25 ~ Freedom and Heir
Who the hell had the audacity to talk to me like that?
To Chahat Rathore Singhaniya.
Then one name immediately flashed through my mind.
Samaira.
Of course.
Who else?
My fingers tightened around the phone as anger surged through me.
I typed before I could think twice.
He's my husband. Remember your place and stay away from him.
I stared at the message before adding another line.
And don't ever threaten me again. Because you don't know me yet.
I hit send.
My heart was pounding.
But my anger wasn't directed only at her.
It was directed at Kartik too.
So this was the woman he had refused to explain himself about?
The woman who had walked into our reception, followed him into a locked room, and now had the audacity to claim my husband?
My phone vibrated again.
Another message.
I opened it.
Being his wife doesn't change anything. He's still mine. You're no one.
My jaw clenched.
You're no one.
Those three words burned.
I stared at the screen, my grip tightening around the phone.
I was his wife.
Then why did another woman sound so damn certain that she had more right over him than I did?
And the worst part?
Kartik had given me no reason to believe otherwise.
Yesterday, when I'd questioned him, a tiny part of me had still hoped there was some misunderstanding. Maybe I'd seen something that wasn't what it looked like.
But this?
She had contacted me herself.
She was claiming my husband with such confidence that it made my stomach twist.
He must have given her enough reason to believe she had that right.
I swallowed hard.
How humiliating.
I was standing in this house as Kartik Singhaniya's wife while another woman was warning me to stay away from him.
And Kartik?
He hadn't even bothered to tell me who she was.
My jaw clenched.
Maybe I had been stupid to care about his feelings.
Maybe I had been stupid to believe that this marriage meant something to him.
I looked down at the wedding ring on my finger.
A bitter laugh escaped me.
So this marriage meant nothing, then perhaps I didn't owe him the kind of loyalty I'd been forcing myself to maintain.
I blocked the number immediately.
I didn't want to see another message from her.
I locked my phone and took a deep breath.
My anger hadn't disappeared.
It had simply become something much more dangerous.
A few moments later, the bedroom door opened, and Kartik walked in as though nothing had happened.
My jaw clenched.
Because of him, another woman had the audacity to question my position in his life.
She wasn't married. She wasn't accountable to anyone.
But he was. He was my husband. He was answerable to me.
The most frustrating part?
I didn't even love him.
So why did it hurt this much?
He walked toward the dressing mirror completely unaware of the storm inside my head.
"Chahat..."
I looked up.
"You got your stuff?"
"Hmm..."
He glanced at me again.
Something in my expression must have given me away because he stopped what he was doing and came closer.
"Kya hua?" he asked quietly. "Ghar ki yaad aa rahi hai?"
(What happened? Are you missing home?)
I immediately shook my head.
My eyes burned.
For the first time in my life, I didn't know how to respond to another woman claiming something that belonged to me.
Not because I loved him.
But because she was making me feel like a stranger in my own marriage.
She had asked me to stay away from my own husband.
And somehow, that humiliation hurt more than I wanted to admit.
Kartik stood in front of me and gently cupped my cheeks.
"Kya hua, Chahat?"
(What happened, Chahat?)
I looked into his eyes.
For one foolish second, I wanted to ask him everything again.
Who is she?
Why does she think you're hers?
Why did she have the courage to threaten me?
But my pride stopped me.
I shook my head.
"Mujhe kal college jaana hai." I looked away. "Good night."
(I have to go to college tomorrow. Goodnight.)
And before he could ask anything else, I turned away from him.
I lay down on the bed and pulled the blanket tightly against my chest, as though that piece of fabric could somehow protect me from everything that had happened today.
I bit my lower lip, trying desperately to hold back the tears.
But the moment I closed my eyes, memories came rushing back.
The forced wedding.
The rituals I had never wanted.
The moment I had walked into this house knowing that my entire life had changed without my permission.
And now...
Another woman had the audacity to claim my husband.
My Kartik.
She said My Kartik.
The thought itself felt strange.
I had never wanted him. So why did that message hurt so much?
Why had the words He's mine made something inside me burn?
Fresh tears slipped silently down my cheeks.
I wiped them away quickly with the back of my hand.
The mattress shifted beside me.
I immediately turned my face toward the pillow and buried it deeper into the blanket, trying to hide the trembling of my shoulders.
I didn't want him to see me crying.
I didn't want his sympathy.
