35
SHIVANI
I turn towards him and snuggle into his chest; I can't bear to look at him right now. As I lean into his warmth, I can hear his heartbeat. It’s the only sound keeping me from spiraling, from breaking down.
I don’t want to panic or overthink. I don’t want to lose him too.
But he said he won’t talk to me unless I tell him everything.
And more than that… he’s always been there for me.
No one’s ever done that before. He’s not asking for much—he just cares about me; that’s why he wants to know.
He’s not being polite. He’s being honest, and the least I can do for him is tell him the truth.
But the problem is… last time, I made him promise he wouldn’t do anything, and he still went ahead and bought those stupid shares. If I tell him everything now, I don’t know what he’ll do.
But it's enough; I need help. I can’t keep going on like this—being their ragdoll.
I have the option to tell Rudra everything, and I know he’ll save me.
I’m sure of that. But I don’t want his life to be at risk.
Father said he’d kill him. The threat, it rings in my head, and I suck in a sharp breath.
My heart races at the thought of losing him. Tears slip past my lashes, and I shut my eyes.
I can’t keep crying.
Please, Bholenath . When will this end? I can’t take it anymore. Now that I know what love, care, and support feel like… I can’t take this anymore. Please make it stop!
“Shhh. I’m right here, baby. Take your time; it’s okay,” he whispers into my hair, pressing a kiss to my head. His words bring momentary comfort, but the knot in my stomach tightens even more. I don’t know what to say—how to explain everything to him.
“I… I just wanted to be a good daughter,” I whisper. Tears spill freely from my eyes.
He doesn’t say much, but his hold on me tightens—as if he’s bracing himself for what’s to come and encouraging me to go on.
“I just wanted to be a good daughter,” I repeat, my sobs growing louder with each second.
My chest physically hurts, and my head pounds from crying.
“You are a good daughter,” he says like it’s a fact. But I know it all. I am not, and I can not be, a good daughter. I shake my head. That’s not what my parents think. He’s just saying it to make me feel better. They hate me.
“I’m not. Please don’t lie,” I reply quietly, wiping my tears furiously. I can’t stop them. I don’t want to cry anymore. Not anymore.
He takes my hands in his. “Stop,” he chastises firmly, then gently wipes my tears away. And it just makes me cry harder.
Why is he so gentle?
We fall into silence. After a pause of a beat, I turn to face him, and he looks at me like I’m the most fascinating thing on the planet. I can’t take that look, so I hide my face in his chest, even if it means suffocating. Heat creeps up to my cheeks as I play with his shirt, fidgeting.
“They don’t like me,” I murmur with my fingers tracing patterns on his shirt.
He stiffens for a second but quickly relaxes. “Yeah, I gathered that,” he replies softly. “They’re insane for that.”
“They regret having me,” I continue. I don’t know how to stop now. I don’t want him to think I’m weak.
“I’m lucky to have you in my life,” he whispers gently, pressing a kiss to my temple.
I shake my head and push him away. “No, you’re not.
I’m just a burden on everyone. I’m not good for anything or anyone.
” Negative thoughts sit heavy on my shoulders as I look at him; there’s no need to lie anymore.
I know the truth. I’m not angry at him. I’m angry at the world.
Maybe at myself. I turn around, facing the other side of the bed, and scoot away.
He follows, closes the distance between us, and turns me so I’m facing him.
He hovers above me, his eyes scanning my face.
He’s so close I can feel his breath on my skin.
“Don’t say that,” he says, his voice stern. “You can't shit-talk about my wife.” And then he kisses me softly. My eyes flutter closed, and a lone tear escapes down my cheek.
“Do you understand?” He raises an eyebrow, but I don't answer him.
“They used to lock me in a dark room for days… because I scored low in math,” I tell him, eyes still shut. I don’t want to see him while I tell him about the past. I don’t want him to see me like this—so exposed.
Instead of pulling away from me, he turns me around and pulls me into his chest. My back hurts, but I don’t say anything—because what I’m feeling inside hurts more.
“They didn’t give me food. Just water… because I gained weight,” I whisper, my voice breaking as I remember the past, the words, the taunts.
“You make me feel beautiful, Rudra. But it’s hard to believe it’s not all just an act.” I cover my mouth to muffle the sob that breaks free.
“You’re the most beautiful person I know,” he lifts my chin until our eyes meet and announces like a king claiming his possession. His eyes are darker than before. He looks dangerous. But I’m not afraid.
“I don’t care if I have to remind you a thousand times. Shivani, I don’t lie, and I sure as hell don’t sugarcoat. If I say you’re beautiful, it’s because you are. And I will work hard—I’ll do everything I can—to make you see it, make you believe it.”
