Chavi pov:)

The palace temple was bathed in the soft golden hues of the early morning sun, the air thick with the fragrance of sandalwood and marigolds. The sound of temple bells echoed through the marble corridors as I stood beside Murat, waiting.

Maasa had called us both, yet she was nowhere to be seen. My hands fidgeted with the edge of my dupatta, and when I glanced at Murat, I found his gaze already on me—intense, unwavering. My breath hitched, and a warmth crept up my neck. God, why does he always look at me like that?

Before I could look away, the soft tinkling of payal filled the air. Maasa entered, graceful and composed, draped in a deep red Bandhani saree, her wrists adorned with gold bangles that chimed softly as she moved. We both folded our hands in greeting, and she nodded approvingly.

“Chavi, Murat,” she said, her voice holding the weight of tradition, “it is time for you both to visit our kuldevi’s ancient temple. Before the wedding festivities begin, you must seek the Goddess’s blessings. It is our custom for the bride and groom to undertake this journey alone—to understand each other beyond words.”

Alone.

I swallowed, my heartbeat quickening. A journey, just the two of us. I cast a sideways glance at Murat, but his expression remained unreadable, as if he had already expected this.

We took Maasa’s blessings before setting off in a decorated palki, a traditional palanquin carried by sturdy men dressed in saffron dhotis. The rhythmic chants of a priest filled the air as a farewell blessing, and then, we were on our way.

The journey was long, winding through dense banyan trees and rocky paths. The scent of the earth, the chirping of birds, and the distant sound of temple bells created a mystical aura. Murat sat opposite me, his posture relaxed, yet there was a sharpness in his eyes—a silent observation of me.

“You’re quiet,” he finally spoke, his voice deep and smooth.

“I…just don’t know what to say,” I admitted.

A smirk tugged at his lips. “The princess who is always confident to speak her heart out has nothing to say now.”

Heat rushed to my face. “That is different!”

He chuckled, and something about the rich, husky sound made my stomach twist. I turned my gaze to the passing landscape, the towering Neem trees, and fields of mustard flowers swaying in the morning breeze.

After what felt like an eternity, we arrived. The kuldevi temple stood atop a hill, carved from ancient black stone, its steps worn from centuries of prayers. 

Torches burned at the entrance, the flames dancing against the intricate carvings of gods and goddesses. 

A large peepal tree stood beside the temple, its roots twisted around a forgotten shrine.

As I stepped out of the palki, a gust of wind carried the scent of jasmine and camphor. Murat walked ahead, his tall figure cutting through the mist rising from the earth. 

He turned slightly, waiting for me.

I took a deep breath and followed, my heart hammering against my ribs.

Something about this place—the sacredness, the solitude, and the man beside me—made me feel as if I was stepping into a fate I couldn’t escape.

And maybe, I didn’t want to.

With each step I took up the worn stone stairs of the ancient temple, my heart pounded a little harder. I wasn’t breathless from the climb—I was breathless because of him.

Why am I feeling like this?

This isn’t me. I have never been the kind of girl who gets shy, who stumbles over her own emotions. Yet here I was, with my pulse racing, my skin heating under the weight of Murat’s gaze.

I felt his eyes on me before I even looked. And when I did—God.

There he was, staring at me again with that intense, unreadable gaze, as if he could see every thought running wild in my mind. I swallowed hard, looking away, but it was too late—he had caught me, and the corner of his lips curved just slightly, as if he knew exactly what he was doing to me.

The temple bells rang softly in the wind. The scent of jasmine and sandalwood filled the air, and the sacredness of the moment settled between us. The sunlight filtering through the ancient stone arches cast shadows on Murat’s sharp features, making him look almost otherworldly.

Then, his voice, deep and unwavering, broke the silence.

"Princess Chavi," he said, his tone rich with something I couldn’t name. "May I hold your hand?"

A simple question. But it felt like a promise.

I hesitated—not because I didn’t want to, but because my heart was already betraying me, hammering too fast, too loud.

“Yes,” I whispered, moving my hand toward him.

The moment his fingers curled around mine, a shiver ran down my spine. His grip was firm, warm, protective. He didn’t just hold my hand—he anchored me, as if silently telling me that whatever this was between us, he wouldn’t let me fall.

Together, we climbed the last few steps, standing before the devi’s idol, draped in red and gold, adorned with marigolds and fresh kumkum. I folded my hands in prayer, and as I opened my eyes, I turned my head slightly—only to see Murat doing the same.

A man from a different world, a different faith… yet, here he was, bowing his head with a quiet reverence, as if this was his temple too.

Can he be any more perfect?

I had no words, only emotions crashing into me. He was trying—for me. For us.

As we descended the temple stairs, the air between us thickened with something unspoken. I turned to him, gathering the courage to say what I felt.

"Thank you for coming with me," I said softly. "You didn’t have to. I know this isn’t your belief, your faith. You could have refused."

Before I could finish, he stopped me—not with words, but with the way he looked at me.

His eyes darkened, his grip on my wrist tightening ever so slightly.

"I believe what you believe." His voice was low, rough, filled with something I couldn’t name. "I say what you say. I walk where you lead, Chavi."

The world blurred. The temple, the trees, the soft rustling of the wind—none of it existed anymore. Just him. His voice. His eyes. His touch.

