It was supposed to be a simple wedding, but nothing was simple where Siya Malhotra was involved.

The grand hall was decorated in hues of gold and red, guests murmuring among themselves as the bride and groom stood near the mandap. It should have been the happiest day of their lives, but the charged air told a different story.

Siya stormed into the hall, her black lehenga swishing dramatically as her sharp eyes scanned the crowd. The room fell silent. In her hand was a gun, gripped tightly, her knuckles white. Her lips curled into a dangerous smile as her gaze settled on the bride.

"Well, well, well," she began, her voice calm but laced with venom. "What is this, darling? Didn’t I make myself clear? You marry only me. Only me. No one else."

The crowd gasped, unsure of what to do. Arjun, standing near the mandap in his regal sherwani, remained unmoved, his piercing eyes locked on Siya. He looked as if this was expected, his expression betraying a faint amusement.

"Little one," he said, his deep voice carrying through the hall, "we’ve been through this. I told you I can't marry you. You're too young for me. And I can marry whoever I choose."

Siya's jaw clenched, and she tilted her head slightly, her fiery gaze softening for a moment as she looked at Arjun. "Oh, Arjun," she said, her voice almost tender. "You can marry, darling. But only me."

Then her eyes darkened again as she turned her focus back to the bride. "And you," she hissed, "how dare you think you could take him from me?"

Before anyone could react, Siya raised the gun and fired.

The bride screamed in agony as the bullet pierced her arm, blood staining her pristine white saree. Gasps filled the hall as the bride collapsed to her knees, clutching her arm in pain. Siya didn’t even flinch.

Arjun raised an eyebrow, his smirk growing wider. He had to admit, her audacity impressed him. But deep down, he felt a pull—a tug of emotion he couldn’t ignore.

"Siya," he said, his tone steady but firm. "Do you realize what you've done?"

Siya turned to him, her fierce demeanor softening in an instant. Her lips trembled, but she held her head high. "I did what had to be done," she replied, her voice faltering for just a moment. "You belong to me, Arjun. You always have. And no one—no one—can take you away from me."

The room remained silent as Siya walked toward Arjun, her gun lowering. She stopped inches away from him, her voice now barely above a whisper. "I love you. I have always loved you."

Arjun studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Part of him wanted to push her away, to remind her that this was madness. But another part—a part he hated admitting existed—wanted her just as fiercely.

Before he could respond, Siya turned to the stunned priest. "Continue the wedding," she commanded, her tone brooking no argument.

The priest glanced nervously at Arjun, who gave a subtle nod. The men in the room, knowing Siya’s connection to her brother, Vihaan Malhotra, stayed silent. They knew better than to interfere. Crossing Siya meant crossing Vihaan, and no one dared risk that.

As the wedding rituals began, Siya’s fiery exterior softened once again. Her eyes shone with unshed tears as she looked at Arjun, who reluctantly placed the garland around her neck

The rituals continued as the crowd watched in stunned silence. Siya stood next to Arjun, her face radiant with triumph as the priest recited the mantras. Arjun, though outwardly composed, couldn’t shake the turmoil in his chest. His cold, calculating side told him to resist, to remind Siya of the boundaries she so recklessly ignored. But another part of him—a part he hated admitting existed—couldn’t look away from her.

In the shadows of the hall, Vihaan Malhotra stood silently, his tall frame leaning against a pillar. His sharp eyes missed nothing—he had seen it all, from Siya’s dramatic entrance to the moment she fired the shot. Yet, he hadn’t intervened.

Vihaan’s expression remained unreadable as he watched his sister claim the moment she had so desperately fought for. His lips pressed into a thin line, betraying neither approval nor disapproval. Deep down, he knew Siya was impulsive and reckless, but she was also fierce and relentless when it came to the things—and people—she loved.

As the final rituals were completed, and Arjun reluctantly tied the mangalsutra around Siya’s neck, Vihaan’s gaze softened ever so slightly. He folded his arms, his stance radiating quiet authority.

He didn’t need to say anything to make his presence felt. Arjun knew Vihaan was watching, and so did Siya. She glanced at her brother for a brief moment, her eyes meeting his. In that fleeting exchange, Vihaan’s silent message was clear: This is your choice, Siya, but I’ll always have your back. No one will hurt you—not even him.

The crowd erupted into applause, hesitant at first but growing louder as the ceremony reached its conclusion. Siya held Arjun’s arm tightly, her eyes shimmering with joy and defiance. She had won, and nothing else mattered.

Vihaan stepped forward slightly, just enough to let her know he was there. He said nothing, merely giving her a faint nod before turning and walking away, his presence as commanding in silence as it was in speech.

As he disappeared into the crowd, Siya felt a wave of relief. She had her brother’s silent blessing, and that was enough.

For now, the queen had claimed her king, and nothing—not fate, nor fear, nor anyone’s disapproval—could take this moment from her.

For now, Siya had won.