3. BRING HER BACK

A low, velvety sound vibrated against my ear, slipping beneath my skin, igniting something treacherous deep within me.

"Darr gayi?" (Scared Already)

The words coiled around me, dark & teasing more felt than heard.A Challenge.A Taunt.A Truth i wasn't ready to admit.

IT WAS HIM

I knew that voice..

My eyes darted up desperate to see through the darkness that cloaked at his face.

I met his gaze, my breathing uneven, my pulse a traitorous rhythm against his unshaken stillness. The darkness didn't let me see him fully, but I could feel him.

The Heat. The Power. The Danger -that came wrapped in his presence so intoxicating it was maddening.

Relief crashed over me like a wave, my body sagging slightly in his hold. His grip loosened, but he didn't let go entirely.

At that moment fear wasn't the only thing tangling inside me now.

I steadied myself, my breath still uneven, chest rising and falling rapidly from the fear that had momentarily gripped me.

Before i could completly compose myself -A low, mocking chuckle escaped his lips, dark and amused. His sharp gaze locked onto me, drinking in my reaction with a knowing smirk. He took a slow, deliberate step forward, the air around him thickening-his aura shifting back to that suffocating, dominant darkness.

"Scared? Tch. You should be," his voice was velvet and steel,a dangerous contrast that sent a shiver down my spine.

I huffed, willing my breathing to steady, straightening my spine as I met his gaze with defiance.

"Scared of you?" I scoffed, rolling my eyes before fixing them back on him.

"You think too highly of yourself, Mr. Rathod."

His smirk didn't falter instead something colder settled in his eyes and in a blink, he closed the distance between us. Before I could step back, his fingers brushed against my wrist-light, almost lazy, but the arrogance behind it made my blood boil.

"And you think you matter enough for me to care?," his voice was calm, cutting-like a blade slicing through silk.

I jerked, slapping his hand off, "Don't touch."

He laughed, dark and unbothered. "Why? Afraid you might like it?"

I glared up at him, shoving him with both my hands to retreat back to my room, but he barely budged.His hand shot up, catching my wrist with ease,his grip firm but not painful. His thumb pressed against my pulse, feeling the rapid beat beneath his touch. His smirk widened.My eyes darted to his, surprise flickering in their depths as my brows knitted together in confusion. I tried to pull away, but his grip on my wrists tightened-firm, unrelenting.

"Tch. Your body betrays you."

I yanked my hand free, seething, "I'd rather set myself on fire than feel anything remotely pleasant in your presence."

His jaw ticked, and for the briefest second, something darker flickered in his eyes. Then, just as quickly, the amusement returned. He took another step forward, forcing me back until my spine met the cold stair railing behind me.

"You didn't sign those papers, did you?"

His voice slithered through air, rich and edged with something unreadable. He wasn't asking. He already knew the answer. My mind drifted back to the day when he gave those divorce papers to me.

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, wrapping us in a moment that was both dangerous and intimate.

"If you keep being this stubborn," he murmured, his voice a velvet blade against the silence. "then fear will be the only thing you ever know. And when it finally swallows you whole... it won't be mercy that comes for you."

His fingers trailed up my arm, slow- deliberate, until they rested just beneath my chin, tilting my face toward his.

"Is that what you want?.." he asked, his tone deceptively soft.."To let your own defiance be the rope that tightens around your throat?"

The air between us thickened, charged with something dark and inescapable.

"Because if you keep testing me," he leaned in, his breath ghosting over my skin, "then I won't have to break you. You'll do it to yourself."

"You think this scares me?," I snapped, voice sharp.

He leaned in again, so close I could see the disgust in his eyes, cold and raw.

"No. I think you're desperate to prove I don't."

My nails dug into my palms as I swallowed back my anger.

"Go to hell"

He chuckled, stepping back at last, his presence still suffocating.

"Already there. And guess what? You're right here with me"

I opened my mouth, ready to fire back, but the words caught. My breath hitched, eyes snapping past him-to the glass door behind. A shadow flickered. Just for a second. But it was there.

