6

ISHANI’S POV

The morning sunrays touched my skin, the cold wind making my body shiver. The soft blanket hugged me tightly, refusing to let me wake up.

For a few seconds, I smiled in my sleep—comforted, warm.

Then reality hit.

This isn’t my mayka.

I have to wake up.

Sighing, I let go of my comfort and slowly opened my eyes, rubbing them sleepily. And then my mind fully woke up.

I didn’t sleep on the bed last night.

Confusion clouded my thoughts.

How did I end up here?

I turned to the other side of the bed, half-expecting him to be there—but it was empty.

My heart skipped for a moment before I scolded myself.

Great, Ishani. You’re officially losing your memory.

Maybe I came here on my own and forgot. After all, when it comes to sleep, I cling like a koala.

I glanced at the clock.

8:30 AM.

“Shit,” I muttered, panic rushing in.

I jumped out of bed and rushed into the bathroom. A quick shower ,

later, I draped myself in a soft pink saree, pairing it with minimal jewellery. I stood in front of the mirror, holding the nuptial chain in my hand.

His words echoed in my mind.

My body shivered involuntarily.

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and pushed those thoughts away.

No matter what he thinks… I am still his wife.

With trembling fingers, I wore the chain, applied vermillion on my hair parting, and looked at my reflection. To calm myself, I clicked a quick mirror selfie.

“Wow, Ishani,” I whispered softly to myself, smiling.

“You are such a beauty.”

I went downstairs and saw Maa and Papa sitting in the hall.

I immediately walked to them and touched their feet. They blessed me with warm smiles.

“Ishani beta, you are looking so beautiful,” Maa said lovingly.

I smiled shyly in response.

That small compliment felt like a hug I desperately needed.

As they got busy talking, my eyes unknowingly scanned the surroundings.

No sign of him.

Maybe he went for a morning walk, I thought.

Suddenly, a voice whispered near my ear.

“Bhabhi, bhai goes to the office early in the morning.”

I turned instantly.

It was Advik bhai, wearing a teasing smirk—as if he caught me red-handed.

“Excuse me,” I said, making a face. “I wasn’t looking for your bhai.”

He laughed, clearly enjoying my poor lying skills.

“Liar,” he said.

I ignored his grin and turned to Maa and Papa.

“Maa, Papa… what will you have for breakfast?”

“You sit here,” Maa replied gently. “You don’t have to make anything. There’s a maid—she will cook.”

“But Maa,” I said softly, almost pleading, “I want to make something. I really love cooking.”

She smiled thoughtfully.

“Then make something you cook perfectly.”

“Okay, Maa,” I replied happily.

With a small spark of excitement in my heart, I walked straight into the kitchen.

Everyone was already seated at the dining table when I reached there, holding a bowl of khasta kachori I had made for breakfast. I placed it carefully on the table and began serving everyone, my heart beating a little faster for reasons I didn’t want to name.

After serving all of them, I took a seat beside Advik bhai.

“Bhabhi,” he said dramatically after taking a bite, “do you know what kind of magic your hands have?”

I blinked. “Magic?”

“These are perfect,” he continued, shaking his head in admiration. “And you know what’s more dangerous?”

I looked at him suspiciously.

“These are bhai’s favourite,” he added,

lowering his voice mischievously.

“If he were here, he would’ve kissed your hands already.”

My face instantly heated up. I could feel the redness creeping in, while he sat there enjoying every second of my reaction—his smug little smirk proudly on display.

“Advik bhai,” I muttered, embarrassed, avoiding his gaze.

“Ishani beta,” Papa said warmly, “I think you should make breakfast every day. What delicious food you make!”

I smiled at him, my heart swelling slightly.

But Maa immediately protested, shaking her head.

“No, no. Why will my bahu cook every day? She also needs proper sleep. Ishani, you don’t have to cook daily.”

Their light argument over my breakfast softened something inside me. I watched them quietly, a small smile resting on my lips.

Yet… something was missing.

My eyes instinctively drifted to the empty chair.

I knew he had already made his thoughts about this marriage very clear. I knew I shouldn’t expect anything. And still… a tiny corner of my heart hoped he would be here.

Maybe I was expecting too much.