Most importantly, I didn't want him to know that his actions had affected me.
"Chahat?"
His voice came through the darkness.
I squeezed my eyes shut. Maybe if I didn't answer, he'd leave me alone. But my uneven breathing betrayed me.
A moment later, I felt the mattress dip beside me.
"Chahat..." His voice was quieter this time. "Kya hua? Sab theek hai? Kisine kuch kaha hai? Ghar ki yaad aa rahi hai?"
(What happened? Is everything okay? Did anybody said something to you? Are you missing home?)
I swallowed hard.
I clenched my fingers around the blanket.
I had never thought I would feel jealous of another woman.
Especially not over a man I claimed to hate.
I felt him reach for the blanket. Instinctively, I tightened my grip but he gently pulled the blanket down.
Cool air touched my damp cheeks.
I immediately looked away.
There was no hiding it anymore.
Tears had stained my face, my eyes burned, and my lips trembled despite every effort I made to control them.
For a few seconds, he simply stared at me.
Then his fingers closed gently around my wrist.
Before I could react, he pulled me slightly closer.
My body stiffened.
My first instinct was to push him away. To create distance. To protect myself from the warmth of his touch, the safety of his arms.
But I couldn't.
His hand found my waist, gentle but firm. He drew me into his arms, and I landed against his chest, facing him.
I found myself sitting between his legs, his warmth surrounding me despite the anger still burning inside me.
My hands pressed against his bare chest, the heat of his skin seeping into my palms. I could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath my fingers; calm, measured, so different from the chaos inside me.
I looked at him.
His eyes were searching mine. He looked Concerned.
His hand came up to my face.
His thumb brushed away one of my tears.
"Batao..." he murmured, his voice low and soft. "Kya hua?"
(Tell me. What happened?)
He cupped my cheeks.
I felt the warmth of his palms against my skin. Felt the roughness of his fingers. Felt the way his thumbs traced gentle circles on my cheekbones.
I should have pulled away.
I should have pushed him back but I didn't.
His arms wrapped around me, pulling me closer to his bare chest. He hugged me tightly, his hand rubbing slow, soothing circles on my back.
I clenched my eyes closed.
Why does this feel so good?
I felt the tension in my shoulders slowly begin to ease. My breathing steadied. My heart, which had been racing, began to slow.
He held me like I was something precious as if I was something worth protecting.
"I know tumhe apne parents ki yaad aa rahi hogi," he said softly. "Don't worry. Hum kal hi tumhare ghar chalenge."
(I know you're missing your parents. Don't worry. We'll go to your house tomorrow.)
The words hit me like a slap.
Something inside me snapped.
"Haath mat lagao mujhe!"
(Don't touch me.)
My voice echoed through the room, sharp and desperate. I pushed against his chest, creating distance between us.
He froze.
His eyes widened. His hands fell away from me.
After watching that woman walk into my house and behave as though she had some claim over my husband...
How could he sit here and act as though everything was normal?
"Mujhse shaadi bhale hi kar li hai aapne..." My voice trembled, but I forced myself to continue. "Lekin mujh par koi haq nahi hai aapka."
(Even if you've married me... you have no right over me.)
His expression changed.
I met his eyes.
"Is shaadi ne sirf mera surname badla hai..." I whispered. "Meri marzi nahi."
(This marriage has only changed my surname... not my consent.)
The words came out shakily.
"Bahut nafrat karti hoon main aapse."
(I hate you so much.)
He stared at me as though he was trying to understand where all of this had suddenly come from.
"What happened suddenly?"
I almost laughed.
Suddenly?
He really didn't understand or perhaps he simply didn't want to.
I wiped my cheeks and looked away.
I hate him.
.
.
.
The next morning, I woke up with only one thought in my mind.
Enough.
Whatever had happened last night, whatever Samaira had said, whatever Kartik had refused to explain, I didn't want to think about any of it.
I had a life outside this marriage.
A career to build.
A degree to complete.
And I wasn't going to let Kartik Singhaniya, his mistress, or this family distract me from it.
I showered quickly and changed into a pair of jeans and a crisp black shirt. I tied my damp hair into a neat ponytail, picked up my bag and checked that I had everything I needed for college.
When I turned around, I caught Kartik looking at me.
His gaze lingered for a moment.
I didn't acknowledge it.
Not today.
I walked out of the room without saying a word.
By the time I reached the dining area, everyone was already there.
I pulled out a chair and sat down.