Page 23 of Mrs. Rathore

Still, I smiled.

“Do you know what I’m really enjoying?” I whispered, my voice barely a breath. “Watching you lose your mind.”

He blinked.

“Do you feel it?” I asked. “The weight? The rage? The helplessness? That’s what it feels like to lose the love of your life. That’s what it feels like to have your soul shattered. That’s what it felt like... for me. Dance was my world. My breath. My everything. And you destroyed it without even blinking.”

His grip tightened on my hair, but I leaned in, as if daring him.

“Sometimes, people like you need to be broken. Taught a lesson. Otherwise, you keep hurting others. I’ve got nothing left to lose, Mr. Aryan Rathore. But you? You’ve got everything to lose.”

His breathing was ragged now. His chest rose and fell like crashing waves.

“You wanna play?” he rasped. “Then let’s play. I love games.”

I stared into his stormy eyes, unflinching.

Because I liked this storm. I was devouring inside it.

If it burned me from the inside out—so be it.

This storm helped me forget who I was. Forget the sound of my broken dreams. Forget the girl who once wanted to fly.

At that moment, I liked the way he looked at me like I had power over him. I liked the cracks I saw in his armor. I liked that I could remind him every single second of the wound he carried.

But there was still one thing I hadn’t seen in his eyes. The one thing I truly wanted to draw out of him.

Fear.

And I hated that I couldn’t.

Not yet.

______

Chapter 8

AVNI

Aryan pushed himself off me, grabbed the pillow, and stormed out of the room without a word. I exhaled sharply, my eyes falling to my wrists, bruised and aching. I stared at them as if my gaze alone could undo the damage. Oddly, I loved every bit of it. Every bruise was proof of something real, something raw, I was breaking him. But the necklace he’d forced around my neck felt less like a symbol of marriage and more like a noose. I yanked it off and tossed it aside with quiet defiance.

If he wasn’t sleeping on the bed, then I would. I deserved at least that much.

I removed the jewelry one by one, the clinking bangles, the oppressive mangalsutra, the maang tikka that made my forehead feel foreign and wiped away the layers of makeup I had worn like a costume. With effort, I rose to my feet using the crutches. Pain radiated down my knees, sharp and biting, but I clenched my jaw and pushed forward. My movements were clumsy, awkward. If anyone had seen me hobbling like that, they would’ve laughed.

But no one would. No one could.

The moment I stepped into the bathroom, I was hit by the intoxicating scent that lingered in the air. It was Aryan's. His essence lived here, in the way the steam curled, in the masculine mix of aftershave and woodsy cologne. It wrapped around me like a ghost. Everything about him was maddeningly precise - hisface, his body, even his scent. And yet his soul… pitch black. A darkness I swore I’d turn white by the time I left him.

I leaned over the sink, staring into the mirror. A woman I barely recognized stared back. Red vermillion streaked down my forehead and stained the pleats of my saree. It screamed “wife.” But I wasn’t ready to hear it. I grabbed a Kleenex and wiped it all away. I washed my face and gargled, scrubbing off the memory of the whole day.

Back in the room, the bed still held the scattered roses. I frowned at them not with anger, but with exhaustion. I gathered the sheet and gently shook them off. Then, slowly, I lay back down. My legs throbbed in protest, and my spine ached from the long day, but the silence was a relief. I stared at the ceiling, willing the pain to dissolve into the air around me.

Eventually, the weight of exhaustion pulled my eyelids down. Just as sleep began to claim me, I heard the door open. Footsteps. Clothes rustling. I didn’t stir. Let him move around. I was too tired to care.

Sunlight filtered through the window in pale beams. I blinked, slowly sitting up, disoriented by the unfamiliar room until the memory came crashing back. I had gotten married. My chest tightened.

I grabbed my purse and dug out my phone, my fingers trembling slightly as I dialed Papa’s number. He picked up on the second ring.

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