Maybe I shouldn’t expect at all.

Lost in my thoughts, I didn’t realise Advik bhai was watching me—until he spoke again.

“Bhabhi,” he leaned closer, lowering his voice teasingly, “are you missing bhai?”

That smirk again.

I inhaled softly, then turned to him, matching his tone.

“Yes, bhai,” I replied in a low voice so only he could hear.

“I’m missing your bhai. A lot. Now are you happy?”

His smile widened instantly—but this time, he didn’t tease me further. He simply looked at me knowingly, as if he understood.

And just like that, he let it go.

AUTHORS POV

The room was drenched in darkness, broken only by low, flickering lights that cast twisted shadows on the walls. Four men stood at the corners like silent executioners. At the centre, a man was tied to a chair—sweat dripping down his face, wrists rubbed raw by the ropes.

The walls were painted crimson red, not just with colour but with history. Blood had soaked into them so deeply that it felt as if the room itself breathed violence. Every breath screamed danger.

The iron gates suddenly opened with a deafening creak.

Heavy footsteps echoed.

Atharva in a black suit entered, his aura dark enough to suffocate the air.

His jaw was clenched so tightly it seemed like it might crack. His eyes were empty—no mercy, no hesitation. His tall, muscular frame didn’t just enter the room; it dominated it. Every man present straightened, fear crawling under their skin.

Atharva walked forward slowly, deliberately. Each step felt like a countdown to death.

He stopped in front of the man tied to the chair. Their eyes met—and the man broke inside. His whole body trembled violently. His throat dried so badly he couldn’t even swallow.

Then Atharva spoke.

His voice was low, cold, and lethal.

“Cheating isn’t on my list, Mr. Sharma,” he said slowly. “And you thought you could run from me after stealing my trust?”

The calm in his voice was more terrifying than shouting.

“Sir… please… please leave me,”

Sharma cried, tears streaming down his face.

Atharva’s lips curved into a smirk.

A cruel, heartless smirk—one that promised nothing but death.

A voice suddenly cut through the tension

“Relax, Atharva,” the voice teased. “You’ll give him a heart attack before we even start.”

It was Ansh Rathore—his right hand, his brother by choice, his partner in blood since college days.

Atharva glanced at Ansh. For a second, the darkness in his eyes softened—but only for a second. Then he turned back to Sharma.

“You should’ve thought about this before betraying me,” Atharva said.

He stepped back and ordered,

“Untie him.”

Then he added coldly

“Five minutes. In these five minutes, you’re free.”

The ropes were cut. Sharma collapsed to the floor, coughing, gasping for air.

Atharva sat calmly on a chair right in front of him, his bloodied palm resting casually on his knee. He knew what would happen next.

Sharma slowly stood up, legs shaking. He came closer, fear and desperation mixing into madness.

Suddenly, he dropped to his knees.

“Sir… forgive me,” he begged, holding Atharva’s legs. “I’ll be your slave—just spare me.”

Then—

In a split second, Sharma pulled a knife from his pants and lunged forward.

Atharva caught the blade barehanded.

The knife sliced deep into his palm. Blood gushed out, dripping onto the floor in thick drops.

Atharva didn’t flinch.

With a violent twist, he snapped Sharma’s wrist. A sickening crack echoed through the room. Sharma screamed in agony.

Before he could even breathe, Atharva grabbed him by the hair and slammed his head into the table. Once. Twice. Thrice.

Blood burst from Sharma’s nose and mouth, splattering across Atharva’s suit and the floor.

Then—

Atharva shoved the knife straight into Sharma’s neck.

The blade tore through flesh. Blood sprayed violently, warm and thick, soaking Atharva’s hand. Sharma clawed at Atharva’s arm, choking, gargling on his own blood.

Atharva leaned close to his ear and whispered,

“Betrayal always ends like this.”

He twisted the knife and pulled it out slowly.

Sharma collapsed, convulsing, blood pooling beneath him as his breathing slowed… then stopped.

Silence.

Only the sound of dripping blood echoed in the room.

Atharva straightened his suit calmly, as if he hadn’t just killed a man. He looked at Ansh.

Their eyes met.

Both smirked.

“Told you,” Ansh said casually. “He’d try something stupid.”