I had never felt so claimed in my entire life.

A slow, uncontrollable smile tugged at my lips, my heart too full for words. How could I thank God enough for him?

And then—

A sudden gust of wind blew past us, carrying a faint sound from the distance. A whisper of voices. An unfamiliar presence.

Murat’s body tensed. His fingers flexed around mine before letting go.

My breath hitched as I turned my head—someone was watching us.

I felt the weight of their stare, a shadow lurking in the distance. Murat stepped forward slightly, his body shifting as if ready to shield me from an unseen danger.

"We’re not alone," he murmured, his voice low and sharp.

I swallowed hard.

I knew this trip was supposed to bring us closer, but I never expected it to lead us into something far more dangerous than love.

The wind whispered secrets through the temple grounds, carrying an unease I couldn't shake.

 Someone was watching us. I felt it—a heavy, lingering presence, hidden in the shifting shadows beyond the temple steps.

Murat’s grip on my hand was gone, but the warmth of his touch still burned my skin. He stepped forward, his shoulders tense, his dark eyes scanning the surroundings with quiet, controlled intensity.

"We’re not alone," he murmured, his deep voice sending a shiver through me.

I swallowed hard, turning slowly. And then I saw them.

Pranjali.

Sulaman.

Standing at the temple’s edge, half-hidden behind the twisted branches of the peepal tree, their gazes locked onto us like predators assessing their prey.

Pranjali’s lips were curved into a knowing smirk, her arms folded across her chest, the bright red of her lehenga a striking contrast to the dark energy radiating from her. She looked entertained, intrigued, like she had caught me doing something sinful.

And beside her—Sulaman.

Murat’s stepbrother. The man who wore his cruelty like a second skin, who smiled like a serpent waiting to strike.

His golden-brown eyes gleamed with amusement, his mouth twisting in a mockery of a smirk.

"Well, well," Sulaman drawled, stepping forward, his voice smooth as silk yet sharp enough to cut. "

What a beautiful sight—our sweet, obedient Chavi sneaking around the temple with my dear brother."

A flush of anger surged through me. Sneaking? We weren’t sneaking. This was a ritual, a sacred moment.

Murat didn’t move, but I felt the shift in him. The air around us thickened with tension, his presence suddenly darker, more dangerous.

"Careful, Sulaman," he warned, his voice deceptively calm, but the undercurrent of possessiveness was unmistakable. "If you want to keep that tongue of yours, you’ll learn when to keep it still."

Sulaman only chuckled, his gaze flicking between us, assessing, calculating. Enjoying this.

"I should have known," Pranjali mused, taking a step closer. Her anklets jingled, soft and deceptive, like a snake slithering through the grass. "You’re already under his spell, aren’t you, Chavi?"

Her words sent a spike of irritation through me. Under his spell?

I opened my mouth to retort, but before I could, Murat moved.

Fast.

One moment, he was beside me. The next, he was in front of me, blocking Pranjali’s view of me entirely, his presence casting a long shadow over her.

"She is mine," he said, his voice dark, absolute. Final.

My breath hitched.

Sulaman smirked, shaking his head. "So possessive, brother. You think love is ownership?"

Murat didn’t flinch. His body was rigid, his muscles taut beneath his kurta, every inch of him screaming authority.

"Love?" Murat scoffed, his voice quieter now, more lethal. "You think I love her?"

I froze.

A sharp, sudden ache pierced my chest.

What was he saying?

Murat exhaled slowly, turning his head just enough to glance at me. His dark, endless eyes locked onto mine, raw and unreadable.

"Love," he murmured, just for me now. "Is not enough to describe what I feel for you, Chavi."

My lips parted, my breath catching.

I didn’t even have time to process those words before Pranjali laughed.

"How romantic," she purred. "But you do know, Chavi… you’re playing a dangerous game, don’t you?"

She took another step forward, her gaze gleaming with amusement and something else—something sharp, cruel, hungry.

"You’re engaged to someone else."

The words hit me like a slap.

For a heartbeat, everything around me vanished—the temple, the wind, the rustling leaves.

My engagement?

With whom???

Sulaman grinned, watching the realization sink into me. "I wonder how your Finance would feel if they knew how close you two have gotten?"

Murat took a step forward, forcing Sulaman to move back. His voice was low, dangerous. Deadly.

"Speak her name again with that filthy mouth of yours, and I swear, Sulaman… I’ll make sure you never speak again."

The threat wasn’t empty.

For a second, even Sulaman’s smirk faltered.

Pranjali, however, just smiled wider.

"Oh, don’t be so dramatic," she said, waving a hand. "We’re just here to watch the show. And trust me… I cannot wait to see how this all plays out."

Then, she turned, her payal jingling, and Sulaman followed, but not before throwing one last knowing glance at me.

"Tick tock, Chavi," he murmured as he passed.

And then they were gone.

The silence left in their wake was heavy. Suffocating.

I turned to Murat, my heart pounding, a thousand questions tangled in my throat.

"Murat—"

He moved before I could finish.

His hand gripped my wrist, his touch burning into my skin.

"They will try to keep you from me," he said, his voice rough, possessive. "But hear me now, Chavi—I will burn this entire world before I let anyone take you away from me."

His words weren’t just a promise.

They were a warning.

And I—I wasn’t sure if I should be terrified or thrilled.

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