Days passed.
Each day brought another new ritual, a happy tradition of the impending marriage.
Each day innumerable media flashes made their way to the marriage of the great Mr.Rushaan Amogh.
Kruthi, as a manager, did every work allotted to her given by her boss.
Rushaan never left a chance to make her irritated, broken.
Maybe to imitate a reaction out of her.
But how could you bring out a reaction from someone who already has given up on you long ago? She didn't care now. Do what he may.
Sometimes she'd leave excusing herself with an urgent work.
Rushaan always felt ease.
She was jealous, he thought.
But still a guilt gnawed at him.
He still couldn't understand why he was obliged to follow what Kruthi wanted. His evils though consumed him, but beneath that was a darker feeling which he himself never realised, even though he wanted to.
The marriage day arrived soon.
The most luxurious banquet of all was booked for the marriage of superstar Raj Amogh. --"The chandeliers"
Unlike the name, the hall was filled of different yet beautifully elegant chandeliers. The hall was in vintage theme. Lily, roses, marigold, sunflower- many flowers accentuated the beauty of the hall. There was the bride, cladded in red lehanga, and the groom in white and red sherwani.
It was a happy, very happy moment. Auspicious too.
Until the media suddenly stopped taking his shots.
Rushaan's eyes turned confused, his bride held the hand unaware of what was to come.
And there was Tara, lead by Kruthi.
"A very very happy marriage to my boss and his wife to be, or should I say- a new quest? Everyone gives gifts to the married couple after marriage, but here I am giving my gift in advance."
She looked at the media who were engrossed in checking their phones.
"Well, nothing much boss, I just revealed all your dirty sins. From the past five days I have been searching for evidence against you, and oh god how hard it was to do that along with this all marriage work. Years back you blamed Tara, called her characterless and jealous. What now Mr. Rushaan Amogh?" Kruthi raised her eyebrow to Rushaan knowingly, slyly, waiting for him to speak.
When the media buzz began rising—
Rushaan laughed.
A short, dry laugh.
Disbelief.
"This is a joke, right?" he said, looking around, forcing a smirk. "Kruthi, have you lost your mind?"
But his fingers—
They twitched.
Just slightly.
As more phones lit up…as more whispers spread…
That smirk faltered.
"Mr.Rushaan Amogh, goes on playing with women just for fun. The great superstar's relaxing hobby isn't doing yoga or gym but instead having one-night stands. Infact he maintains a file for that, his all exes and one-night standees, so if in any case someone gets pregnant with his child accidently, he can verify if that's him or not. And not only this, Mr.Rushaan Amogh has destroyed lives of many budding actresses because they seemed a threat to him, overshadowed him in the movies and hurted his sensitive fragile ego" Kruthi said with a smirk, mockingly while looking at Rushaan, making sure media hears what she said. "The evidence is in front of everyone."
Tara despite her trauma, begin to speak, leaving no doubt of the past.
"Say something, Mr. Amogh!" a reporter shouted.
Rushaan straightened.
Of course.
This was his field.
His stage.
"People believe anything these days," he said smoothly, running a hand through his hair. "Edited clips, fake accusations—this is exactly how reputations are targeted."
He glanced at Tara.
But Tara didn't look down this time.
She spoke.
And for the first time—
Rushaan's expression changed.
Not anger.
Not arrogance.
Something else.
Unease.
His jaw clenched.
"Enough," he snapped, louder this time. "You think you can just walk in here and—"
"Truth hurts?" Kruthi cut him off.
Silence.
Heavy.
Sharp.
For a second—
Just a second—
His eyes flickered.
Toward the screens.
Toward the media.
Toward the people who once admired him—
Now looking at him like he was… something else.
Disgust.
"No," he muttered.
Almost to himself.
"This isn't happening."
His breathing grew uneven.
Not visible to most—
But there.
"You think this proves anything?" he tried again, voice rising now. "Where's the proof? Where's the—"
"Everywhere," Kruthi said calmly.
And that's when it hit him.
Not the accusations.
Not the exposure.
The control.
He wasn't controlling the narrative anymore.
The crowd wasn't his.
The cameras weren't his.
The moment—
Wasn't his.
For the first time in years—
Rushaan Amogh had nothing to say.
And it showed.
Media started to question Rushaan Amogh, a man between them questioned Kruthi.
"Ma'am—what about this video?"
The question cut through the chaos.
Kruthi frowned. "What video?" A phone was pushed in front of her.
She looked—
And her breath hitched.
A dark basement.A man tied to a chair.Blood.And another man—
Dressed in black.
Face hidden.
A gun pressed coldly against the victim's mouth.
A murmur spread through the crowd.
"Is this also Rushaan Amogh?"
"Is he involved in something bigger?"
"Answer us!"
"No," Kruthi said quickly, her voice not as steady as before. "This isn't him—"
"What proof do you have?" another reporter shot back.
"I—"
"Because the face is hidden."
