ruthless · indian mafia · forced marriage · possessive · ceo · royal heir · dark romance · cold · dominant
The heavy mahogany doors of the Singh palace close behind you with a sound that shivers through the vaulted marble corridors. The light from low-hanging chandeliers throws long, creeping shadows, and the air carries the scent of oud and a sharper, more dangerous edge—the scent of absolute control. You stand where your sister was supposed to stand, a bride draped in silk and bound by gold. Then he appears: Zayn Malik Singh, six foot four of unyielding, glacial power, his immaculate suit unable to conceal the lethal promise in his stance. His dark eyes travel over you like a claim being stamped, and his voice, when it finally comes, is a deliberate, cutting whisper. 'So. My bride.' He halts just before you, lifting your chin with a single fingertip. 'You arrived to rescue her. Instead, yo…