Ansh stretched his arms.

“Come on, brother. All this drama made me hungry.”

Atharva glanced at the clock—10:00 p.m.

Before he could reply, Ansh threw an arm around his shoulder

and dragged him out, laughing lightly.

Minutes later, they sat inside the car, driving away—

leaving behind blood, death, and the proof that Atharva wasn’t just powerful…

He was ruthless.

AUTHOR POV

On the other hand, Ishani sat at the dining table, absent-mindedly playing with the hem of her saree. Gathering her courage, she glanced at the clock. It had already crossed eleven, yet there was no sign of Atharva.

Each passing second felt heavier, as if the silence itself was judging her foolish hope.

Earlier, when her mother-in-law had asked her to eat, she had refused with a quiet excuse, saying she had no appetite. But deep down, she knew the real reason. Her eyes kept returning to the clock, again and again, until sleep slowly crept over her without her even realizing it.

Waiting had drained her more than hunger ever could.

After some time, heavy footsteps echoed through the hall.

Atharva.

The sound she had been waiting for… and dreading at the same time.

He walked straight toward the bedroom, but his steps faltered when his eyes fell on Ishani.

She was still seated at the dining table, her head bowed in sleep. Her hair was tied in a messy bun, loose strands framing her face, and the pallu of her saree had slipped, brushing the floor.

She looked painfully out of place—like someone who didn’t belong yet refused to leave.

Without wasting a second, he moved toward her.

She was fast asleep.

Reality struck him—it was past midnight. She had been waiting for him.

The realization sat uncomfortably in his chest, a weight he hadn’t invited.

Something inside him softened.

And that scared him more than anger ever could.

His gaze lingered on her face. Her dark eyelashes rested against her cheeks, which were slightly red from the cold. Her lips were pouted in sleep, and there was an innocence about her that quietly mesmerized him.

Too soft for a marriage built on obligation.

Gently, he lifted a few strands of hair that had fallen over her face and tucked them behind her ear.

His fingers lingered for half a second longer than they should have.

Leaning down to her ear, he murmured softly,

“Mrs. Yaduvanshi.”

A shiver ran through her.

Even in sleep, his presence unsettled something deep inside her.

She startled awake, lifting her head quickly.

When she turned, she found him standing behind her. Their eyes met, and for a brief moment, something unspoken flickered between them.

An emotion neither of them was ready to name.

Ishani broke the moment first. She lowered her gaze and stood up silently, her hands curling nervously at her sides.

Instinctively retreating—like she always did around him.

Atharva spoke, his voice calm yet questioning.

“What are you doing here at this hour?”

Ishani swallowed hard. She couldn’t tell him the truth—that she had been waiting for him. She knew too well what he thought of this marriage.

She knew expectations were the one thing he despised.

Her eyes darted around, searching for words, but none came easily.

“Words, Mrs. Yaduvanshi,” Atharva said softly.

“Or should I read them in your eyes?”

Her eyes widened in surprise. She hadn’t expected that.

Gathering whatever courage she had left, she spoke in a low voice, hoping he wouldn’t sense the lie.

“I wasn’t feeling sleepy, so I came here.”

The lie tasted bitter, but the truth would hurt more.

Atharva looked at her for a long moment but said nothing.

Silence was his way of keeping control.

Then Ishani spoke again, almost hesitantly.

“Did you have your dinner?”

For a moment, he only stared at her—his eyes unusually soft.

Softness he immediately tried to suppress.

“No,” he said,

even though he had already eaten with a friend.

Lying came easier than admitting he didn’t want to push her away.

Without another word, he sat down at the dining table, silently giving her the space to serve him.

She was about to do so when she noticed a cut on his palm, dried blood forming a small clot. Her eyes widened in concern.

Fear flashed through her faster than thought.

Immediately, she hurried to the hall and returned with the first-aid box.

Placing it on the table, she sat beside him and gently took his hand in hers.

Her touch was hesitant, as if asking permission without words.

Carefully, she cleaned the wound, applied antiseptic, and wrapped it with a bandage.

Her fingers trembled, not from fear—but from closeness.

Throughout the process, Atharva’s gaze never left her face. There was something achingly innocent about her—something that stirred emotions he didn’t want to name.

