Page 47 of Mrs. Rathore

“Ira, watch out!” I screamed, sprinting toward her.

The car’s brakes screamed in protest. The driver tried to swerve, but it was too late.

Ira turned at the last second just in time to see it.

Her scream was raw, terrified, ripping through the air as the vehicle slammed into her.

Her body was thrown into the air, crashing onto the windshield, then rolling across the hood and landing on the pavement with a sickening thud. Her limbs bent at unnatural angles. Blood stained the asphalt.

Silence followed.

Time stopped.

I ran.

I dropped to my knees beside her crumpled form, my hands shaking as I reached for her. Her blood seeped through my fingers, warm and terrifying.

“Ira…” I choked out her name, brushing her hair away from her face. Her lips were parted, her breathing shallow and labored.

Sirens wailed in the distance, but the world around me had gone mute.

All I could do was hold her hand, cold and limp in mine, and pray…

God, please don’t take her away.

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Chapter 17

AVNI

I was rummaging through Aryan’s closet, looking for my matching bangles, when my fingers brushed against something unexpected. It was a drawer full of medals, each one lined up with meticulous care, gleaming under the dim closet light.

My breath caught.

Wow.

I reached out and gently touched one, its cool metal pressing into my fingertips. My heart skipped. These weren’t just decorations. They were proof, proof of battles fought, sacrifices made, pain endured. For a moment, I stood frozen, thinking about the hell Aryan must have gone through to earn these.

I had never really been interested in the Indian Army. But Kavya did. She used to tell me stories about the hardships soldiers faced: sleepless nights, bone-deep exhaustion, burying themselves under the earth to avoid detection, surviving extremes that no civilian mind could ever truly comprehend. I watched a couple of war movies with her once, and even the fictional version left me disturbed.

I didn’t want to go down that mental path. But I couldn’t stop worrying about Aryan.

God, what was wrong with me?

This wasn’t like me. No. I couldn’t afford to worry about a man who was as cruel as Lucifer himself.

At least, that’s what I kept telling myself.

But then again... he wasn’t that cruel.

There was a softer side to him. The one I had started to see more and more. He was beginning to show up in ways I hadn’t expected. And it terrified me.

It had been over a week since our forced marriage, and somehow, we’d stumbled onto a path I never intended to walk. A path that was beginning to feel dangerously like... home.

Of course, I always wanted a good husband, someone who would care, understand, and support me. But not Aryan. Never him. Not the man who had destroyed my dreams and forced me into this relationship. Yet, in the past week, I’d lost count of the number of times I’d smiled. He made me smile.

He had taken over the cost of my mother’s treatment, ensured my younger brother’s school fees were paid, and had even offered to help transfer my father to a better job. Papa refused, of course his pride wouldn’t let him accept but the gesture had still shaken something in me.

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