The air in the grand Rana Mansion felt heavy, its silence broken only by the faint echo of footsteps against the marble floors. A sleek black car was parked outside, its engine still warm, as if it carried the intensity of the scene that was about to unfold. Inside the house, two figures moved with contrasting energies.

A young woman in her late twenties, walked gracefully, her pink saree shimmering softly under the dim lights of the corridor. Her minimalist makeup accentuated her natural beauty, and she exuded an air of quiet dignity. Yet, her calm demeanor was at odds with the tension crackling in the atmosphere. Beside her, a man stormed ahead, his broad shoulders stiff with rage. The man, only a few years older than her, ignored her presence entirely, his pace brisk and purposeful.

She quickened her steps to keep up, her delicate heels clicking softly against the floor. The golden-framed portraits of ancestors seemed to watch silently as the couple ascended the winding staircase to their lavish bedroom. The door shut behind them with a heavy thud, the sound echoing ominously in the vast space.

He turned abruptly, his bloodshot eyes burning with fury. He moved toward the built-in bar, the polished mahogany glinting in the low light. Without a word, he grabbed a bottle of alcohol, unscrewing the cap with a ferocity that made her flinch. The liquid sloshed as he downed a large portion in one go. The bottle hit the counter with a loud thud, and he stalked toward her like a predator closing in on its prey.

She sat on the edge of their king-sized bed, the silk sheets cold beneath her trembling hands. Her chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, her heart pounding in her ears. She felt a gnawing unease, the kind that left her both frozen and desperate to flee.

His voice sliced through the suffocating silence, dripping with venom. "You act so naïve, Amaira. So delicate, so innocent. But then you behave like a slut in front of other men. Do you think I didn’t notice?"

His words hit her like a physical blow. Confusion marred her face as she stared at him, her lips parting to respond. “What are you talking about—”

Before she could finish, a sharp slap echoed in the room. Her head snapped to the side, her cheek stinging from the impact. Tears welled in her eyes as she gasped, the metallic taste of fear settling on her tongue.

“Stop this innocent act of yours,” Raghav spat, his fingers gripping her chin tightly. His nails dug into her soft skin, leaving behind crescent-shaped marks. “I saw you—laughing, flirting, getting cozy with other men at the party. Don’t lie to me!”

Amaira’s tears spilled over, streaking her flawless makeup as she choked out a sob. “Raghav, listen to me! I wasn’t—”

He cut her off with a cruel laugh, shaking his head as if mocking her attempt to defend herself. His grip on her chin tightened, and she winced, her hands clawing at his wrist in an effort to free herself.

“You know what?” he hissed, his voice low and chilling. “I should’ve never held back on our wedding night.”

Amaira’s blood ran cold, her body trembling violently. She shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper. “No… please. I didn’t do anything. Trust me.”

But Raghav was far beyond reason. His dark chuckle reverberated through the room, sending shivers down her spine. He leaned closer, his breath reeking of alcohol, his words dripping with malice. “Amaira -Amaira. Women like you have needs. You should’ve come to me if you were feeling neglected. But no—you had to parade yourself around like some cheap whore, looking all slutty and an eye candy for the people in the party. Huh? This is what you wanted. Attention from other men!”

“No,” she whispered, her voice breaking as fresh tears spilled down her cheeks.

“Hush!” he snapped, dragging her by her ankle. Amaira yelped as she was pulled down onto the mattress, her pink saree crumpling around her. Panic surged through her veins as she tried to push herself away, but he loomed over her, trapping her beneath him.

“You thought you could fool me? That facade of innocence is over now,” he growled, his face inches from hers. “Let me show you how a real man takes his woman—in every way possible.”

Amaira’s sobs grew louder, her struggles futile against his overpowering grip. Her voice cracked as she begged, “Raghav, please—don’t do this…”

The bedroom, adorned with opulent decor and shimmering chandeliers, seemed like a gilded cage, suffocating her with its false grandeur. The muted pink of her saree, once a symbol of grace, now felt like a cruel irony against the darkness enveloping her world.