The voice wasn't loud.
But it didn't need to be. It cut through everything.
Silence fell.
Not gradually.
Instantly.
People turned.
Cameras shifted.
Even the reporters—who moments ago were shouting—paused.
And then—
He stepped forward.
Vivaan Malhotra
Measured steps.
Unhurried.
As if the chaos around him… simply didn't apply.
Dressed in a navy blue and white sherwani, his presence carried something far heavier than elegance.
Authority.
The kind that doesn't demand attention—
But takes it anyway.
His gaze swept across the room once.
Calm.
Observant.
Calculating.
When his eyes landed on the screen—
They didn't widen.
Didn't react.
That was more unsettling than shock.
"Speculation isn't evidence," he said, his tone even. "And assumptions aren't facts."
A reporter straightened unconsciously.
"S-sir, are you saying this has nothing to do with Mr. Rushaan Amogh?"
Vivaan didn't answer immediately.
His eyes shifted—
From the screen.
To Kruthi.
For a brief moment—
Time stilled.
He studied her. Not casually. Not dismissively.
But as if—
He was assessing something.
Kruthi felt it.
That gaze.
Heavy.
Unreadable.
"Yes," he said finally.
"The face is hidden. That alone makes your claim weak."
His voice wasn't defensive.
It wasn't protective.
It was… controlled.
Strategic.
And that's when it hit Kruthi—
He wasn't here to save Rushaan.
He was here to control the situation.
A whisper passed through the crowd:
"That's Vivaan Malhotra…"
"The CEO…"
"Svidevzalia's corp…"
The weight of his identity settled over the room like a silent command.
No one interrupted him now.
No one raised their voice.
Even Rushaan—
Who had been spiraling just moments ago—
Went quiet.
Not relieved.
Not safe.
Just… still.
Vivaan adjusted his cufflinks slightly, his expression unchanged.
"Continue the ceremony," he said calmly.
And just like that—
The chaos… bent.
At first—
Ayesha didn't understand. The words blurred into noise.
Accusations. Murmurs. Gasps.
She looked at Rushaan.
Waiting. For him to laugh it off.
To deny it.
To be the man she believed in.
But he didn't look at her.
Not once.
Her grip on his hand tightened.
"Rushaan…" she whispered, barely audible. "Say something."
Silence.
Her heartbeat quickened.
No—
Not fear.
Something worse.
Doubt.
Her eyes shifted to the screens.
To Tara.
To the media.
To the people who were no longer smiling—
But staring.
Judging.
"This isn't true… right?" she asked again.
This time, her voice trembled.
Rushaan finally turned.
But his expression—
It wasn't reassuring.
It wasn't angry.
It was… unstable.
And that's when it cracked.
Ayesha slowly pulled her hand away from his.
As if the contact itself suddenly felt unfamiliar.
Her gaze dropped—
Then lifted again.
Stronger this time.
But not unbroken.
"So it's true," she said.
Not a question.
A conclusion.
Around her, the chaos continued.
But for her—
Everything had gone quiet.
Her mind raced.
Family.
Reputation.
Guests.
Media.
Her parents' faces.
The headlines.
This wedding—
Was no longer about love.
It was about damage.
Her fingers curled into her lehenga.
Tightly.
And then—
She straightened.
Not because she was okay.
But because she had decided something.
When the priest called them forward—
She didn't resist.
Didn't cry. Didn't create a scene.
She stepped ahead.
Calm.
Composed.
Controlled.
But as she passed Rushaan—
She didn't look at him.
Not once.
The marriage proceeded successfully, but Rushaan's reputation was tarnished.
Where people gave pride on his name, were now disgusted.
Where the great Rushaan Amogh, received popularity for his work, was now getting popularity for his sins.
But that mysterious video nagged Kruthi even while she was driving to return to her home.
Who was that guy?
why that video was there?
she remembered from where she had gathered evidences.
The file she found at the office, the people who knew Rushaan, the recordings from nearby cameras where Rushaan often visited, and lastly from getting his account hacked by her friend to whom she paid, in a determination to find all evidences.
His phone...but why was the video there?
Her mind was bombarding with the thoughts.
When suddenly,
She felt a hand from back, pressing a cloth on her mouth.
Her hands lost the steering wheel of car.
she tried to resist, to shout.
but failed and soon fainted.
When she opened her eyes, she was in the same basement which was in that video.
Tied.
Darkness.
Heavy.
Suffocating.
Kruthi's eyes fluttered open.
A sharp pain shot through her head.
Her breath came uneven—
slow at first…
then fast.
Cold.
That's what she felt first.
Cold air brushing against her skin.
She tried to move—
But couldn't.
Her hands—
Tied.
Tightly.
Rough rope digging into her wrists.
Her heartbeat spiked.
Memory hit.
The car.
The cloth.
The blackout.
Her eyes widened.
The basement.
The same one.
That's when she realised, she was kidnapped....by him.