Chapter 21
The moment Anvi stepped into the estate, she felt it.
The shift.
The way the air grew thick with tension.
The way the gazes in the room turned toward her, some filled with curiosity, some with amusement, and some… with something colder.
And then—her eyes landed on her.
She sat beside Mahima Rathore, poised and elegant, her long fingers wrapped around a glass of wine, her eyes flickering between Anvi and Agastya with an expression that made Anvi’s stomach twist.
Because it wasn’t just curiosity.
It was familiarity.
Like she had been here before.
Like she belonged.
And suddenly, Anvi understood.
Whoever she was—she wasn’t just anyone.
She was someone from his past.
And judging by the way Agastya’s fingers tensed against her lower back…
She wasn’t here by accident.
---
The room fell silent as Mahima Rathore turned to Anvi, her expression polite but unreadable.
"Come, beti," she said smoothly, gesturing to the empty seat beside Agastya. "Sit."
Anvi hesitated for a fraction of a second.
But before she could react—Agastya’s grip on her waist tightened.
A silent command.
A silent warning.
She had no choice.
So she sat.
And the moment she did, the woman in maroon smiled.
"So you’re the infamous wife." Her voice was soft, melodic, but there was an edge to it—something that sent a sharp chill down Anvi’s spine.
Anvi’s jaw tightened. "And you are?"
The woman took a slow sip of her wine before answering.
She let the name linger in the air, as if waiting for a reaction.
And when Anvi turned to Agastya—the flicker in his eyes told her everything.
This wasn’t just any woman.
This was someone who had mattered.
Someone who still did.
---
The tension in the room was suffocating.
Agastya hadn’t spoken a word.
But his grip on Anvi’s thigh—hidden beneath the silk of her saree—was firm, unrelenting.
Niharika’s eyes flickered to his hand.
And then—she smiled.
"It’s strange, isn’t it?" she mused, her gaze locking onto Anvi’s.
"What is?" Anvi asked, forcing her voice to stay calm.
"How a man like Agastya ends up married." Niharika tilted her head, her smile sharp. "I always thought he wasn’t the type to… belong to anyone."
Something inside Anvi snapped.
Because she knew what this was.
This wasn’t curiosity.
This was a challenge.
And before she could stop herself—she met Niharika’s gaze head-on.
"Then you must not have known him as well as you thought."
The words left her lips before she could think.
A single, reckless truth.
And for the first time, Agastya smirked.
Not at Niharika.
Not at anyone else.
At her.
Because she had just done exactly what he wanted.
She had claimed him.
And now?
Now, he was going to make sure she never forgot it.
---
Dinner continued, but the air was thick with something unspoken.
Agastya barely looked at Niharika.
His attention was solely on Anvi.
And when he reached for his glass of whiskey, his other hand slid up her thigh beneath the table.
Her breath caught.
She turned to him, a warning in her eyes.
He ignored it.
Instead, he leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear, his voice a whisper only she could hear.
"Say it again."
Her stomach flipped. "What?"
His fingers curled slightly, pressing into her skin, sending a shiver down her spine.
"Say it again, Pari. That I belong to you."
Her pulse hammered.
"Stop it," she hissed under her breath.
He chuckled softly, low, dark, possessive.
"Too late, jaan. You already claimed me."
She hated the way her body reacted.
Hated the way he made her feel.
But most of all—hated the way she couldn’t tell if this battle was real…
Or if she was already losing.
---
The dinner ended late.
Niharika left first, but not before giving Anvi one last look.
A look that said, this isn’t over.
And then—the house emptied.
Anvi barely made it to their bedroom before she turned to Agastya, her voice sharp.
"Who is she?"
He didn’t answer.
Just took off his watch, placing it neatly on the dresser.
Like he hadn’t just shattered her entire world.
"Agastya."
His jaw ticked.
And then—he moved.
Faster than she expected.
Before she could step back, his hands gripped her waist, pulling her against him, his breath hot against her skin.
"Jealous, Pari?" His voice was low, dangerous.
Her pulse slammed against her ribs.
"I hate you."
His lips curved against her throat.
"That’s not an answer."
Her hands pushed against his chest, but he didn’t move.
Didn’t budge.
Because he knew.
Because he had already won.
And when she finally whispered, "Let me go," his grip only tightened.
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"Never."
And for the first time, she believed him.
Because Agastya Singh Rathore wasn’t just keeping her anymore.
He was never letting her go.
___________________________________________
The air between them burned.
Anvi’s breath was ragged, her body tense as Agastya’s grip tightened around her waist.
He was too close.
Too dangerous.
And the worst part?