Amaira’s voice trembled as she desperately tried to appeal to the shred of humanity she hoped was still left in her husband. “Raghav, you’re intoxicated. Please—this isn’t right!” Her voice was a fragile mix of fear and reason, barely audible over the pounding of her own heart.

Her attempts to push against his iron grip only seemed to fuel his anger. His eyes darkened further, and his lips twisted into a sneer. “Shut the fuck up, bitch!” he roared, the venom in his voice making her flinch before he struck her with the back of his hand. The impact left her cheek burning, her head jerking to the side as stars danced in her vision.

Amaira whimpered, her breath hitching as she felt his hands leave her momentarily. But her relief was short-lived. Raghav tugged at the tie around his neck with deliberate, measured movements, the soft swish of the fabric making her stomach drop.

“No—Raghav, don’t…” she pleaded, scooting back on the bed until her spine hit the carved headboard.

But he was already advancing. He grabbed her wrists roughly, forcing them together. The silk tie coiled around her hands, the knot tightening with every pull. Amaira squirmed, tears streaming down her face as her pleas fell on deaf ears. “Please, stop this!”

Raghav smirked wickedly, his face a mask of cruel satisfaction. He yanked the tie one final time, securing it tightly. He stepped back slightly, his eyes scanning her trembling form as though he was savoring her helplessness. “Now,” he said, his voice dripping with malice, “struggle all you want. You won’t be free.”

Amaira’s chest heaved as panic consumed her. She thrashed against her restraints, but the silk held firm. The luxurious tie, a symbol of sophistication, now felt like a tool of torment. Her mind screamed for escape, her body trembling with both fear and futile defiance.

“Raghav, please…” she whimpered one last time, her voice breaking.

But the man before her was no longer the person she had once believed in. His wicked grin and dark, intoxicated gaze left no room for mercy, and the opulence of the room seemed to mock her suffering, trapping her in a nightmare she could not wake from.

Raghav’s cold, mocking tone pierced the air, devoid of any warmth. “I’m not the gentleman Raghav you think I am. So stop begging and cooperate like an obedient wife should.” His fingers brushed her tear-streaked cheek, the gesture meant to belittle rather than comfort. The soft tap of his hand was a cruel mockery of tenderness, a twisted delight in her pain and helplessness.

THE FOLLOWING CONTENT CONTAINS TRIGGERING CONTENT - IT CONTAINS SEXUAL @BUSE & R@PE. SO IF YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE, THEN SKIP THIS PART. THANKYOU.

Amaira flinched, her entire body trembling like a leaf caught in a storm. Her chest heaved as she fought against the suffocating fear engulfing her. Her lips quivered, but no words escaped her. She could only watch in horror as he reached for the edge of her saree.

With one swift motion, Raghav ripped the elegant fabric away, the pins holding it together scattering across the floor with a metallic clink. The vibrant pink of her saree, once a symbol of grace and beauty, now lay in a crumpled heap beside the bed. Amaira instinctively curled in on herself, trying to shield her modesty as tears continued to pour down her face.

“Stop struggling before I break your bones in two,” Raghav snarled, his voice dripping with venom. His threat froze her movements. Her body shook violently, every muscle screaming to fight, but her will was crushed under the weight of his words.

For a brief moment, the room was eerily silent except for the sound of her ragged breathing. Then, Raghav’s wicked grin returned as he began unbuttoning his own clothes. Each piece of fabric he removed felt like another weight pressing down on Amaira, trapping her further in this nightmare.

She closed her eyes tightly, tears squeezing out as she tried to block out the reality before her. This was not how she had envisioned her marriage, her union with her partner. In her dreams, this moment was supposed to be filled with love, respect, and warmth—not this horror that drained her of all strength.

As her lips trembled, Amaira silently began to pray, her thoughts a desperate plea to Shiv Ji. Save me, protect me from this monster. I don’t deserve this. Please, Shiv Ji, hear me.

