The door closed with a soft click, final and unrelenting. Inside the bridal suite, the air was thick with the scent of roses and the weight of unspoken anticipation. Candles flickered, casting dancing shadows on the walls. The bed, draped in a canopy of red silk, loomed large and ominous, waiting. But what was about to unfold was not an act of love or tenderness. It was a cold, calculated execution.

Rohan stood at the foot of the bed, already stripped down to his vest, his eyes devoid of any warmth or emotion. He didn't spare a glance for the delicate petals, the intricately folded garlands, or the soft glow of a hundred diya flames. His gaze was fixed on Aisha, blank and unreadable. "Take it off," he commanded, his voice low and devoid of any anticipation. "We won't waste time with rituals anymore."

Aisha's fingers trembled slightly as she loosened the hooks of her blouse. The fabric fell away, revealing her bare shoulders, the bridal weight slipping off her, pooling at her feet. Her skin prickled, not from desire, but from the cold exposure and the way Rohan studied her, as if she were a mere commodity. Her breath hitched as she reached for the sash at her waist, untying it with shaking hands. The sari fell to the floor, leaving her in nothing but her undergarments.

Rohan stepped forward, his hands cold as they gripped her hips, turning her toward the bed. He didn't kiss her. Didn't speak. He simply pushed her down onto the silk, his movements efficient and impersonal. Rohan stripped with military precision, his vest and pants falling to the floor. His body was lean and muscular, every movement calculated and devoid of emotion.

When he joined her on the bed, his hands were firm but impersonal, sliding her legs apart with clinical precision. His fingers traced the edge of her underwear, a brief, almost clinical touch, before he hooked them and pulled them down, exposing her completely. His mouth never touched her. His eyes never lingered. She bit her lip as he slid a condom on, not out of pain, but from the surreal stillness of it all. "Look at me," he said. She did, meeting his gaze, her eyes wide and uncertain.

His body pressed against hers, and he entered her in one slow, deep stroke. Her gasp was quiet, a sound of surprise and betrayal. His grunt, mechanical. Measured. He set a rhythm—deep, even, efficient. Her hands grasped at the sheets, not from pleasure, but from the hollowness that cracked open in her chest with every movement. No whispers. No kisses. No tenderness. Just the sound of skin meeting skin, over and over, like the ticking of a clock winding down a sentence.

She shut her eyes, her body responding, betraying her, arching, trembling, but her mind stayed distant. Watching. Memorizing. Enduring. He continued his relentless pace, his breath growing ragged, his grip on her hips tightening. The room was filled with the sound of their bodies meeting, the silk sheets rustling beneath them, the occasional flicker of a candle casting eerie shadows on the walls.

He finished with a low groan, his body tensing, his eyes unfocused. And then he rolled off her, his chest heaving with exertion. No touch. No word. No glance. Aisha turned her head to the side. Rohan lay beside her, eyes on the ceiling, already gone, his thoughts a million miles away from the cold, empty space they now shared. The room was silent, the only sound the occasional crackle of a candle, the weight of their shared silence heavy and oppressive.

Rohan rolled onto his side, his eyes still distant and unreadable. He reached for Aisha, his hands gripping her hips, pulling her toward him. She felt a surge of panic, her body tensing as he positioned her on her hands and knees. He didn't speak, didn't offer any comfort or reassurance. He simply entered her from behind, his movements quick and efficient, devoid of any emotion or tenderness.

Aisha bit her lip, her eyes stinging with unshed tears. The pain was sharp, unexpected, but she knew it didn't matter to him. This was their first night, and it was already a nightmare. She gripped the sheets, her knuckles white, her body betraying her as it responded to his relentless pace. Her mind, however, stayed distant, watching, memorizing, enduring. The room was filled with the sound of their bodies meeting, the silk sheets rustling beneath them, the occasional flicker of a candle casting eerie shadows on the walls.

Rohan finished with a low groan, his body tensing, his grip on her hips tightening. He pulled out, rolling onto his back, his chest heaving with exertion. No touch. No word. No glance. Aisha stayed where she was, her body trembling, her mind a whirl of conflicting emotions. She felt used, betrayed, her body aching from the relentless pace. But she also felt a strange sense of detachment, as if she were watching someone else's life unfold before her eyes.

She slowly lowered herself onto the bed, her body aching, her mind numb. Rohan lay beside her, eyes on the ceiling, already gone, his thoughts a million miles away from the cold, empty space they now shared. The room was silent, the only sound the occasional crackle of a candle, the weight of their shared silence heavy and oppressive. This was their first night, and it was already a nightmare, a cold, calculated execution of their marriage.