Then he kisses me again, his lips crashing into mine with a kind of desperation I’ve never felt before. His hands grip my face, holding me steady as his tongue invades my mouth—possessive, claiming.
I moan into him, my body giving in to his touch as we both ride on the heat.
When he pulls away, we lie down next to each other, facing the ceiling.
He takes my hand in his, intertwining our fingers and gently squeezing.
He brings our joined hands to his mouth and kisses my knuckles.
My eyes water as I glance at him. His face is tense, and I want to smooth out the lines creasing his forehead.
“Did they ever raise their hands on you?” he asks quietly, tension clearly evident in his tone.
The question hangs in the air, heavy and suffocating. I can’t look at him. My eyes drift away, staring at nothing as a single tear slips down my cheek and soaks into the pillow.
“Shivani. Answer me,” he demands, more firmly this time.
But how do I say it out loud? How do I put years of silent pain into words that won’t tear me apart?
A sob catches in my throat, and I clamp a hand over my mouth, trying to hold it in.
The moment my shoulders shake, he moves without hesitation.
He’s at my side, pulling me into his arms like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
His chest rises and falls steadily, grounding me as I cry.
And I cry like I haven’t in years—loud, broken, and raw.
He says nothing, just holds me through the storm. When the tears finally begin to slow, his voice is there again—low, careful, but insistent.
“How bad, Shivani?” His arms tighten around me. “How bad was it?”
I can feel his fingers in my hair, his touch gentle, calming. I know he means well. I know he needs to hear it. But I can’t go back there.
“I don’t want to say,” I whisper, eyes squeezed shut. “I can’t go back to those memories. Please.”
There's a deafening silence. He doesn’t push, but he doesn’t let go either.
“I need to know, baby,” he demands finally, softer than before. His hand comes up to my face, coaxing me gently to look at him. I keep my eyes shut.
“It was a belt yesterday,” I murmur heavily. The words leave my lips like shattered glass. His body tenses immediately.
He freezes. Completely. I open my eyes slowly, afraid of what I’ll see. His jaw is locked. His eyes—once so warm—are blazing now, dark and wild.
“Bastards,” he mutters, almost inaudible.
He inhales deeply, trying to rein it in. I see the war behind his eyes, the kind of rage that doesn’t come from just anger—it comes from helplessness, from love , maybe?
“And what else have they used?” He asks, his voice shaking with restraint, and the veins of his temple pop out.
I hesitate. But there's no use in hiding anything now, and probably I don't want to hide anything either, so I answer truthfully, “Anything they could find.”
His hand stops on my back, unmoving now, like he doesn’t trust himself to move. Doesn’t trust that he won’t destroy something.
“How long has this been going on?” I stare at the ceiling on his question.
The truth is bitter.
“Since I have memory.”
I take a deep breath, feeling small and unworthy in the space he’s filled with so much care.
“I’m broken, Rudra,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “You don’t need me in your life.” I mean it. I truly believe it. I am broken beyond repair.
His expression changes instantly. His eyes harden—not in anger, but in decision.
Like he’s just made up his mind about something irreversible.
And I am scared, although I realize he deserves better, but I still want him.
Maybe because I am selfish. He pulls me into his arms again, holding me so tightly it feels like he’s trying to piece me together just by touch.
“Don’t say that,” he whispers fiercely. “Don’t you ever say that.” His words come out firm and stern as he fists his fingers. “If you’re broken, I’ll fucking glue you back together, but I’m not leaving. I need you in my life.”
And then he kisses me again. Not rushed. Not desperate. Just there. Soft. Unmoving. Steady. Like he’s anchoring me to the present, to him, to something safe. When he pulls back, his eyes darken, “I’m going to make them pay,” he growls, voice low and filled with quiet rage and a promise.
My heart drops. This is what I feared. His anger. His need to protect me… turning into something dangerous.
“No, Rudra,” I whisper, urgency edging my tone, fingers gripping his shirt. “You don’t know what my father is capable of.” My voice shakes. “He’s selfish. He doesn’t care about human lives unless they benefit him.”
But Rudraksh just smiles—sharp and cold. He looks so dangerous as he leans in, brushing his nose against mine, eyes burning with something primal.
“No, darling,” he murmurs, “he doesn’t know what I’m capable of.”
His grip around me tightens as he says those words.
“Just wait and watch.” He doesn’t only say that but actually promises me. His eyes ignite with a fire I haven't seen.
It's a promise.
A silent but strong promise. And that scares me.