Chapter 20
The air was thick with tension.
Anvi's heart pounded against her ribs, her breath coming in short, uneven gasps as Agastya’s grip tightened around her waist.
The cool night air surrounded them, but she felt nothing but his warmth—his fire, his rage.
Her fingers dug into his arms, trying to push him away.
"Let me go, Agastya."
His jaw clenched. "No."
She tried to struggle. "I said—"
"You’re done running, Pari." His voice was low, dangerously calm.
And then—he lifted her into his arms.
A gasp left her lips as he carried her back inside the mansion, his steps unhurried, controlled.
Like he had all the time in the world.
Like he had just decided her fate for her.
And nothing she said would change it.
---
The doors shut behind them with a loud thud.
The house was silent, except for the sound of her breathing and the steady click of his shoes against the marble floor.
"Put me down!" she hissed, pounding her fists against his chest.
Agastya didn’t even flinch.
His grip only tightened.
"You wanted to leave me, Pari? Let me show you why that will never happen."
She barely had time to register his words—
Before he kicked open the bedroom door and stepped inside.
The next thing she knew, she was on the bed, breathless, stunned.
Agastya stood at the edge of the mattress, his dark eyes burning into hers.
"You hate me? Fine." His voice was low, rough, filled with something dangerous.
"But don’t ever try to leave me again."
Her stomach twisted. "You can’t keep me here, Agastya. You don’t own me."
A slow, wicked smirk curled on his lips. "No?"
He leaned forward, caging her beneath him.
His fingers brushed against her throat, over the faint red marks left by his grip earlier.
A silent reminder.
A silent claim.
"Then why do you still wear my sindoor, Pari?" His voice was a whisper against her skin.
Her breath hitched.
She turned her face away. "That means nothing."
His jaw ticked.
And then—he gripped her chin, forcing her to look at him.
His lips hovered just above hers, his breath hot, his grip firm.
"Say it again, Pari. Look me in the eyes and tell me this means nothing."
She opened her mouth—
But the words never came.
Because the truth was right there, burning between them.
She couldn’t say it.
Because it would be a lie.
And Agastya knew it.
His smirk deepened.
"That’s what I thought."
---
Her hands pressed against his chest, but she wasn’t pushing him away.
Not this time.
Not when her pulse betrayed her.
Not when she felt his heartbeat hammering just as wildly as hers.
His thumb brushed against her bottom lip, his gaze dropping.
"You want to hate me, Pari." His voice was a whisper, a challenge.
"But you can’t."
Her stomach flipped.
"You’re wrong."
"Am I?"
And then—he kissed her.
Hard. Desperate. Unforgiving.
Like she was the only thing he had ever craved.
Like he was daring her to fight him.
To prove him wrong.
And for a moment—
She did.
She grabbed his collar, yanking him closer, her nails scraping against his skin, trying to push, to resist.
But Agastya?
He didn’t let her win.
His grip tightened on her waist, pulling her flush against him, his hands burning through the thin fabric of her saree.
His lips moved over hers with dangerous precision, forcing her to feel him, to acknowledge that there was no escaping him.
And the worst part?
She didn’t want to escape.
Not when his lips moved down her throat, his breath scorching her skin.
Not when her own hands betrayed her, sliding up his chest, fisting into his hair.
Not when she felt herself sinking, drowning, falling into him.
She hated him.
But she wanted more.
And Agastya felt it.
A low growl rumbled in his chest as he pulled away slightly, his forehead pressing against hers.
His breath was uneven.
His grip was unsteady.
"You can fight me all you want, Pari." His voice was raw, dangerous.
"But you’re already mine."
A shiver ran down her spine.
Because deep down—
She knew it was true.
And that?
That was the most dangerous part of all.
---
Anvi lay in bed long after he had left, her body still trembling from the weight of what had just happened.
Her lips were still swollen.
Her pulse was still racing.
She had let him kiss her.
She had kissed him back.
And now?
Now, there was no turning back.
Because she had just made the biggest mistake of all.
She had given him a reason to never let her go.
---
A Lesson in Submission
The night had been a mistake.
A devastating, irreversible mistake.
Anvi lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, her body still trembling from the weight of what had happened.
Her lips were swollen.
Her breath was still uneven.
And her heart?
It was beating too fast, too loud, too traitorous.
She had let him kiss her.
She had kissed him back.
And now?
Now, she was paying the price.
---
?? A Morning That Felt Different
The next morning, she woke up alone.
The space beside her was cold, empty.
Like he had never been there at all.
But the moment she turned her head, she knew the truth.
Because on the bedside table, neatly placed, was the mangalsutra he had forced on her the day they got married.
Her stomach twisted.
And then—the door creaked open.
She looked up.
And there he was.
Agastya.
Dressed in a crisp black shirt, the sleeves rolled up, the first two buttons undone, his hair slightly tousled.
Looking as if nothing had happened last night.
As if he hadn’t just shattered the last of her resistance.
"Get dressed, Pari. We have somewhere to be."
Her fingers curled into fists. "I’m not going anywhere with you."
A slow, dark smirk curled on his lips.
"That’s not a choice."
---
?? A Punishment She Didn’t Expect
The drive was silent.
Agastya’s hand rested on the steering wheel, his expression unreadable.
Anvi sat stiffly beside him, her nails digging into her palms. She refused to look at him.
She refused to acknowledge what had happened between them.
Because if she did—she would break.
And she refused to break.
Not for him.
Not for anyone.
But when the car pulled up in front of a large, private estate, her breath hitched.
This wasn’t a restaurant.
Or a business meeting.
Or even another one of his twisted games.
This was a family estate.
And when the doors opened, her stomach dropped.
The moment she stepped inside, she felt the weight of their gazes.
Mahima Rathore, his Choti Maa, sat at the head of the table, her expression calm, unreadable.
Across from her, Rudra, Agastya’s uncle, watched her with cold amusement.
And beside him, a woman she didn’t recognize—a girl dressed in a stunning maroon saree, her gaze flickering between Anvi and Agastya with something too close to familiarity.
Anvi’s stomach twisted.
Who was she?
And why did she feel like she had just walked into something she wasn’t prepared for?
She turned to Agastya, her voice low. "What is this?"
He smirked. "Your welcome, Mrs. Rathore."
Her blood ran cold.
Because she understood.
This wasn’t just a dinner.
This was a reminder.
A lesson.
A way for Agastya to show her, in front of everyone, that she belonged to him.
That she was his wife.
That no matter how much she fought him, there was no escaping this marriage.
Her pulse pounded. "I’m not playing this game, Agastya."
His fingers brushed against her lower back, a silent warning.
"You already are, Pari. You just don’t realize it yet."
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
Because the way he said it—**low, certain, possessive—**made her realize something terrifying.
This wasn’t about control anymore.
This was about breaking her completely.
And she?
She wasn’t sure if she could survive it.