But her whispered prayers were swallowed by the vastness of the luxurious room, which now felt more like a gilded prison. The walls, adorned with ornate designs, seemed to close in on her, their beauty mocking her torment. The chandelier above, its crystals shimmering, cast fractured light that felt like jagged edges against her fragile spirit.

She lay there, helpless and broken, as the man she had once called her husband loomed over her like a shadow, his grin etched into her mind like a scar.

He removed her petticoat and underwear in one swift motion. Amaira's eyes widened in horror, she closed her legs trying to protect her dignity, "Raghav - I will scream. Back out. Now." Raghav sneered coldly as he dig his nails in her thighs, "Amaira - no one is here in the mansion. Scream all you want, when I break your legs and fuck you. You want that? Hmm"

Amaira didn't stop her Resistance, she thrashed her legs with all her might. "Raghav....I beg you. Please don't do this...I'm your wife", Amaira begged, as she choked on her own tears. Raghav's anger flares as she resist, his hand slamming against her cheek with a loud slap, "Shut up! You will do as I say! Now open your legs or I'll do it for you!" He grabs her thighs and forces them apart, revealing her trembling form.

Amaira felt her world crumble around her, the weight of shame pressing down on her like an unbearable storm. Every fiber of her being screamed in protest, her spirit warring against the helplessness that threatened to consume her. Disgust coiled tightly in her chest, not just for the man in front of her, but for the vulnerability she couldn’t shield herself from.

Her body trembled uncontrollably, and her mind raced with fragmented thoughts—memories of laughter, of trust, of moments that now felt like distant dreams. Each one was shattered like glass, leaving jagged edges of betrayal and anguish in their wake. Humiliation washed over her like a suffocating tide, drowning out the small, flickering ember of strength she desperately tried to hold onto.

Raghav's edgy tone, pulled her out of her thoughts, "You know, I can make this hurt more than it needs to....." He uses his strong legs to wedge her thighs further apart, ignoring her struggles. He looks down at her struggling form, a cruel smile tugging at his lips.

Amaira shook her head in horror, "Please no......." Raghav inches closer to her face and spoke, the smell of his alcoholic breathe making her feel nauseated, "Last chance. Spread your legs, Amaira."

Seeing no response from Amaira, Raghav forces her legs open wider pushing his way between them. "Now you'll learn how to be a good wife and serve your husband."

Her tears burned her cheeks as they flowed endlessly, silent witnesses to her despair. She couldn’t stop them, just as she couldn’t stop the sickening sense of being stripped of her dignity, her voice, her control. The walls of the mansion, adorned with opulence, now felt cold and mocking, a stark contrast to the warmth she once associated with this place.

He thrusted in one go, making her scream in agony. Amaira's breath hitched sharply as an overwhelming wave of pain coursed through her, causing her body to go rigid. The sting was unbearable, cutting through her like shards of ice. Tears streamed freely down her cheeks, blending with the perspiration on her flushed face. Her hands clenched into fists, nails digging into her palms as she tried to find some anchor, some way to ground herself amidst the storm of agony and humiliation.

The room seemed to close in around her, the opulent decor fading into a blur as her senses heightened to the rawness of her suffering. She felt the dampness against between her thighs, a cruel reminder of her vulnerability, and shame gripped her like a vice.

Her mind screamed for escape, for mercy, for an end to this nightmare, but all she could do was let out a choked sob. The muffled sounds echoed in the silent room, amplifying the suffocating isolation that consumed her.

Raghav's thrust were brutal, punishing, designed to cause maximum pain and humiliation. With each brutal motion, Raghav sneers down at Amaira, reveling in her anguished cries and helpless thrashing. "Scream, Amaira. Let these walls of the mansion hear your pathetic wails."

His pace becomes erratic and brutal, slamming into her with all his might. Sweat drips from his body as he uses her for his own pleasure, completely uncaring of the pain he's causing. With a final, devastating thrust, he buries himself deep inside her and holds still.

