Chapter 53

He stared at her, suspicion and surprise etched across his face. “What do you mean you didn’t receive it? I sent it directly to you.”

She shrugged, a weary look crossing her face. “Maybe it never made it to me. Maybe the girl you gave it to tore it up. I don’t know. But I never saw it.”

He looked away, processing her words, his face betraying a rare vulnerability, as if he were realizing what might have been. A faint trace of regret crossed his features, as though he’d lost a chance he’d never get back.

“Then tell me,” he said, his voice breaking the silence. He looked back at her, his eyes almost pleading. “If the letter had reached you—would you have said yes? Would you have married me?”

She exhaled sharply, a scornful smile tugging at the corner of her lips. She ignored his question, refusing to indulge him. But he pressed on, a spark of desperation in his tone.

“Don’t ignore me. Tell me, once and for all. If you’d known, would you have agreed? Would you have been willing to marry me?”

She shook her head, exasperation flashing across her face. He dared to ask such things after everything he’d put her through? The question itself was absurd.

“If the answer is yes, then tell me now,” he said, leaning forward, his voice with urgency. “I’d marry you right here, right now. You wouldn’t have to live as a mistress any longer. We can ha—”

“No!”

Her voice rang out, loud and clear, the word a declaration that shattered any remaining illusions between them. For the first time, she spoke without hesitation, her voice laced with fury and defiance. “No, I wouldn’t have married you then, and I won’t marry you now. We agreed on a deal—two weeks, and I’m free. There are five days left. You owe me that much. You promised to let me go.”

She stared him down, daring him to contradict her, reminding him of the terms they’d both agreed to, however begrudgingly.

He watched her, his face unreadable, as if the words had momentarily stunned him. She could see his fists clench, the tension in his jaw.

Taking a shaky breath, she wiped her tears away, her voice a mix of resignation and resolve. “I’m done with the grief. If you want to take me right now then take me and get over it".

He continued looking at her, his eyes roaming over her, but something shifted in his expression.

“Why?” he finally asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

She frowned, surprised by the question, and his intent gaze only deepened. Despite the situation, he was looking at her with a strange intensity, his eyes tracing her face as if seeing something new, something he’d missed before. Perhaps the nostalgic face when he first saw her.

“Why?” she repeated, a disbelieving scoff escaping her lips. “You want a reason?......Fine. You said it yourself—you’ve killed your own parents. I don’t marry criminals.”

She turned away, watching the way his face hardened, the rage simmering just below the surface. He grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him, his fingers pressing against her skin.

“And yet,” he hissed, his voice low and venomous, “you married my stepbrother—a criminal, just like me. You didn’t have a problem then.”

She held his gaze, unfazed. “I didn’t know anything about him, or about you. I was innocent, and I still am. I didn’t choose this.”

He nodded slowly, but his expression didn’t soften. “Innocent? Fine. And what about the fact that I freed you from him? I killed him. I widowed you. You should be thanking me.”

With a hard shove, he let go of her chin, as he turned and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

As night fell, she sat alone, the silence of the room pressing in on her. She managed to eat a little, just enough to fill her stomach, but the thought of being around him any longer made her skin crawl. She lay down, exhaustion overtaking her, and before she knew it, she slipped into an uneasy sleep.

She awoke to the sensation of his arm snaking around her waist, his body pressing against hers from behind. Startled, she blinked, her gaze falling to where his hand rested possessively over hers. He buried his face in the nape of her neck, breathing her in, and for a moment, he simply lay there, his grip on her tightening, as if he needed to feel her close.

His hand found her braid, loosening her hair as he lay beside her. His actions were oddly tender, his fingers moving with a gentleness she hadn’t expected. She had braced herself for anger, for his usual harshness, but tonight, he seemed different.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked, his voice a murmur against her skin.

She hesitated, caught off guard, but eventually nodded. She wasn’t sure how to respond to this unexpected side of him.

“Good,” he murmured, a slight smirk on his lips. “Because I’m going to keep you up all night.”

Without another word, he leaned in, pressing a series of soft kisses along her neck, his lips tracing a path across her skin. His hands moved to her waist, finding the tucked edge of her sari, and with slow, deliberate movements, he began to peel the fabric away, layer by layer. The delicate fabric slipped from her body, pooling on the bed, while he shed his own clothing, a quiet intensity filling the space between them.

He hovered above her, his gaze locking onto hers, as if searching for something she wasn’t willing to give. Her eyes drifted downward, breaking the connection, but he caught her chin, pressing gentle kisses on her eyelids, coaxing her to look at him, to meet his gaze. As he guided her hands to rest on his back, his touch was both possessive and strangely tender.

Slowly, he traced kisses along her lips, down her neck, and further along her body, his mouth trailing over her stomach, hips, and thighs. Every movement was deliberate, as if he wanted to savor each moment, to leave a mark on her that wouldn’t fade. When he finally returned to her, he lifted her leg, draping it over his hip, and with a steady rhythm, he drew her into him, each movement deepening the connection he sought but could never fully claim.

The night unfolded in a slow, relentless pattern—his touch alternating between rough and gentle, as though he couldn’t decide whether to punish or worship her. He gripped her hands, cradled her face, kissing her softly when he noticed tears slip from her eyes. And when he sensed her body tense, he would ease back, his fingers tracing soothing lines over her skin, grounding her until he began again.

As dawn broke, he lay beside her, his arm wrapped around her waist, his hand resting over hers. Her hair was spread across the pillow, a dark cascade framing her face, and the morning light cast a soft glow across them, illuminating their tangled forms beneath the blanket.

They both lay awake, each lost in separate thoughts. He studied her quietly, his gaze lingering over her face, watching the way her eyes seemed to reflect the golden light filtering through the curtains.

“You haven’t said yet,” she murmured, her voice breaking the silence, a hint of something unreadable in her tone.

He glanced at her, brow furrowing. “What?”

“You still haven’t said,” she murmured, her voice barely audible.

5“Said what?” he asked, his tone unreadable.

“What wrong I did to you,” she replied, her voice filled with a resigned exhaustion.

He fell silent, a long pause stretching between them before he finally answered.

“The fact that you married my stepbrother…” he said, his voice carrying a strange, bitter weight. “That was your mistake. You belonged to him. And it was loathsome to see.”

She closed her eyes, frustration burning behind her lids. There was no rhyme or reason to this suffering. She hadn’t chosen any of this, and yet, she was bound to it.

“But now,” he murmured, his voice softer, almost reverent, “it’s no longer loathsome. It’s simply the way things were meant to be.”

He held her close as the sunlight spread across them, each lost in their own thoughts, bound together by a fate neither of them could escape.