Today was her wedding day—just 90 days after her husband, Aarav, had died in a tragic car accident.

Sitting in front of the mirror, Meera adjusted her white veil with trembling hands. The incense from Aarav’s funeral still lingered faintly in the house. His portrait remained solemnly on the altar. People whispered, pointed fingers, and called her “the widow in a hurry.” But Meera didn’t care. She had her reasons.

Outside the small room, distant temple bells echoed through the air, a haunting reminder of recent sorrows. Meera thought back to those nights sitting in silence beside her father-in-law, Mr. Devendra Khanna—the man who had comforted her after Aarav’s death.

Devendra, a widower himself for many years, was a quiet but commanding presence. In her deepest loneliness, he had become her only pillar.
It was he who proposed this marriage.
And though Meera’s heart still ached, she agreed.

The ceremony was modest—only a few close friends and family. As Meera walked into the temple hall in her bridal gown, all eyes turned to her and the groom—her father-in-law.

Gasps and murmurs spread through the crowd:

“Is this real?”
“She’s marrying her late husband’s father?”

But Meera lowered her head and walked forward, tightly holding Devendra’s hand.

At the reception, Devendra stood and raised his glass. His voice was low, yet commanding:

“Today, Meera and I are officially husband and wife. I know this may come as a shock. But this marriage is not just about love. It’s for something far greater.”

The room fell silent. Meera smiled faintly, but her eyes held a deep, unreadable sorrow.

Devendra continued:

“Aarav left behind a legacy. And we, those who remain, must protect it.”

Later that night, after the guests had gone, Meera and Devendra sat in the cold living room of the ancestral mansion. Meera opened an old wooden box and pulled out a thick stack of documents—legal papers Aarav had hidden before his death. They revealed a conspiracy: greedy relatives attempting to steal the family fortune. If Meera didn’t marry Devendra, inheritance laws would pass everything to them—and Aarav’s legacy would vanish.

“He did this for Aarav. For the family. And I… I did it to keep my promise to him,” Meera whispered, her eyes filled with tears.

Devendra placed a hand gently on her shoulder, his voice soft but heavy:

“But Meera, you no longer need to pretend. I know the truth.”

Meera froze. Panic flashed in her eyes.
Devendra slowly pulled out an old phone—Aarav’s phone.

On the screen was a message—one that had never been sent. But Meera knew exactly what it was.
She had written it herself, in a moment of rage, threatening to destroy Aarav’s life.
It was sent just hours before the crash.

“You caused my son’s death,” Devendra said coldly.
“This wedding was never about saving the inheritance. It’s how I’ll make sure you never escape punishment.”

Meera stood frozen. Her veil slipped from her head onto the floor.

She realized now—she hadn’t entered a new life. She had walked into a trap.
This marriage was no beginning. It was a sentence.

Devendra smiled. But it wasn’t a warm smile. It was calculated. Icy.

“From now on, you will live in this house… as my wife.
And as my prisoner.”

The heavy wooden door creaked shut. The sound of the lock turning echoed through the empty halls.

Outside, the cold wind swept through the trees.
Temple bells rang once more in the distance—
as if to remind the world of secrets now forever buried within those walls.