Page 110 of Mrs. Rathore

He smiled.

But it wasn’t a happy smile. It didn’t reach his eyes. It was bitter and a mask. “I’m no longer useful to you?” he asked, voice sharp, laced with resentment. “You used me. Now you’re tossing me out like I was some disposable toy.”

I stared at him, stunned.

“I tried my best to help your family,” he continued, his words laced with barely restrained fury. “I made sure your mother had the best medical treatment. I looked after you when you couldn’t even walk properly.”

His eyes flicked to my legs, then back to mine, and his voice dipped into a low, sarcastic scoff.

“And now you walk again. You’re strong, powerful, and independent. So, what? You don’t need me anymore?”

He stepped closer, too close. His breath was hot against my cheek, his jaw clenched.

“Is this how you use other guys too?”

Smack.

My hand flew before I could think. The sound of the slap echoed in the silence. Aryan’s face turned, his expression hardening as he slowly looked back at me.

Before I could step away, he grabbed my shoulders firmly and his voice came out low, shaking.

“I won’t give you a divorce. Not now.”

I froze. The room spun.

“Aryan…” I choked, tears gathering in my eyes. “Isn’t this what you want? I’m just trying to set you free. I didn’t use you. I swear I didn’t. I’ll return everything. Every single penny...”

His breathing hitched.

Then, in the next second, he pulled me into his arms. Tightly. Like he was afraid I’d disappear.

I crumbled against him, sobbing. The grief, the anger, the confusion—all of it came undone in that moment. I felt safe in his arms and shattered all at once.

“We’ll divorce,” he whispered into my hair. “But not yet. Come with me first.”

His voice was gentle.

But something about it told me this wasn’t over.

Not even close.

______

Chapter 44

AVNI

Aryan unlocked the door and pushed it open. He gestured for me to step inside, and I did, entering what would be our new home.

It wasn’t a big flat, but it felt neat and quiet. The cream-colored walls were plain, and the floor felt cold under my feet. A soft scent of old furniture and fresh polish lingered in the air. It was clear Aryan had arranged for the place to be repainted and lightly renovated in advance.

The living room had a small sofa set, a wooden table in the center, and an empty shelf.

“This is your home now and for the next six months,” he said, looking around the house. His voice was flat, like he was just reciting orders.

I nodded and walked further in. The kitchen was simple: a gas stove, a fridge, and two or three steel containers on the counter. Everything looked clean and organized. I couldn’t help but wonder how Aryan had managed to get all this done on such short notice.

He then showed me the bedroom. One room clearly belonged to him as his uniforms were folded neatly, a pair of boots rested by the wall, and his green cap hung from a nail near the mirror. The other room had only a bed and an empty cupboard.

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