Chapter 52

Asha's mind strained, searching for fragments of a memory she could barely grasp. Had she really done what he claimed? She couldn't remember. She didn’t have memory loss, not exactly, but even now, a faint hunch nagged at her, suggesting there might be some truth to his words. Yet, no concrete recollections surfaced. Too much had happened in her life, too many chaotic events layered one upon the other. How could she remember such details, especially from those tumultuous years when everything was random, haphazard, and she was only a child?

“That’s ridiculous!” she exclaimed, a bitter edge creeping into her tone. “You held a grudge over something a little girl might’ve done?”

He leaned back, his expression calm as he rested a hand on his knee. His gaze settled on her, cool and detached.

“I never held a grudge against you, Asha,” he replied, voice steady, almost dismissive. “Don’t go assuming things.”

“Then why did you do all this to me?” she shot back, her voice tight with anger.

He shrugged as if her question held no importance. “If you’d agreed to be with me willingly, I wouldn’t have had to force anything. My intentions weren’t to hurt you. I only wanted you, that’s all.”

She stared at him, stunned, her mind racing as she tried to process the cold simplicity of his explanation. Could he even comprehend what he had put her through? Did he actually believe it was as simple as that?

“You really think that forcing yourself on me was harmless, that it didn’t break me?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly. “You think it was just about ‘sleeping with me’? What about all the other things you did? Humiliating me in front of my in-laws, the constant, unwanted touches, the insults… You did far more than just take what you wanted. You hurt me in every way possible.”

He tilted his head, eyes narrowing with an almost detached curiosity. “That was discipline, Asha. You needed it.”

Disgust rippled through her, and she turned her face away, unable to look at him. His gaze felt like a violation, even now, prying into her, searching for something only he seemed to understand. She could feel his eyes on her, studying her reactions as though her pain were nothing more than an interesting spectacle.

He hesitated, shifting his gaze to the ground, his expression hardening as he gathered himself. Finally, he spoke, his voice low, almost reflective, as if he were recounting a story that had lost its edge over time.

“I liked you the moment I saw you,” he began, his voice carrying a strange, unsettling softness. “You were dancing alone in the temple, that day I came to your village. I was there to scout a location for my factory. I needed extra land, and your father owned the plot that would’ve been perfect for expansion.”

Asha glanced at him sharply, and he met her gaze, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I planned to handle it legally, even visited your house after the neighbors told me your father would be around in the morning. They said he was a drunk and that I’d have to go through you. They figured you could handle it.”

He paused, a brief flicker of something—nostalgia, perhaps—crossing his face. “I saw you that night. You were alone in that temple, and I couldn’t bring myself to step inside, even though I hated temples. But I waited, thinking you’d return. You didn’t.”

He sighed, as if the memory irritated him. “My stepbrother—your future husband—had his eyes on the land, too. There was always some rivalry between us, but this was personal. I decided to secure the land and came back to your village. First, I sent you a letter, proposing marriage and asking you to meet me after your dance hours, at least to talk before you dismissed me. I expected you to show up, but instead, you tore up my letter and sent it back with one of your little friends. Men weren’t allowed at your temple, or I would have confronted you directly and made you see sense.”

He looked away, his jaw tightening as he continued, the words coming faster now, almost in a rush. “I figured if you wouldn’t come to me, I’d go to your father. I offered him a hefty sum—enough to cover both your hand in marriage and the land. He agreed, and everything was set. The wedding was planned, even my grandmother was prepared for it. Three days later, she came to start the rituals, only for me to find out that you were marrying someone else.”

He fell silent, his fists clenching as he struggled to suppress whatever emotions still lingered from that day. “Your neighbors told me you’d said yes to that scumbag, my stepbrother. He took what I wanted, again. I was furious, betrayed. You chose him over me, even though I’d offered everything. So I went to that wedding. I didn’t hesitate—I killed him there, right in front of everyone. I could have killed him before he tied the knot on you. But thats the gift for you. To remain as a widow for the sake of yes you gave him. And I made a promise then, Asha, that you’d never belong to anyone else. Not him, not anyone.”

Asha’s fists clenched, her entire body tense with the urge to lash out. He was delusional, an egomaniac blinded by his own twisted sense of justice. Her hands itched to slap him, to break that cold, unfeeling expression that stared back at her with such a disturbing sense of ownership.

He seemed to sense her fury, his lips curling in a faint, mocking smile. But his eyes still held that intense, smoldering gaze, a strange mix of hatred and desire that set her nerves on edge.

Asha forced herself to breathe, to keep control. “You’re a madman,” she whispered, her voice trembling with a rage she could barely contain. “You destroyed my life, all because you couldn’t stand to be denied.”

He shrugged, unfazed by her words. “Call it what you will. But you still can’t deny the bond we have, no matter how much you hate it.”

She turned away, her heart pounding, unable to bear the sight of him any longer. The man who had ruined everything, and still stood before her, unapologetic, as though he had any right to justify his actions.

Asha stared at him, her eyes steely and resolute. "My father never told me about your proposal. Not once," she said, her voice firm, as though she needed him to understand that she was speaking the truth. There were too many details missing from his story, too many parts he was twisting to fit his own narrative.

She took a steadying breath and continued, “I was forced into this marriage. I wasn’t asked. They sold me like I was property, and I had no say in it. This wasn’t a marriage of convenience.”

He looked at her, disbelief flickering in his eyes, but she could see him falter. The firmness in her voice was breaking through his doubt. She knew he could sense that she wasn’t lying; he had always been able to tell when she wasn’t.

“That piece of land? It was in my name,” she said, her voice rising with each word. “Your brother wanted me for that, not out of love or respect. He wanted control over my land. That’s why he asked my father for my hand.”

He fell silent, regret flashing across his face as he pieced things together. Realizing that his stepbrother had outmaneuvered him, taking the girl and the land though land was not the main issue, but the fact that his brother is one step ahead of him cut deeper than he wanted to admit. All this time, he’d been caught up in his own twisted plans, convinced that if he’d acted sooner, taken more drastic steps, he might have had her.

“And one more thing,” she added, her voice lowering as she looked directly at him. “I never received your letter.”