Without thinking, I reached for him, fingers grabbing his sleeve. "There's someone outside," i whispered, barely audible, tension curling in my chest.He ripped my hands off with a jerk-sharp, quick, like my touch burned.

His eyes flickered with a warning.

"Keep your hands to yourself," he muttered -voice low and laced with irritation.

I flinched. I took a deep breath, my voice a little firmer this time as I reached for his arm again the other pressing to my throat, a reflex.

"I swear, I saw someone," I insisted, my eyes locked on the glass door, my voice trembling with a mix of urgency and fear.

His voice dripped with malice, his eyes narrowing in a way that made my skin prickle.

"Stop stepping so close to me," he snapped, his gaze cold and dangerous.

He stared down at me, his voice low, almost a sneer, "Or Are you hoping that you'll get my attention doing this to stay in my orbit?"

His words were laced with a cold, dangerous edge, as if the very idea of me wanting his focus was some kind of provocation.I stood there, unsure of how to respond,every instinct telling me to retreat.But something about his words, the way they twisted in the air, made it hard to move.

"Don't play games with me," he said, eyes scanning mine like he was hunting for a lie. "Not unless you're ready to lose"

I let out a sharp breath, shaking my head. "You are insufferable."

His expression turned to ice, the mirth draining from his face. He leaned in, close enough that I could feel the weight of his words before they even landed.

His voice was low-deadly calm. "And you," he said, "are a mistake the universe should've never made."

I sucked in a breath, the words didn't just sting - they sliced deeper than I expected.

Just like that, he stepped back, turned on his heel, and walked away as if I were nothing but an inconvenience in his path.

The sharp sound of glass shattering pierced the silence. My eyes snapped to the table just as the vase exploded into fragments, sharp shards scattering across the floor in a violent spray.My heart pounded, the room suddenly feeling too small, too suffocating.My gaze drifted to him, almost taunting, as if daring him to admit that I had been right all along.

But he said nothing. His expression remained unreadable as he looked from the broken vase back to me. Then, without a word, he turned on his heel and retreated to his room.

I stood frozen for a moment, my pulse still hammering in my ears. Fear coiled in my chest-had he really just left me here? Alone?

But then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement. A shadow near the floor.

A cat. Or at least... the illusion of one.

I gulped, trying to steady my racing thoughts. Swallowing hard, I turned and walked toward my room, my steps quick, my skin still tingling with unease.

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In Morning

Prakhar stood before the sleek, floor-to-ceiling mirror, adjusting his cufflinks with precision. The soft glow of the LED lights above the vanity highlighted the sharp angles of his face, accentuating the determined set of his jaw.

As he smoothed out the wrinkles on his tailored, charcoal-gray suit, the crisp fabric rustled softly. A hint of expensive cologne wafted through the air, mingling with the scent of polished leather from his black oxfords.

With a critical eye, he examined his reflection, ensuring every strand of his dark hair was perfectly in place. His gaze lingered on the watch adorning his wrist, its subtle gleam a testament to his impeccable taste.

Satisfied with his appearance, he turned away from the mirror, his eyes scanning the opulent bedroom. The soft hum of the air conditioner, the plush carpet beneath his feet, and the stunning cityscape visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows all served as reminders of his hard-won success.

With a quiet confidence, he headed toward the door, ready to tackle another day as a powerhouse in the corporate world.

As he strolled downstairs, eyes casually flicking through his phone, the scent of freshly brewed coffee and sandalwood welcomed him-familiar, warm. He walked over to Kanak, who was seated gracefully on the lounge chair near the puja corner, sipping her herbal tea.

"I told you to rest today," she said softly, her hand lifting to touch his cheek, a mother's love etched into every line of her smile. "But I knew you wouldn't listen."

He leaned in, brushing her forehead with a light kiss. "I'm not going to the office today, Maa," he said, slipping the phone into his blazer pocket. "There's something I need to personally handle at the Sector-9 construction site. The client's coming down from Dubai, and the interior walk-through is scheduled. No one else can manage it the way I need it."