THE TRIGGERING CONTENT ENDS HERE!!

Raghav pulled away, his movements devoid of remorse or care, leaving Amaira trembling and utterly shattered on the bed. Her body quivered, her sobs muffled against the damp fabric of the sheets, her entire being aching from the violation she had endured.

He stood at the edge of the bed, buttoning his pants with a deliberate slowness, his lips curling into a cold, detached smirk. His eyes, devoid of any humanity, lingered on her broken form, relishing her pain as though it validated his power.

“There,” he sneered, his tone dripping with cruel satisfaction. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Amaira’s chest hitched as fresh tears poured from her swollen eyes. She didn’t have the strength to lift her gaze, to look into the face of the man who had destroyed her in every way imaginable.

Raghav leaned down slightly, his voice cold and venomous as he delivered his parting words. “Remember this lesson well, Amaira. And don’t act like this would have never happened between us.”

His words pierced through her like daggers, the mockery in his tone making her stomach churn.

“We are married, after all, and it’s your WIFELY DUTIES. Understand that.” he continued, standing tall and adjusting the cuffs of his shirt as if he had just concluded an ordinary task.

Amaira flinched at his words, the weight of his betrayal crushing her spirit even further. She curled in on herself, wrapping her arms around her trembling body as if to shield what little remained of her dignity.

Raghav’s footsteps echoed in the cold, silent room as he walked away, leaving behind shattered remnants of trust, dignity, and love. The door slammed shut behind him, a chilling finality to the torment he had inflicted. The once-vibrant room, adorned with the luxuries of their life together, now felt like a tomb—a graveyard of Amaira's dreams.

Amaira lay curled up on the bed, her trembling body folding into itself as if she could somehow shield her broken spirit from the world. Her fingers gripped the sheets tightly, seeking some semblance of comfort in the emptiness around her. Silent sobs wracked her frame, her tears soaking into the fabric beneath her.

The silence was deafening, save for her shallow breaths and the faint hum of the air conditioning—a cruel, indifferent witness to her agony. Amaira’s mind replayed the harrowing events, each memory like a jagged shard piercing her heart. The weight of humiliation, pain, and betrayal bore down on her, suffocating her under its relentless grasp.

As the final tears spilled from her swollen eyes, Amaira’s trembling lips parted, and she whispered words that carried the weight of her shattered soul. Her voice was barely audible, yet it resonated like thunder within the silent, oppressive walls of the mansion.

"Today, the Amaira who once dreamed.....that little inner child in her died.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy and irreversible, each syllable cutting through the silence like a blade. Her chest heaved as she forced the next words out, her voice cracking under the weight of her pain.

“All the hopes of having a successful marriage... of love... they’ve died today.”

Amaira’s eyes closed, shutting out the world and its cruel realities. For a moment, she lingered in the darkness, seeking refuge, but there was no solace to be found. Her chest rose and fell in shallow breaths as the truth settled within her, suffocating yet inescapable.

“At last, Amaira Rana... died.” she whispered, her tone devoid of life.

Yet, somewhere in the depths of her despair, a quiet thought lingered—a faint, almost imperceptible flicker of resolve. If this was the end of Amaira Rana, then perhaps, someday, she could rise again—not as the woman she was, but as someone unbreakable, forged by pain and resilience.

For now, though, Amaira simply lay there, curled up and alone, letting the darkness envelop her as the night stretched on.
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So, this is the Prologue of THE MAYAJAAL 💔🙂

Yeah, it took me 2 days to think and write this prologue? Why, because this prologue is the base of the story. The beginning of the destruction. I have to think rationally and frame the situations as well as not to neglect Amaira's emotions.

Marital R@pe & Domestic Violence is a Sensitive topic, in our society. Many women had faced it and are facing it.

I have poured my heart, soul and efforts in this book. Please don't let my hopes crushed down. I believe that you'll support me throughout the journey of THE MAYAJAAL.

Also, please let me know your thoughts about this prologue.

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With Love.
Authorshyra💗