Chapter Twenty Eight
Aansh's POV;
I returned to the Palace at 3 a.m., each step heavier than the last. My body ached from exhaustion, my mind buzzing with the remnants of rage and bloodlust from the night.
The corridors were quiet, eerily silent, broken only by my own footsteps.
I didn't stop, didn't look left or right, didn't care to see the marble floors reflecting my anger.
I made my way straight to my room. The darkness welcomed me, but I didn't need the lights.
Not yet. Not when my body ached to shed the grime of the world outside.
The bathroom was cold, merciless, as if mocking my fatigue.
I let the water hit me, hot and scalding, washing off the blood, the sweat, the smell of iron and death that clung to me like a second skin.
Afterward, I dressed in black-a black tee, black sweats, the color of my thoughts, the armor of my mood.
I entered the bedroom and instinctively had a low mumbling, a low growl coming from the darkness in the room. I flicked the lights on automatically, illuminating the shadows and then... her.
She was there. Petite, fragile, curled in on herself on the couch, every curve of her body somehow claiming a space she had no right to in my world.
My stomach twisted-not with hunger, but with hatred, disgust, and something darker, something I couldn't name.
I crouched down, lowering myself to her level, my eyes scanning every detail of her defiance even in sleep.
Her long eyelashes nearly concealed eyes that had looked at me with both fear and courage, her flushed cheeks soft and warm, her full lips slightly parted, innocent in sleep.
Pathetic. I whispered the word, venom dripping from it.
She was everything I hated, everything I loathed, yet here she was-wearing my nuptial chain, carrying my name, sitting in my space, daring to exist in my home, in my room.
Each feature of her face-the innocence, the vulnerability, the unspoken challenge-it made me hate her deeper.
I imagined stripping her of it all. Her courage.
Her sweetness. The very purity she carried so delicately on her face.
I wanted to crush it, shatter it, burn it away piece by piece, until nothing remained but a hollow figure that trembled at my presence.
Every little soft curve, every fragile gesture, every breath she took in ignorance of the storm that raged inside me.
.. I wanted to make it all mine to dominate, to break.
A strand of hair fell across her face. I reached slowly, almost ceremoniously, to brush it aside.
My fingers lingered a moment longer than necessary, cold against the warmth of her skin.
My voice cut the silence like a blade. "You don't know who I really am," I whispered, low and venomous, each word laced with hatred and cruelty.
"The monster in me... I break fragile things like you. .. every single fucking day."
She stirred slightly, but sleep held her tight.
I stood, leaving her curled on the couch, and walked to my bed.
Exhaustion claimed me finally, but the hatred remained, coiling in my chest like a living thing.
Even as I drifted into a restless sleep, her image burned behind my eyelids, infuriating and tormenting me.
---
Ria's POV
I opened my eyes slowly, each movement sending a fresh stab through my aching body.
My temples throbbed like drumbeats, my vision blurred.
I massaged my forehead and slowly sat up, trying to gather the pieces of myself that had been scattered by the terror Aansh instilled in me.
The world tilted around me, but I forced my legs to carry me to the bathroom.
The mirror reflected a pale, fragile version of myself-dark circles, dull skin, lips cracked from fever and tears.
I shivered, even under the warm water, trying desperately to wash away the ache, the memories, the fear.
After the shower, I dressed in something simple but elegant-a shalwar kameez in a deep sapphire blue, the color soothing, almost like armor against the storm of emotions raging inside me. My hands lingered over the fabric, willing myself to feel safe, to feel some small sense of control.
Stepping back into the dark room, my eyes fell on a figure sleeping on the bed.
My heart froze-was it Aansh? Of course it had to be him.
The dark of the room hid the details, but instinctively, I stayed low, tiptoeing to the dressing table.
My hands searched blindly for my sindoor box, jewelry, and hair accessories, each touch careful, tentative, as if the wrong movement could summon him awake.
Every heartbeat hammered in my chest, every breath shallow, laced with fear and loathing.
Finally, with everything in my grasp, I slipped quietly into one of the guest rooms. I flicked on the lights, the sudden brightness a small comfort, washing away the shadows that had made him feel so close.
Relief seeped through me-I didn't have to face him, not yet.
Not when the memory of his hatred, his glare, and the cold, venomous acts before still clung to me like ice on my skin.
I hurried to finish getting ready, each movement precise, a practiced mask over the trembling inside.
By the time I was done, the sun had begun to rise.
I slipped out onto the balcony of the guest room, the morning air brushing my face.
For a fleeting moment, I closed my eyes, letting the peace of the sunrise fill me, trying to reclaim some fragment of serenity, however small.
I whispered to myself, almost desperately, "I will try my best to avoid him.
" But the words felt hollow, because avoidance was temporary, and I knew I couldn't hide from the storm that was Aansh Rathore.
My body remembered the fear, my soul the cruelty, and my heart-fractured, aching, trembling-knew that today, like every day, I would have to navigate the labyrinth of his hatred, and survive.
But I had to try to avoid him at all cost.
Even as the sun rose, a cold shadow lingered in my chest-a reminder that my freedom was a lie, my peace fragile, and the man whose touch and words had shattered me still existed in the same walls, in the same house.