She couldn’t look away.
"Jealous, Pari?" His voice was low, smooth, deceptively calm.
Her pulse pounded. "I don’t care who you’ve been with."
His smirk deepened. "Liar."
Her stomach twisted.
She hated him.
She hated the way he always saw through her.
But this time?
She wouldn’t let him win.
"Is she the reason you turned into this?" she snapped, shoving at his chest. "The reason you don’t let anyone in?"
His smirk vanished.
And for the first time—his grip loosened.
Like she had just struck something raw.
Something he never wanted her to touch.
"Stay out of things you don’t understand, Pari." His voice was sharp, warning. "You won’t like the truth."
She swallowed hard, but she refused to back down. "Maybe it’s you who doesn’t like the truth, Agastya."
His jaw ticked.
And then—he let her go.
Stepped back.
Turned away.
As if she wasn’t worth an answer.
But that silence?
That silence told her everything.
And suddenly, she realized—
Whoever Niharika was, she wasn’t just from his past.
She was a wound that had never healed.
---
The next morning, Anvi woke up to an empty bed.
The space beside her was cold.
Her fingers curled into the sheets, frustration burning in her chest.
Agastya hadn’t answered her last night.
And that?
That only made her want to dig deeper.
She got out of bed, wrapping a shawl around herself before stepping out of the room.
But the moment she reached the grand hall—she froze.
Because there, standing in the middle of the room, a soft smile on her lips, was Niharika.
Her saree was a deep shade of red today, her jewelry subtle but expensive, her posture poised, confident.
Like she belonged here.
Like she had never left.
Anvi’s stomach twisted.
And when Agastya walked into the room, his expression unreadable, his gaze flickering between them—
She knew.
She knew this wasn’t just a guest.
This wasn’t just his past.
This was unfinished business.
---
Niharika turned to her, smiling. "Good morning, Mrs. Rathore."
Anvi forced a tight smile. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"
"I was just catching up with Agastya." Niharika’s gaze flickered to him, something knowing in her expression. "It’s been a long time."
Something dark twisted inside Anvi’s chest.
Before she could respond—Agastya spoke.
"Enough games, Niharika." His voice was sharp, cold. "Why are you here?"
Niharika let out a soft chuckle. "You always were impatient."
Then—she turned back to Anvi.
"Tell me, Pari," she mused, tilting her head. "How much do you know about your husband?"
Anvi’s fingers curled into fists.
"Enough."
Niharika hummed. "Really?"
Her smile was sweet.
But her words?
They were poison.
"Then did he tell you about the night he almost married me?"
The world stilled.
Anvi’s breath caught.
She turned to Agastya—but he said nothing.
Did nothing.
And that silence?
That silence was her answer.
Her chest tightened.
"You’re lying."
Niharika laughed softly. "Oh, sweetheart. That’s cute."
Her gaze flickered to Agastya, challenging.
"Tell her, Hukum.Tell her how I was supposed to be your wife before she ever entered your life."
Anvi’s vision blurred. "Agastya?"
And for the first time—he looked away.
Didn’t deny it.
Didn’t stop it.
And suddenly, she realized—
She didn’t know him at all.
---
The room was silent.
The weight of Niharika’s words hung in the air, thick, suffocating.
Anvi couldn’t move.
Couldn’t breathe.
Because the man who had forced her into this marriage…
Had almost married someone else.
And he never told her.
Her throat tightened. "You lied to me."
Agastya’s jaw clenched. "It wasn’t a lie."
"Then why didn’t you tell me?" Her voice was sharp, breaking. "Why did I have to hear it from her?"
His fists curled. "Because it doesn’t matter."
She let out a bitter laugh. "It doesn’t matter?"
Her voice dropped, shaking. "Was she your first choice, Agastya?"
His silence was her answer.
Her chest ached.
She turned away.
"Where are you going?" His voice was rough, strained.
"As far away from you as I can."
She took a step forward—but he grabbed her wrist.
Spun her back toward him.
His eyes burned with something raw, something dark.
"You don’t get to walk away from me, Pari." His voice was low, dangerous.
"You don’t get to be mad."
Her stomach twisted. "Why? Because I belong to you?"
His grip tightened.
His jaw locked.
And then—he did something she didn’t expect.
He leaned in, his voice a whisper against her skin.
"Because I never looked at her the way I look at you."
Her breath hitched.
Her pulse betrayed her.
Because for the first time—she saw it.
The truth.
The obsession.
The undeniable fact that no matter how much he had tried to hide it…
She wasn’t just his wife.
She was his ruin.
And the worst part?
She wasn’t sure if she wanted to run from it anymore.