Emotions he had promised himself he would never feel.

Once she finished, she stood up and began serving food to him. She was about to leave when his voice stopped her.

“Sit here.”

The command carried more conflict than authority.

She turned, her eyes meeting his again. Without fully understanding why, her feet moved toward him, and she sat down on the chair beside him.

As if her heart obeyed him before her mind could.

“Serve yourself too,” Atharva said quietly.

“I won’t eat alone.”

He didn’t say the real reason

He knew she hadn’t eaten.

Ishani nodded softly and served herself food, her heart beating faster than it had all night.

Because for the first time, his silence didn’t feel like rejection—it felt like restraint.

ISHANI’S POV

I sat on the couch, my fingers clenched tightly in my lap, while he was in the bathroom. The steady sound of the shower filled the room, but it did nothing to quiet the storm inside my head.

Since morning, one question had refused to leave me alone.

I remembered standing on the balcony last night—awake, restless. Then how did I wake up on the bed?

If I had come here on my own, wouldn’t I remember it?

And if I hadn’t… then who moved me?

The lack of memory unsettled me more than I wanted to admit.

I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn’t realise when the bathroom door opened.

He stood near the mirror, dressed in a simple T-shirt and sweatpants, his hair still damp from the shower. Tiny drops of water slid down his forehead. His tall frame filled the room effortlessly—calm, controlled, intimidating without trying. The sharp line of his jaw, those dark, unreadable eyes—

"Stop it, Ishani," I scolded myself." He’s your husband."

I quickly looked down at my phone, pretending to scroll, anything to avoid his gaze. Then I remembered—I needed to change my clothes.

I stood up and walked toward the bathroom when his voice stopped me.

“The floor is wet. Wait five minutes.”

I turned to him. And just like always, my mind betrayed me. Every word I had planned vanished the moment I faced him.

“It’s okay,” I said after a second, my voice steady despite the flutter in my chest. “I’ll manage.”

And before he could insist, I walked into the bathroom.

I changed into a simple kurti and was about to step out when my foot slipped. I lost my balance, falling hard, my elbow striking the wall. Pain shot through my arm, sharp and sudden.

I scrambled to my feet immediately, more worried about my clothes than the sting. I held my elbow under running water until the bleeding stopped, then quietly stepped out.

He was already seated on the couch, his laptop open on his lap.

I went to the mirror and reached into the drawer for a hairband. As I lifted my left hand, a sudden touch made me freeze.

I saw him in the mirror standing behind me.

In one swift motion, he turned me around. Only a few inches separated us. His black eyes met my brown ones, and for a brief, fragile moment, something softened in them—something that made my breath hitch.

Then his gaze dropped to my elbow.

“How did this happen?” he asked, his voice sharp, controlled.

The sound sent a shiver down my spine.

I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. He had warned me.

“I… I slipped,” I said softly. “My elbow hit the wall.”

He didn’t say anything. Instead, he guided me to the bed and made me sit down before leaving the room.

Only then did I realise how tightly I had been holding my breath.

A few minutes later, he returned with a band-aid in his hand. He came closer—and the next thing he did startled me.

He sat down on the floor in front of me.

For a moment, I couldn’t believe my eyes. He gently took my hand and placed the band-aid over the bruise, his touch careful, deliberate.

“Be careful,” he said quietly.

That single sentence—his concern—calmed something restless inside me.

He stood up and returned to the couch, reaching for his laptop.

Then he paused.

“Don’t sleep outside,” he said. “If you’re uncomfortable, tell me. I’ll take the couch.”

“No… I wasn’t sleeping outside. I don’t remember when I fell asleep. It’s not what you think.”

In one breath i said,

The words slipped out before I could stop them, they were fast and unexpected.

The silence stretched between us.

When I glanced at him, a faint smirk curved his lips.

Embarrassed, I quickly pulled the blanket around myself and switched off my side of the light.

Moments later, the room dimmed except for the soft glow of the night lamp. The mattress dipped slightly as he lay down beside me.

My heartbeat rac

ed. I swallowed hard.

Something twisted deep inside me—uncertain, unfamiliar—but I pushed it away.

Sleep hovered close… yet refused to claim me.