Mitra had always believed love was something she would choose. A quiet, steady flame, nurtured by time and understanding. But standing here, draped in red and gold, she felt like a pawn on a board she never agreed to play. She had once dreamed of this moment—the sacred vows, the flickering flames, the weight of promises whispered beneath a mandap. But not like this. Not with a man who was never meant to be hers. Rohan was gone. The betrayal still burned, raw and unspoken, but the world had moved too fast for her grief to settle. One moment, she was his bride-to-be; the next, she was told Veer would take his place. Veer. The man who had always been there—silent, watchful, a storm restrained beneath his composed exterior. She had never understood the way he looked at her, like she was something distant yet unbearably close. Now she did. Because Veer had loved her. Loved her from the very first moment. And still, he had let her go. And now, fate had rewritten their story with ink too dark to erase. Mitra looked up at him, searching for anger, resentment—anything to make this easier. But Veer only held her gaze, steady and unreadable, his hands clenched at his sides. “This isn’t fair,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I’m not yours to claim.” A muscle tensed in his jaw. “I know.” A pause. A breath. And then— “But I was yours long before this day.” Before she could reply, before she could understand the weight of his words, the scent of smoke curled through the air. A gasp. A murmur of panic. And then— Flames. Rising, consuming, devouring. The mandap was burning.