8. DISOBEDIENCE
VEERANSH:
It was past midnight when I finally stepped inside the mansion.
The entire day had been a storm, meetings and reporters. The inheritance department demanding proof, lawyers interfering, signatures cross-checking, threats from competitors, whispers everywhere form Last 3 days:
"He married someone no one knows."
"Why is he hiding his wife?"
"What is he trying to gain?"
I was done. No patience. No tolerance. No softness left in me. My phone buzzed again, another message about the marriage leak. I switched it off at mid notification.
Enough. The staff scrambled out of my way the moment I entered. They knew my silence was worse than shouting.
I walked through the corridor, ready to go to my study and drink until the headache eased. But I stopped. Voices. Whispers. Soft. Urgent. Coming from down the hallway near her room.
My brow tightened . I walked closer. And then, I saw her. Aarohi. Standing near the end of the hallway, half-hidden by a pillar. Her back was turned.
Her shoulders trembled. Her hand clutching a phone. Not her phone. A maid's phone. She had dialed someone, I heard the soft muffled sob in her voice.
"M-maa... Maa... I'm... I'm f-fine... p-please don't cry... I'm o-okay... I-"
The stutter was worse. Her breath flooded out fast, panicked. Her voice is gritty from crying. But that wasn't what hit me. Not the crying, not the fear. It was the choice. She defied me.
The entire day, the signatures, the inheritance chaos, the pressure, the humiliation, the cameras, everything had turned my control razor, thin. And now she was breaking the one rule I had repeated again and again.
No contact with anyone. No phone. Not even her mother. She broke it. My muscles pulled tight. The maid beside her flinched when she saw me. The phone slipped from Aarohi's hand. She turned slowly.
Her eyes froze when they met mine. Wide. Terrified. Caught. The kind of fear that made her breath shake. I moved toward her without thinking.
"What," my voice came low, controlled, too calm, "do you think you're doing?"
She opened her mouth. No sound. Just air. A gasp. Her whole body trembled like she'd been dropped into ice.
"... p-please... I just... I wanted... t-to-"
"To what?" I stepped closer, forcing her back a step.
"To disobey me?"
"To test me?"
"To pretend you have choices here?"
She shook her head fast, eyes glistening. "N-no... I... I just... maa..."
The word maa snapped something inside me. I grabbed her arm. She gasped. The maid dropped to her knees, begging instantly.
"Sir, please! It was my mistake! She only asked, she looked so weak, sir-"
"Get out," I said. She scrambled away like a frightened animal. My grip tightened on Aarohi's arm, not enough to hurt, but enough to make her understand this wasn't something she could cry herself out of.
"This mistake," I said quietly, "deserves punishment. Her breath hitched sharply.
"N-no... please... I... I'm sorry... I won't-"
"You think sorry is enough? I pulled her closer.
"You think you can take advantage of my day, my exhaustion, my patience?"
Tears spilled down her face. She shook her head silently, helpless.I didn't care.I dragged her down the hallway. Her feet stumbled to keep up, her breath catching in her throat.
"P-please... p-please... I didn't-"
"Quiet."
She went silent immediately. We reached the back corridor-the one servants rarely used. Cold. Empty. Isolated. Exactly what I needed.
I unlocked the room door. The air that came out was cold, dusty, stale. She froze. Her breath stopped entirely.
" p-please don't- please... I'll listen... I-"
"You should have listened earlier."
"No-please-" I pushed her inside, not violently, but with enough force that she stumbled forward into the dark.
She caught herself on an old shelf, coughing as dust scattered around her. Her silhouette trembled in the faint light from the hallway.
The small storage room was cluttered, old boxes stacked in shadows, a single broken chair, no light except what spilled in from the door. "When you learn not to break rules," I said, "you won't need punishment." She shook her head again, tears streaking her cheeks.
"P-please... don't... not h-here... I'm... I'm scared-"
"Good." Her breath shattered. I gripped the door.
"No one," I said loudly so the staff could hear, "open this door until morning, NO ONE."
Her eyes widened in horror. "W-wait--please-please! Don't close-don't-" I shut the door. She hit the wood from inside-soft, terrified palms.
"Please! I'm sorry! Please!" I locked it. The sound echoed. I stood there for a moment, breathing through the burning frustration still twisting through my chest. Then I turned away. Let her learn. Let her understand. I had no space left for softness tonight.
No patience left for disobedience. And no intention of letting her forget the rules again. I walked away from the basement door without looking back.
Her cries were muffled by the old wood, soft enough that someone could pretend they didn't exist if they wanted to.
And tonight, I wanted to. I was done with weakness.
Done with disobedience. Done with being pushed, questioned, cornered by everyone-from the world outside to the girl crying in the dark downstairs.
By the time I reached the upper hallway, the staff had already scattered in fear.
Good. I didn't need witnesses.
I went straight to my study. Poured myself a glass of something stronger than patience. Drank half of it in one swallow. But even after that- even after the burn eased the tight coil in my chest- I couldn't focus.
The image kept flickering back. Her small frame stumbling into the dark. Her voice breaking. Her hands hitting the door like she could claw her way out.
"Please... don't close-please-"
My jaw tightened. Damn it. Why was I thinking about that? She broke a rule. A serious one. She deserved punishment. She needed to understand boundaries. Structure. Fear.
Fear kept people obedient, kept them predictable, kept them alive. I finished the drink and threw the glass into the sink harder than necessary. It shattered. I didn't care. Hours passed. The house went quiet. Too quiet.
Not even the sound of footsteps downstairs. No staff daring to check on the door. No one was breathing loudly enough for me to hear. Just silence. Heavy. Thick. Accusing. By three in the morning, my thoughts wouldn't shut up. What if she.. No. She was fine. She had to be.
She was always trembling, always crying, always breaking into pieces over nothing. This wasn't any different. Except... Except the basement was cold.
Colder than most rooms. And her health was already fragile. And her body had shaken so violently earlier the doctor had looked at me like I was the cause.
I stood abruptly. This was ridiculous. I wasn't going to check on her.
I wasn't weak. I wasn't going to indulge whatever soft instinct was trying to crawl its way into my mind.
Yet, My feet still moved. Quietly, down the stairs.
Down the back corridor. To the basement door.
I stood there. Listening. Nothing. Not a single sound.
Not crying. Not coughing. Not moving. Either she'd finally fallen asleep, Or she'd passed out.
Or....No. I pushed the thought away, irritated that it existed at all. She was alive. She had to be. And she needed to learn. I turned away, until I heard something. A faint sound. Small. Barely audible.
A breath. Then a second breath, weak, shaking. Almost like someone trying not to make noise. Almost like someone who had cried so long they didn't have energy left to cry anymore.
I closed my eyes for a moment. Not out of guilt. Just Frustration. Because she was going to complicate everything. Her health. Her weakness. Her fear. Her inability to obey even the simplest rules.
She wasn't meant to be a partner, a wife, a companion. Just a key. A requirement. A tool. A pawn shouldn't disrupt the board this much. I stepped back. Left the basement door untouched.
She could stay there until morning. A few more hours wouldn't kill her. It would teach her. I walked away. Forcing myself not to hear her breathing behind that door.
Forcing myself not to think about it. Forcing myself to stay the man I needed to be.
A man without softness. Without distraction. Without weakness. Because weakness, especially mine, was something I couldn't afford.
Not now.
Not ever.