Her eyes narrowed gently with concern. "That's under the Rathod Crown project, isn't it?"

He nodded once. "Twenty-seven floors of luxury sky villas. It's more than a project now-it's an empire taking shape. And I need it flawless."

Kanak sighed but smiled, pride twinkling in her gaze. "Return on time. And don't stress yourself."

"I will," he murmured, his tone respectful but firm-he didn't make promises lightly.

After pressing a final kiss to her hand, he moved toward the dining table where breakfast was laid out in elegant dishes. The others-Shivansh and Akshita-were already halfway through, laughter echoing across the marble hall. He joined them briefly, eating with calculated ease.

Once done, he straightened his cuffs, nodded at his siblings, and exited through the grand double doors-where his car waited with the engine already purring.

Because the Rathod heir didn't just sit behind a desk.

He built empires. Brick by brick. Command by command.

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In Ahmedabad

The doorbell rang, its chime breaking the quiet rhythm of the morning. Meera who was preparing for the breakfast hurried to the door. The moment she swung it open, her breath caught-standing on the porch, with a radiant smile was Rida.

"Beta, tu? Tune bataya kyun nahi?" Meera pulled her into a hug.

(My Child,You..Why didn't you tell me?)

Stepping back, Meera's eyes darted beyond Rida's shoulder, expecting to see a familiar face accompanying her, but finding no one. She ushered her into the cozy living room, where the aroma of freshly brewed coffee lingered in the air.

"Aaj Dad ka check-up hai, Maa... I wanted to be here."

(It's Dad's Checkup today..I wanted I be here)

"You could've come later," Meera scolded gently. "Avi would've picked you up."

Before Rida could answer, her father's voice called from the living room. "Meera, meri bacchi ke liye chai lao. And I bet she skipped breakfast! "

(Meera, get my daughter some tea. I'm sure she skipped breakfast-again!)

Rida hugged him. "Dad,Aap aise kyu ghoom rhe ho..Aapko rest karna chahiye."

(Dad, why are you wandering around like that? You're supposed to be resting)

He puffed his chest. "Main bilkul fit hoon! Tumhari maa hi mujhe ashram bhejna chahti hai. Roz ki khichdi-bore ho gaya hoon! Dekh mai Kitna dubla patla ho gya!"

(I'm absolutely fit! It's your mom trying to exile me to some ashram. That daily khichdi-I'm so done with it! Just look at me, I've shriveled up!)

"Zyada nautanki mat kajiye! Duble nahi, sirf overdramatic ho rahe hai!," Meera said disappearing into the kitchen.

(Cut the drama..You're not getting skinny-you're just being overdramatic)

Rida burst into laughter, shaking her head.

After some time, Rida joined her mother in the kitchen, rolling up her sleeves to help with the masala for aloo ke paranthe. The warm, comforting aroma of roasted spices filled the air as she ground the ingredients with practiced ease. Their conversation flowed effortlessly-more like her mother's gentle interrogation about her in-laws, to which Rida responded with the calm maturity she had developed over time.

As Meera flattened a dough ball and dusted it with flour, Rida hesitated for a moment, her hands pausing over the mortar and pestle.

"Maa... can I ask you something?" she said, her voice unusually serious.(MAA : Mom)

Meera instantly picked up on the shift in her tone. Her playful smile softened into concern as she turned to face her daughter.

"Bol bachhe sab theek to hai na..Agar kuch hai to mujhe bta skti h.Koi tang to nahi karta waha?" she asked, scanning Rida's face for any hidden distress.(Tell me Child...Is everything alright?If there's anything bothering you, you can tell me. No one troubles you there, do they?)

Rida quickly shook her head, offering a reassuring smile said,

"Nahi nahi Maa. Waha sab ache hain, koi tang nahi karta..."(No, no Maa... everyone's really kind there. No one bothers me..)

