Page 2 of Substitute Bride

HIS LIFE

Balanced on his palms on the ground, with his feet resting on a chair, his bare chest glistening with sweat, Vikrant looked like a carved statue of disciplined fury.

Every cut and ripple of his muscles reflected his intense, almost punishing routine.

Droplets of sweat traced the path of unspoken rage as he moved into one-arm pushups, his breath steady and movements precise.

He welcomed silence like a dear friend, hated interruptions, and found peace only in solitude.

But that moment of calm didn’t last long.

The heavy doors burst open. A tall man strode in with two bodyguards trailing him. The man’s eyes, as sharp as blades, scanned the room. He motioned with a tilt of his chin, and the guards silently exited, leaving the two men alone in the stillness.

“Hey, my son... VIKRANT,” the man said warmly.

Vikrant looked up without a flicker of emotion. He rose from the floor, sweat still trailing from his temples, and bent respectfully to touch his father’s feet. Ravindra’s pride was evident as he clutched his son’s shoulder, pulling him into a tight embrace.

“My son... It’s only been ten days, but it feels like ten years. You don’t even answer my calls anymore. I missed hearing your voice. How have you been?”

“Good... How are you, Dad?”

Vikrant replied, his voice low and flat.

“Just seeing you here makes everything better. You know how much I love having you near me.”

Vikrant turned his back, grabbed a towel, and began wiping the sweat off, uninterested in emotional banter. Ravindra, however, stood firm and proud, speaking with a gleam in his eye.

“They’ve accepted all our terms. We’ve secured the biggest arms deal yet.”

A slow, cold smirk tugged at Vikrant’s lips.

He met his father’s eyes through the mirror.

Of course Ravindra would close the deal; he always did.

On paper, Ravindra was a celebrated political figure, but beneath, he was the mastermind behind an empire of smuggling, arms, and terror.

The mafia king is in a politician’s skin. Ravindra leaned in closer.

“When was the last time you saw Sonakshi? You two are getting married in two days. Don’t you think she deserves some time with you? She is, after all, your bride.”

Vikrant gave no answer. His silence was louder than a thousand words.

He was marrying Sonakshi for one reason only: power.

Her father, Viren Chandel, was another powerful wolf dressed in Mafia.

Their marriage would fuse two empires into one.

He neither loved Sonakshi nor believed in love.

Not anymore. Ravindra saw his son's reflection, but he didn’t expect a reply.

Instead, he stepped beside him, placed his hand gently on the dumbbell Vikrant was lifting, and said softly,

“Sonakshi is a lovely girl. Perhaps she’ll bring light into your life. Your mother never loved me, but I’ve always loved her. Till my last breath, I will.”

But Vikrant didn’t want to hear about love. Not from his father. Not from anyone. Without saying a word, he dropped the dumbbell and walked out. Ravindra watched his son leave, his silhouette shrinking into the hallway until he disappeared. He murmured under his breath:

“One day someone will come into your life who will break through this wall. And that day, my son, you’ll understand what love really is. I just hope Sonakshi is that person.”

Vikrant stood under a freezing shower, eyes closed, head bowed. The water cascaded over his body, trying to extinguish the rage that burned inside him, rage rooted in memories he couldn’t escape.

PAST EVENT

Ten-year-old Vikrant stood silently in the corner of the room, watching his parents. His mother was shouting, her voice slicing through the air like a blade.

"I hate you… That’s the truth. Other than that, I don’t know anything. You can’t stop me, not by binding me, not by pleading with me. You’ll never be able to stop me.”

“I don’t understand, Sonia,” Ravindra said, his voice heavy with disbelief. “What happened all of a sudden? Everything was fine, you were happy with me. Where is this hatred coming from? How can someone who used to express love so openly now harbor such animosity?”

“I told you—I hate you,” she snapped. “You’ve ruined my life. You’re just a bloody mafia…. No heart… Just go away… Being around you feels like breathing poison. I want to get away from here, I don’t know anything else. Just leave. I don’t want to see your face again.”

Sonia turned to leave. Ravindra stood frozen, unable to move, unable to comprehend how the life he had built so carefully had collapsed in an instant.

From his hiding spot, Vikrant had been watching everything.

He couldn’t hold back any longer. As soon as he saw his mother walking away, he ran toward her and clung to her waist, crying desperately.

“Mumma, where are you going? Don’t leave me…”

“Just let go of me, Vikrant.”

“No, Mumma, please… Mumma…”

But nothing could stop Sonia that day. With a painful grip, she grabbed Vikrant’s hands from her waist, yanked them off, and pushed him aside.

He jolted back into the present as he opened his eyes.

His chest heaved as he gasped for breath, feeling as though his mother had just pushed him away again.

He turned off the shower, wrapped a towel around his torso, and stood before the mirror.

The steam had blurred the glass. He wiped it with his hand and stared at his reflection.

In the foggy mirror, he didn’t see a grown man.

He saw that ten-year-old boy again pleading, broken, desperate for his mother’s love.

But he wanted to bury that version of himself, to hide him forever.

The world didn’t need to see that, Vikrant.

The world needed to see the version of Vikrant that was dangerous, cold, calculating, and untouchable.

The day his mother eloped with another man, she died in a car crash alongside him.

But for Vikrant, she had already died the moment she chose to walk away.

From that day forward, a deep, indelible hatred for women had taken root in him.

A hatred so profound it defied explanation.

To the world, Vikrant was a terrifying force.

But to deceitful women, he was nothing less than a beast. He closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them again, as if to erase any trace of the boy he had just seen in the mirror.

“Good…”

He muttered under his breath. When he emerged from his closet, now fully dressed, Sharda, his lifelong caregiver, was waiting for him in the room.

Sharda had been with the family since the day he was born.

After losing her entire family in a tragic accident, Sharda, his grandmother's best friend, accepted a job offer from Vikrant's grandmother to care for him.

Since then, she had been his nanny, his guide.

She was the only woman he truly respected.

The only person he truly trusted. To the world, Vikrant was terrifying.

But to Sharda, whom he called Maa, he was just a boy who still needed love.

“Hey Maa, good morning,” he greeted her, his tone softening.

“Good morning, sweetheart.”

“Please, why do you always call me sweetheart? I’m not a little boy anymore.”

“You’ll always be my sweetheart. Now listen, I’ve arranged a lunch date for you.”

Vikrant looked at her sharply. He knew this was his father’s idea, but Sharda wouldn’t back down. She met his gaze and spoke firmly.

“You always say you never disobey me. I’ve been telling you for days to spend time with your future wife, but you’ve refused. Now that I’ve arranged something, you’re acting like I did something wrong.”

He sighed internally. She knew exactly how to make him comply. Arguing with her wouldn’t achieve anything but further friction. So, while eating his breakfast, he replied calmly.

“Call her and inform her. I’ll be there at 1:00 PM.”

Sharda’s face lit up. She stood there smiling for a long moment, watching him with quiet pride. She knew him better than anyone else.

“Love is a beautiful thing,” she whispered as he left. “And I want you to feel its beauty. You’ve locked yourself inside a prison of your own making. It’s time to come out. Love is waiting for you.”