The Crimson Veil

Murder at the Wedding

A Bride’s Last Breath

The air was thick with the scent of jasmine and rose petals. The courtyard of Sharma Niwas shimmered under golden chandeliers, their light reflecting off the marigold-draped mandap. Laughter and music filled the air as guests reveled in the joyous occasion—a perfect wedding night.

Riya Sharma, the bride, was breathtaking in her crimson lehenga, the intricate gold embroidery catching the glow of the sacred havankund. Her hands trembled slightly as she adjusted her dupatta. She stole a glance at Aditya Malhotra, her soon-to-be husband. His face was calm, unreadable, his dark eyes locked onto hers with an intensity she couldn’t quite decipher.

The priest’s voice rang through the air. “Mangal sutra bandhanam…”

Aditya leaned in, his fingers grazing her skin as he tied the sacred thread around her neck. A shiver ran down Riya’s spine. Something about his touch felt... off.

Then, as she lifted her hands to adjust the necklace, a sharp pain struck her chest. Her breath hitched. A choked gasp escaped her lips.

The world blurred.

A burning sensation spread through her body like wildfire. Her heartbeat pounded violently, then staggered. She clutched her throat, her henna-stained fingers trembling. The guests gasped in horror as she swayed, her body convulsing.

Then, silence.

Riya collapsed onto the altar. Her body twitched once. Twice. Then stillness.

The bride was dead.

---

The Fallen Detective

Inspector Arvind Mishra leaned against his battered Ambassador car, cigarette smoke curling around him. Once a renowned detective, now a shadow of his former self, he had been handed this case not as a challenge—but as a final warning.

"A bride murdered at her own wedding. A powerful family. Media vultures circling. Solve this, or hand in your resignation."

Mishra pushed through the grieving crowd inside Sharma Niwas. The smell of incense and fear mixed in the air. His eyes fell on the altar where Riya’s lifeless body lay, her bridal jewelry still intact, her lips slightly parted, frozen mid-scream.

He crouched beside her, the weight of experience pressing against his weary bones. A thin trail of blood had trickled from the corner of her mouth. Her veins were slightly darkened.

“Poison,” he muttered. “But how?”

And more importantly—why?

---

The Groom Who Did Not Cry

Every wedding guest was now a suspect. But Mishra’s eyes were drawn to one man—Aditya Malhotra, the groom.

Unlike the others, he wasn’t crying. His posture was stiff, his hands gripping his knees too tightly. His mother wept beside him, but Aditya… he simply stared at his dead bride. His jaw clenched, his dark eyes devoid of emotion.

Mishra stepped forward. “Aditya,” he said, voice firm. “When was the last time you spoke to Riya before the ceremony?”

Aditya barely blinked. “We exchanged a few words before the pheras.” His voice was eerily steady. “She was nervous. That’s all.”

Mishra narrowed his eyes. The man’s composure was unnatural.

Something was wrong.

---

The Slow-Killing Kiss

The autopsy confirmed it—cyanide poisoning. A small but fatal dose. It had been administered minutes before Riya collapsed.

Mishra retraced her final moments. What had she eaten? The paan? The sweets? The water?

Then, a whisper reached his ears from one of the bridesmaids.

“She looked… uneasy after Aditya kissed her.”

Mishra’s spine stiffened. “What do you mean?”

The girl hesitated. “Right before the mangal sutra, Aditya leaned in and kissed her forehead… she touched her lips right after. Like something tasted bitter.”

A slow, creeping realization settled in Mishra’s chest.

The poison hadn’t been in the food. It had been on Aditya’s lips.

---

A Groom’s Dark Secret

Mishra summoned Aditya to a quiet corner of the mansion. The groom’s face remained unreadable, but his hands twitched—a sign of unease.

"You knew she'd die, didn't you?" Mishra’s voice was low, razor-sharp. "You poisoned her yourself."

Aditya didn’t flinch. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, a slow, bitter smile formed on his lips.

“She wasn’t supposed to suffer that much,” he said finally.

The confession sent a chill down Mishra’s spine. “Why?” he demanded.

Aditya exhaled, his eyes dark with something sinister. “She found out about my first wife.”

Mishra’s breath caught. “First wife?”

Aditya’s smile didn’t waver. “Yes. An accident, they called it. No one questioned it. But Riya… she was too clever. She told me she was going to call off the wedding. That she would expose me.”

His voice remained calm, eerily collected. “I couldn’t let that happen.”

Mishra clenched his fists. “So you kissed her. Coated in poison.”

Aditya chuckled. “A wedding kiss, Detective. The perfect crime.”

---

The Arrest

The evidence was overwhelming. Traces of cyanide were found on Aditya’s lips and in the small vial hidden in his sherwani pocket.

As Mishra snapped the handcuffs onto his wrists, Aditya finally dropped the act. His face twisted into something darker, something monstrous.

He leaned in, voice barely above a whisper.

“I was ready to do it again.”

A shiver ran down Mishra’s spine.

As Aditya was dragged away, the wedding hall remained frozen in shock. The marigolds still swayed in the warm breeze. The chandelier 

still glowed above.

But at the heart of Sharma Niwas, a bride lay dead, her crimson veil forever stained with betrayal.