The Temple Contract System
In my city, the rich don’t go to court.
They go to temples.
I was a nobody—drowning in debt, watching my mother’s hospital bills pile up like a death sentence—when a man from the Rathore family offered me a “miracle.”
One night. One ritual. One marriage.
Marry their cold, untouchable heiress in an ancient temple, accept a silent contract, and my family would be saved.
I should’ve run.
But the moment the priest smeared vermilion on my forehead, the oil lamps went out… and something ancient woke up.
[TEMPLE CONTRACT SYSTEM ACTIVATED.]
[GROOM OF THE CURSED HEIRESS — CONTRACT SEALED.]
[COUNTDOWN: 30 DAYS.]
That marriage wasn’t a celebration.
It was a funeral waiting to happen.
Her uncles wanted her dead so they could split the empire.
Her “holy” priest wanted her blood to feed the temple.
And the family elders smiled as they pushed me forward like a disposable husband.
They thought I was a poor boy they could buy, use, and bury.
They were wrong.
Because the system doesn’t grant blessings—it grants contracts.
Every contract demands a price… and pays back in power: leverage, money, influence, fear.
If they want a scapegoat groom, I’ll play the role.
I’ll take their dowry.
I’ll take their secrets.
I’ll take their throne.
And when the last bell rings in that temple, the Rathores won’t be deciding my fate anymore—