I hadn’t even finished removing my makeup when my father-in-law knocked on the door. In that luxurious five-star hotel room, everything suddenly seemed cold and suffocating.

He didn’t look at me. He just shoved a wad of bills in my hand—ten $100s—and stammered:

If you want to live, go now. Tonight.

I was frozen. As if ice water had been poured on my heart.

My name is   Бпjali   , I am 26 years old, and I am a certified public accountant from Delhi. I met   Raghav   , my husband, as a corporate manager between two companies. Raghav is three years older: a young, attractive, and engaging CEO, the only son of a wealthy and well-known Locklow family.

Our relationship was quick. After six months, he proposed to me.

My family is simple. My parents are happy civil servants. When Raghav proposed to me, my mother cried with joy, and even my strict father gave him his blessing.

I was always the obedient daughter: I thought I could make the wrong decision.

The wedding was great: it was held in one of Delhi’s most luxurious hotels.

Everyone looked at me with admiration: “You married a rich man!” they said.

But I didn’t do it for money.

I married him because   he made me feel safe   .

Until that night…

My father-in-law, Mr.   Rajedra Mehta   , was a quiet and reserved man. From the moment I met him, I knew he didn’t like me.

But I never imagined he would say something like that, the very night of his son’s wedding.

—I don’t get it… What do you mean, sir?   —I stammered, still in shock.

He grabbed my hand tightly and whispered, as if he was afraid I would hear him:

Don’t ask questions. When you leave, there’ll be someone waiting for you. Don’t come back.
It’s the only thing I can do for you.

Then she looked at me with a haunted, terrified expression, as if doing this might cost her her life.
And then… she disappeared.

I stood there, trembling, with a thousand questions in my head.

In the other room, Raghav was laughing on the phone with his friends, unaware of what had just happened.

I was so scared. I didn’t know who to trust.
So I called the only person I could trust:   my best friend, Priya   .

“Are you crazy? Did you run away on your wedding night? Did someone threaten you?   ” she yelled.

I told him everything.
He remained silent. Then he said:

If your father-in-law told you that, he’s serious.
I’m coming for you.

Ten minutes later, Priya was at the hotel entrance.
I left with my suitcase, head down like a fugitive.
It was 2:17 a.m.
A light drizzle was falling in Delhi.

I hid in Priya’s apartment.
I turned off the phone.
Thirty missed calls from my mom. Thirty missed calls from my in-laws. From Raghav.

But she was terrified.
She didn’t know what she was more afraid of: Raghav… or his entire family?

The next morning, while Priya was at work, I pinged my phone.
A few messages: some scolding, some pleading, some threatening.

But nothing stood out.

Uп message from υп unknown number:

My father is a good man. But he can’t save you. If you return, you’ll either discover the truth or disappear forever.

That night, Mr. Mehta wrote to me directly:

If you’re still in Delhi, find me. Just this once. 8:00 PM,
Café Imperial, 2nd floor. I’ll cover everything for you.

I had to go.

The cafe was old, shady, and in the back alley of Old Delhi.
I climbed the wooden stairs. He was already there, waiting for me; his eyes were tired.

He spoke quickly and in a low voice:

You know Raghav is his only son. But do you know how his first wife died?

It froze me.

“Was he… married before?”

He nodded.

Nobody told you. She died two months after the wedding.
They said she fell down the stairs. But everyone in this house knows… it wasn’t an accident.
I never dared say anything. But I’m telling you now, because you’re next.

My blood froze.

Lυego took out the USB memory stick.

Take this. It has a voice recording and some documents.
Look it up yourself.
But let no one find out.

Why aren’t you going to the police?   I asked.

He laughed bitterly.

“Because if the police don’t even want to interfere with this family.”

Back at Priya’s apartment, I opened the USB.

There were several files:

An 8-minute audio recording.

Scanned copies of medical documents.

Uп iпforme written in hand, partially crossed out.

First I heard the audio.

A woman’s voice, clear, trembling with fear:

I can’t stay here anymore. Since the wedding, Raghav doesn’t let me leave the house.
He changes the locks every week.
My mother says I must have a child or she’ll eliminate me like the others.
I don’t even know what I did wrong…

It was   the voice of Neha, Raghav’s ex-wife. Her name appeared in the documents.

The recording was made   two days before his death   .

The report was written by Mr. Mehta himself and described years of strange behavior, family obsessions and a dark history:

Uпa líпea familiar coп iпestabilidad psicologica.

A great-grandfather who murdered his wife believing that “the blood of the Virgin preserves the family fortress.”

Her mother-in-law is obsessed with astrology and rituals, convinced that her mother must have her child in the first year… or she would be “eliminated.”

Neha died three months after her marriage, following a fall.
Another ex-wife, whose name has not been revealed, is said to have taken her own life.

Everything had been silenced.

I felt dizzy.

Raghav, the man who kissed my forehead the day before,
was at the   center of something terrifying   .

I wanted to escape. But Priya stopped me:

You can’t disappear anymore. He’ll know.
We need you. I’ll help you.

With the help of Priya and our journalist friend, we gathered the documents, sent them anonymously to the authorities, and contacted the lawyer.

Three days later, an official investigation was launched.
It didn’t make headlines, but it was serious enough.
Raghav’s family was summoned.
And, for the first time, Mr. Mehta agreed to testify.

A few weeks later, I officially filed for divorce.
Raghav didn’t react the way I expected.
He just looked at me and said,

—So you’re leaving too. Like the others.

I shuddered.

There was no   hint of regret   in his eyes.

A month later, the investigation was quietly closed.
His family used only money and influence to silence the press,
but it wasn’t that easy with the legal community.

I don’t know what will happen to Raghav.
I don’t care anymore.

I left Delhi and moved to Bombay.
I started from scratch.
My parents were devastated, but they supported me.

I don’t trust easily anymore.
But one thing I know:   I survived.

Some time later, I received a handwritten letter.
Yes, man. Just a message:

You did the right thing.
Thank you for giving me courage.
— You safe.

I burst into tears.

There are things that just happen to you… until they happen.

I am no longer the Бпjali who believed in fairy tales.

But I do believe this is one thing:

No truth is more terrifying than living a lie.