Page 35 of Mrs. Rathore

I smiled wider. “I haven’t even started.”

He didn’t move at first, and I tilted my head. “What’s wrong, Aryan? Scared she’ll think you’re actually happy with me?”

His eyes burned into mine, full of fury and fire—an intoxicating combination I was starting to crave. Finally, he turned toward Ira, murmured something I didn’t catch, and then began pushing my chair.

Roughly.

Too fast. I jerked forward slightly, gripping the armrests as he drove me through the hallway like a storm.

“Was that satisfying?” he hissed through clenched teeth. “Humiliating her? Making a fool out of yourself?”

I stared straight ahead. “She looked heartbroken,” I said flatly. “That’s all I wanted. If she’s broken, you’re broken. And next time, I won’t leave you two alone.”

He stopped suddenly. Silence pulsed around us. Then he stepped in front of me and crouched down until we were eye to eye.

“I hate you,” he said in a low, lethal voice.

“I know,” I replied just as softly. “Hate me harder. She’s watching.”

His nostrils flared. He stood up and walked away without a word, leaving me alone in the middle of the hallway.

I sat there, unmoving, staring into the space where he had disappeared. My chest tightened. My heartbeat thumped like it was trying to claw its way out.

But I wouldn’t cry.

Not yet.

Because today I won.

And if I had to burn this marriage down just to make Aryan feel the pain he once carved into me…

Then so be it.

______

Chapter 12

AVNI

Everything had gone smoothly: the pooja, the dinner, the endless greetings. Guests showered me with blessings, some even handed over lavish gifts. But I wasn’t impressed. That kind of attention never meant much to me. The entire evening, I clung to my insufferable husband, and together we performed the charade of a picture-perfect couple.

Aryan was clearly uncomfortable, his body tensing every time our skin brushed. And yet, when I struggled to adjust my saree due to my injured leg, he stepped in without a word and fixed it for me. I never expected that from him. But I knew it wasn’t kindness. He was simply doing what he had to, saving face for his precious family.

I was taken aback to see Ira still in the house, her hawk-like eyes watching every move I made. I could practically feel the bitterness simmering inside her, and I was certain it made Aryan even more on edge.

I looked for my friends in the crowd, desperate for a familiar face, but they had vanished. Cowards. I hated them for it. I was suffocating in a sea of strangers, my jaw aching from the forced smiles. My back throbbed each time I bent down to accept another blessing. Being married into such a prestigious family came with a heavy price for performing this elaborate drama.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, I finally bid farewell to my father and the friends who had reappeared just in time to saygoodbye. Aryan’s villa stood tall in Udaipur, the city often called the ‘Venice of the East’ for its breathtaking lakes and palaces. I was born in Jaipur, but my father moved us to Udaipur when I was five. He’d found a decent job as a security guard, and my mother stitched clothes to help ends meet. The city was so expensive we never explored much of it. But Aryan’s home looked like a palace out of a dream. Maybe the Rathores really did descend from royalty.

Rhea once told me they owned several properties across the city. I found myself strangely curious, almost excited to see them all.

Wait… was I actually enjoying being a part of the Rathore family?

As soon as the last guest exited, Aryan bolted without so much as a glance. Typical. I turned to Rhea, who offered me an apologetic look, even though none of this was her fault.

Grandma had retired to bed, exhausted from her flight and the endless socializing. I’d barely gotten a moment to speak with her, but she seemed genuinely kind. At least I had her, Rhea, and Mr. Rathore by my side. I’d heard Mr. Rathore would only be here for a few days before duty called again.

Sometimes I forget that my father-in-law was a Lieutenant General and Aryan was a Captain in the Indian army. Women would kill to be a part of a legacy like this, generation after generation serving the country. Rhea once told me their grandfather was a Major, a martyr in war. Grandma had been in her early thirties when she lost him, and she’d dedicated her life to raising a brave son, the man who became my father-in-law.

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