The house was silent. Too silent.

The night before, this same courtyard had echoed with the sounds of wedding songs, laughter, and the clinking of Amrutha's bridal bangles. But now, the only sound was the slow crackling of the funeral pyre, burning on the other side of the village temple.

Her groom was dead.

Amrutha sat inside the massive ancestral house-her mother's childhood home-a house that belonged to him.

Rudhran.

The name alone was enough to make hearts tremble.

The man who sat at the head of every family gathering, the man who had ruled their lives since he was twenty, the man who had never once looked at her with kindness-was now standing before her.

He was not just her mother's brother.

He was a king without a throne, a ruler without a crown. The village bowed to him. His family feared him. Politicians sought his approval.

And now, he was deciding her fate.

The women of the house surrounded Amrutha, weeping, whispering, mourning.

"Paavam... she became a widow before she could even become a bride..." someone whispered.

"Who will marry her now? This is a curse!"

"Her life is over..."

Her mother sobbed, clutching Amrutha's cold hands. Her father sat like a defeated man. No one was speaking about solutions. Only problems.

And then his voice cut through the air like a blade.

"She will be married before the sun sets."

The room froze.

Every pair of eyes turned to the doorway, where Rudhran stood like an unmovable force, his broad shoulders framed by the golden evening light.

Tall, imposing, and wrapped in a dark veshti, he looked like a king from the ancient stories. A man who never asked-only ordered.

"A-already?" someone stammered. "W-who will marry her?"

Rudhran's obsidian-black eyes met Amrutha's for the first time in years.

"Me."

The world shattered.

Gasps echoed through the room, followed by a deadly silence.

"Mama?" The word barely escaped Amrutha's lips, her voice trembling.

"I won't repeat myself." His voice was calm. Dangerous.

"But-" one of the elders tried to protest, but Rudhran's gaze silenced him instantly.

No one in this house had ever questioned him and lived to tell the tale.

He had spoken. That meant it was final.

The pandal was torn down just this morning. The priest had left hours ago.

Yet by sunset, a wedding was happening again-with a different groom.

And this time, no one dared to sing.

The courtyard was packed with relatives, villagers, and onlookers, standing in eerie silence as Amrutha sat before the sacred fire, still in her bridal saree from the night before.

Her eyes refused to lift from the ground.

She was still grieving, confused, terrified.

And worst of all-she was now about to marry the one man she had spent her whole life avoiding.

He sat beside her, calm, unshaken, unreadable.

Rudhran.

The priest chanted the mantras in a hushed, nervous voice, glancing at Rudhran every few minutes, afraid to make a mistake.

And then came the moment that no one had prepared for.

The moment when Rudhran reached into the thick gold chain resting on his neck-a chain that had belonged to his father, and to his grandfather before that.

The chain of kings. Of rulers. A chain not meant for a woman.

The moment his rough, strong hands removed it from his own neck, there were gasps. Shocks. Stares.

"Aiyo!" someone whispered. "Not that chain!"

"He's giving her... his legacy?"

The priest froze. Even the wind seemed to still.

Rudhran didn't hesitate.

In one swift, deliberate movement, he tied the chain around Amrutha's delicate neck, sealing their fate forever.

Thick. Heavy. Binding. More than just a thaali.

A legacy.

A burden.

A warning to the world that she was his.

As the wedding ended and the flames flickered between them, one pair of eyes burned with jealousy.

Janani.

She had loved Rudhran since she was a girl. Admired him. Worshipped him. She had always imagined herself as his wife.

And now, she watched as he-her god, her ideal man-chose Amrutha instead.

Her blood boiled.

"This should have been me."

Amrutha didn't deserve him. Amrutha was just a child, weak and fragile. What did she know about handling a man like Rudhran?

As Amrutha sat there, head bowed, struggling under the weight of the chain around her throat, Janani clenched her fists.

This wasn't over.

She would make Amrutha regret taking her place.

And maybe, just maybe, she would make Rudhran regret this marriage too.