Meera studied her for a moment before nodding. "To puch, kya puchna tha?" she prompted, returning to rolling out the parantha, though her movements were slower now.(So ask-what was it you wanted to ask?)

Taking a deep breath, Rida finally spoke. "Did Mr. Rathod... I-I mean, Prakhar ji, know about my lineage before the wedding?"

Meera finally said, her voice steady but her tone uncertain.

"Mrs. Rathod ne toh bataya hi hoga apne bete ko.."(I'm sure Mrs. Rathod must've already told her son)

Meera paused only for a second, her hands stilling over the dough as she studied Rida's face. There was something unspoken in her daughter's voice, a tension she hadn't noticed before-or maybe she had but chose to ignore it, hoping it was just a phase.Rida caught the flicker of unease-a conflict, a doubt-hidden in her mother's voice. It was brief, almost imperceptible, but it was there. Meera had noticed something, even if she wasn't saying it out loud.Not wanting to get caught or trouble her parents, Rida forced a light chuckle, breaking the silence.

"Don't worry, Maa, I was just asking in general," she said casually, as if dismissing the weight of her own question.

Meera studied her for a moment longer, as if searching for something in her daughter's face. Then, with a quiet nod, she turned back to the parantha, flipping it over with practiced ease.

But the warmth of the kitchen suddenly felt different-like both of them were aware of an unspoken truth neither was ready to address.

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At night..

Prakhar stepped out of the shower, running a hand through his damp hair. The cold water had done little to wash away the exhaustion clinging to him after another grueling day at the office. He pulled on a grey shirt and black trousers-his usual comfort wear-before settling onto his bed with his laptop. The screen glowed in the dimly lit room, casting sharp shadows against the walls.

A knock echoed.

He exhaled sharply, already knowing who it was. The smart door's screen confirmed it-his mother stood outside, a plate in her hands, waiting. Without a word, he unlocked the door.

She entered, the warmth of home trailing behind her. Placing the plate on the bed, she gave him a pointed look.

"Don't work late at night, beta. Office ka kaam office mein chhod kar aaya karo," she murmured, shutting his laptop before he could protest.(Leave Office work at office).

He didn't argue. He never did with her. Instead, he sat beside her, allowing her to place a morsel of food in his mouth, the way she had done since he was a boy. There was a strange comfort in it-an illusion of peace, of normalcy.

"Eat first. Itni late aata hai ek to...And stop taking cold showers at night. You'll get sick."(First, eat something. You come home so late as it is. And those cold showers at night? Stop it-you'll make yourself ill!)

He only hummed in response, finishing his meal in silence. When he was done, she handed him a glass of water, watching him with quiet affection.

"Dad theek hain?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.

(Is dad doing alright?)

"Haan, so gaye hain," she reassured him.

(Yes, He's sleeping)

Prakhar exhaled.

"You shouldn't stay up late, Mom. Please, sleep before I get home," His voice was laced with concern, with the quiet kind of love that he only knew how to show in small ways.

She shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips.

"Agar itni hi fikr hai toh ghar jaldi aaya kar. Fir mujhe kehne ki zaroorat hi na pade."

(If you're so worried, then come home early. That way, you wouldn't have to say anything at all).

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to her forehead

"Achha, ab jao. It's late."

(Okay! Now go. It's late)

But she didn't move.Something weighed heavy on her mind.

Prakhar noticed instantly-the slight furrow of her brows, the way she carefully chose her words before speaking.

"Mom?" His tone sharpened, the protector in him surfacing. "Sab theek hai ?"(Everything alright?)

She took a slow breath before speaking, her voice gentle yet firm. "Beta meri baat sirf sunna nhi use samjhna"

(My child..I don't want you to just hear me-I want you to truly understand what I'm saying)

He straightened, instinctively bracing himself.

"I know you're not happy in this marriage," she said softly, but her words carried weight.

"Shaadi se pehle maine tum dono ko milwaya tha... not just for formality, but so you could see-she's a good girl. Worthy."

