Shivaay drifted off, the book resting on his chest, his face still etched with traces of anger and frustration. The study, dimly lit and quiet, became a haven for his restless thoughts to fade, if only for the night.

The soft morning light filtered through the grand curtains of Shivaay's room as Niharika stirred awake. She stretched her arms and rubbed her eyes, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. Her gaze wandered across the luxurious surroundings—plush furniture, intricate carvings on the walls, and the faint scent of fresh flowers lingering in the air.

For a brief moment, she felt out of place, like she was dreaming. Then reality hit her. She wasn’t in her small, cozy room at the Verma house anymore. She was here, in the Ranawat mansion, as someone’s wife. Her chest tightened as the memory of the previous night came rushing back—Shivaay’s cold demeanor, the contract, and his words that echoed with disdain.

I’m not single anymore, she thought, her heart sinking. I’m married... to someone who doesn’t want me in his life.

She sat up on the couch, her simple suit slightly crumpled from the night. Her fingers instinctively brushed against her hairline where the sindoor rested. The realization of her new identity as the daughter-in-law of this powerful family felt both overwhelming and suffocating.

Looking at the opulent room once again, she muttered under her breath, This isn’t a home. It’s a cage.

But she quickly shook off the thought. She couldn’t afford to break down now. Niharika stood up, smoothing out her attire, and glanced toward the door. She knew she had to face the new day, the new family, and the new challenges—no matter how daunting they felt.

Niharika walked toward her suitcase, intending to grab a fresh set of clothes. But her attention was drawn to the intricately carved cupboard in the dressing area. Curious, she stepped inside the spacious dressing room and approached the massive wooden piece of art. It was a hand-carved cupboard, the craftsmanship exquisite, with her name—Niharika—etched elegantly at the center.

Her breath hitched. They already had this prepared for me? she wondered, unsure of how to feel about the gesture.

She hesitated for a moment before opening the cupboard. Her eyes widened as she took in the sight before her. Rows of luxurious outfits in vibrant colors and intricate designs filled the shelves and hangers. Each piece seemed more extravagant than the last—designer sarees, lehengas, and elegant suits, all screaming wealth and status.

Tentatively, she reached out and touched one of the sarees. The fabric was like nothing she had ever felt before—smooth as silk, light as air. Her fingers lingered on the embroidery, marveling at the craftsmanship. She then looked down at the simple suit she was wearing and rubbed the fabric between her fingers.

The stark difference hit her. The expensive fabric felt soft, luxurious, and refined, while her suit felt rough, cheap, and unremarkable. A lump formed in her throat.

This is the difference between their world and mine, she thought, a bitter smile tugging at her lips. No matter how hard I try, I’ll always feel like an outsider here.

She closed the cupboard slowly, her hand lingering on the carved door for a moment before turning back. The grandeur around her only made her feel smaller, a stark reminder of the chasm between the life she’d known and the life she had been thrust into.

As Niharika's gaze swept across the lavishly arranged cupboard, her eyes fell on a particularly striking saree. It was unlike anything she'd ever seen—deep emerald green with intricate golden embroidery that shimmered under the soft light. The saree exuded elegance, and every thread seemed to whisper of its exorbitant value.

Pinned to the saree was a small, handwritten note. Her fingers trembled as she reached for it, and she unfolded the paper carefully.

"Wear this on your first day."

The simple words made her pause. She looked back at the plain red saree she had taken out of her suitcase earlier, the one she'd planned to wear. It was special to her, a connection to her old life. But now, standing amidst the grandeur of her new world, the red saree felt painfully out of place.

She glanced between the two sarees, her heart torn. The red saree symbolized her simplicity and comfort, but the green saree represented the expectations of the family she had married into.

Finally, after a deep breath, she placed the red saree back in her suitcase. She picked up the emerald saree and ran her fingers along the fabric, marveling at its softness.

As she draped it around herself, she felt its weight—both literal and metaphorical. The saree fit her perfectly, but it also carried the burden of her new responsibilities and the role she was expected to play.

Standing in front of the mirror, she took in her reflection. The saree transformed her, making her look like a queen, but she could still see the apprehension in her eyes. With a sigh, she straightened her shoulders and whispered to herself, "If this is my new life, I’ll face it with grace."

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