CHAPTER 35
On his knees
VIHAAN
I don’t feel my knuckles anymore. I don’t feel the sting of skin tearing against bone or the burn of blood dripping down my fingers.
The only thing I feel is him—the filthy weight of Ranbir’s presence under my grip, his collar bunched in my fists, the struggle of his body jerking against mine as I drag him through the corridor.
He twists, curses, claws at my wrists, but I don’t let go. I tighten my hold until the fabric of his shirt strains and the buttons snap loose, scattering to the ground.
“Vihaan—leave me—” he spits, his words broken, his lip bleeding.
“Shut your mouth,” I snarl, shoving him forward, his back hitting the marble pillar before I yank him upright again.
Every muscle in my body is thrumming with fury, hot and sharp, but beneath that fire is another wound, deeper, more unbearable—the sight of Poorvi on her knees.
Her voice, broken and pleading, still echoes in my skull. I didn’t do anything. Please believe me. Her eyes, wide and desperate, rimmed red. Her hands folded in supplication. Her body trembling in front of me like she had no shield, no protection, no worth of her own.
And all of it because of him.
The rage is endless. I could carry him like this across the world and still not exhaust the hatred coursing through my veins.
“Vihaan Bhai-sa!” Sitara’s voice slices through the corridor. She comes running, her dupatta flying behind her, her face pale with shock. “What happened? What are you doing?”
I don’t slow down. I don’t even look at her.
“Not right now,” I bark, my voice a whip. “Go to your room.”
She stops in her tracks. Silence hangs between us, broken only by Ranbir’s grunts and the echo of our footsteps on the marble floor.
For a moment, I feel her fear, her hesitation—but she doesn’t protest. She doesn’t dare.
I hear her soft footsteps fading as she turns back, and the sound disappears into the distance.
Good. She doesn’t need to see this.
Technically, yes, I should wait. I should drag this bastard to Bhai-sa, let him pass judgment, let the weight of his authority decide the punishment. That’s what I was raised to do—follow order, follow hierarchy, never forget the chain of command in this palace.
But right now?
The thought alone makes bile rise in my throat.
This bastard laid his hands on my wife. My wife. And I’m supposed to stand here waiting for someone else to tell me what to do? I’m supposed to pretend like her tears weren’t staining the floor in front of me while this coward smirked and twisted the truth? When he tried to...to molest her?
No. Not happening.
Any consequence—I’ll bear it. Every ounce of fallout, every curse, every punishment from Bhai-sa or from the entire royal council, I will shoulder it all.
But the sight of Poorvi kneeling on the ground, begging me to believe her, will never leave me.
And if I let this go unpunished, if I stand here as though my silence is enough, then I don’t deserve her trust.
The main doors loom ahead, tall and carved, guarded by two men who stiffen the moment they see me coming. Their eyes flick from my face—contorted with fury—to Ranbir’s bloodied body in my hold. They exchange uncertain glances, their hands twitching against their spears.
“Open the door,” I order, my voice like thunder.
They hesitate.
I stop, my chest heaving, my grip tightening around Ranbir’s collar until he chokes.
“I said open it,” I roar, the sound ricocheting through the hall.
They flinch, and one of them scrambles to obey. The heavy wood creaks, sunlight pouring in from the courtyard, spilling across the polished floor. The heat hits my skin, mixing with the sweat clinging to me, but I don’t blink.
“Give me the microphone,” I demand.
The guards freeze again. “Hukum—”
“Now.”
One rushes inside, his footsteps echoing as he disappears. Moments later, he returns, a sleek microphone in his trembling hands. I snatch it from him, my breaths heavy, my pulse a war drum in my ears.
I drag Ranbir into the courtyard. The air shifts instantly. Servants pause in their chores, people near the gates stop mid-step, whispers ripple across the ground as eyes turn toward us.
I raise the microphone.
“This man,” I say, my voice booming through the speakers, carrying across the crowd. “This man is my cousin. My blood. But today, he tried to molest a girl.”
Gasps erupt. Murmurs rise like waves. Ranbir thrashes in my hold, but I slam him to the ground, my boot pressing against his chest to keep him down.
“I don’t think there’s a punishment in this world harsh enough for such filth,” I continue, every word edged with steel. “So I will leave him to you. Do as you please with him.”
Ranbir shouts, his voice hoarse, spitting curses, screaming my name. I don’t hear him. His words are nothing but buzzing flies in my ears.
“Have you lost your mind?!” a sharp, furious voice cuts through the crowd. Maasi-sa comes running, her face contorted with outrage. She pushes past the guards, her bangles clinking as she rushes toward me. “Let go of my—”
“You can leave respectfully if you want,” I cut her off, my tone colder than ice, “or stay here with your son. But hear me clearly—you are not welcome in this palace again. Don’t ever come back.”
Her mouth drops open, her words catching in her throat.
“That is not a way to talk—” she starts.
“That is not a way to treat a woman either,” I interrupt again, my voice rising, slicing through her protests. “But I suppose you were too blind to teach your own son that.”
Her face blanches, her eyes darting to Ranbir, who is writhing on the ground, surrounded now by the growing crowd. Their voices rise, angry, disgusted, spitting venom his way.
“Close the door,” I order the guards, my voice steady. “Call the police. Make sure he doesn’t die.”
I pause, my jaw tightening, my fists aching for another blow. Even though I want to kill him, I won’t. I don’t want Bhai-sa to be dragged into a scandal he doesn’t deserve.
The guards bow, their expressions grim as they obey. The massive doors begin to close, shutting out the chaos of the courtyard, muffling Ranbir’s shouts, Maasi-sa’s cries, the roar of the crowd.
Silence folds around me again, heavy and suffocating.
For a long moment, I stand there, my chest heaving, my mind racing. The blood on my hands is already drying, sticking to my skin like evidence I cannot wash away.
I should go to Bhai-sa. I should explain, justify, lay bare everything that happened before the story twists into something else. And I will. Later.
But right now—
Right now, I need to see Poorvi.
I need to see if she’s okay. If she’s breathing steady again. If the tears have left her eyes. If she knows—if she truly knows—that I believed her without a single doubt.
My fists clench again, but this time not from anger. From fear. From the memory of her voice cracking as she begged me to believe her.
That sight will never leave me.
And I will make sure no one—no one—ever brings her to her knees again.