The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast a golden hue across the room, highlighting the delicate shimmer of her bridal jewelry. She sat there, perfectly poised, the deep red of her wedding attire contrasting against the ivory sheets of the bed. Fingers intertwined in her lap, she waited—waited for the man who was now her husband. The heavy door creaked open. Aarav Malhotra had arrived. Dressed in a crisp black shirt, the top buttons undone, he exuded authority even in the simplest of actions. His gaze swept over the room before finally landing on her. There was no warmth in his dark eyes, no trace of the tenderness a bride might hope for on her wedding night. Instead, his stare was cold, unreadable. She swallowed, trying to steady her nerves. "You’re late," she said softly. Aarav let out a low chuckle, though there was no humor in it. "Did you expect me to be excited for this night?" His voice was sharp, laced with indifference. He stepped further inside, closing the door behind him. "Let’s get one thing straight—this marriage is nothing but a compromise. A contract signed by our families. Don’t expect anything more from me." She flinched at his words, but she had already prepared herself for this. She knew who he was—the man who didn’t believe in love, the man who didn’t want this marriage. Yet, something inside her refused to cower. "Understood," she said, meeting his gaze with quiet defiance. "But just because you don’t want this marriage doesn’t mean I’ll let you treat me like I don’t exist." Aarav’s jaw tightened, surprised by the fire in her voice. For a moment, something flickered in his eyes, but just as quickly, it was gone. He exhaled sharply and turned away. "You’ll have your space, and I’ll have mine," he muttered before grabbing a spare pillow and heading toward the couch. She watched as he settled in, his back facing her. The room felt colder than it should, heavy with unspoken words. Their marriage had begun, but the distance between them was already impossible to ignore.