(I introduced you two before the wedding... not just for formality, but so you could see for yourself-she's a good girl. Worthy.)

His fingers curled into fists. He knew where this was going.

"Now that she is your wife-"

"Mom, please." His voice was sharp, raw. His patience was thinning, exhaustion seeping into his bones. "I don't want to talk about her. Or this marriage."

The air in the room turned cold.

His mother's voice, usually a gentle caress, hardened into steel.

"Meri baat abhi khatam nahi hui hai, Prakhar."

He exhaled sharply but nodded, his jaw clenching.

"She is your wife. She belongs by your side, not outside the walls of your room like an outsider. Marriage isn't a game. And this isn't just about your dislike. You didn't send her away because you weren't happy-you humiliated her. You threw her out like she was nothing. A woman never tolerates disrespect, Prakhar"

His chest rose and fell with deep, controlled breaths. His silence was deafening, but the hatred burning in his eyes was alive, raging.

"What happened that made you hate her so much?" she asked, her voice softer now, searching for something in his expression.

The storm inside him cracked.

His knuckles turned white. His voice, when it came, was quiet but laced with venom.

"She belongs to those Thakurs."

His mother frowned.

"So?"

A flicker of pain flashed in his eyes-raw, unfiltered, ugly.

"They ruined us" His words came out like venom, like poison coating his tongue.

Silence.

A long, suffocating silence.

"Who told you that?" she asked carefully. "Did I ever say that?"

His breath turned shallow.

"Those Thakurs you hate so much.. Out of nothing, they helped me, Prakhar."

He scoffed, shaking his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips.

" -Used...They used you,Mom. Took advantage of you. Destroyed you. Destroyed us. And now you expect me to accept one of them as my wife?" His voice was rising, thick with emotions he had buried for years.

Memories clawed at him-memories of his mother, standing tall despite everything, of whispered words in hushed corners, of betrayal wrapped in the guise of generosity.

"What's wrong with you beta..This isn't true..What happened to you, Prakhar?" his mother whispered. "This bitterness... this cruelty... this isn't my son."

He dragged a hand down his face, trying to smother the fire inside him.

"No woman deserves this," she continued, her voice trembling slightly. "Least of all by the man who vowed to protect her. A woman can accept an unwanted marriage. She can accept a loveless husband. But she will never accept disrespect, Prakhar. And she will never forget it."

His breath hitched, his chest tightening.

"Whether you like it or not, she has every right over you, over your home, over your life. And if you cannot give her love, at least give her respect."

"I want my daughter here, in this room, where she belongs," his mother said, her voice unwavering. "She is not a guest or a stranger to be cast into some other room. She has every right to you, to your life. And I will not stand by & watch you ruin your own marriage."

His laugh was cold. Hollow.

"What spell has she cast on you, Mom?" he sneered.

"It's almost amusing, how blindly you defend her."

His mother stood tall, unshaken with finality.

"Bring her back into this room, Prakhar. With the same hands that pushed her out."

His expression darkened. His voice turned ice-cold.

"I'm sorry, Mom. But that's not happening."

A pause.

"I've already said-no one will interfere in the dynamics of our marriage. As you said, she is My Wife. Which means no one-no one-gets to interfere in matters of me and my wife.."

His mother only smiled.

A knowing, almost victorious smile.

"Mark my words, beta. The day will come when you will claim her as your own, not because I told you to, but because your heart will demand it."

She stepped toward the door.

He exhaled, his voice barely above a whisper, but every word carried the weight of the hatred that had taken root inside him.

"That day will never come. I will never love the reminder of your miseries, Mom. Her presence is a constant reminder of everything I despise about my life."

The smart door locked with a soft click.

She was gone.

Leaving behind only the echo of her words.

He let out a breath, his eyes closing as he leaned back against the bed, his mind replaying the night he had thrown his wife out of this room.A low, velvety sound vibrated against my ear, slipping beneath my skin, igniting something treacherous deep within me.