His to Hate.

Chapter - 8

The next day, light finds me through the very thin gap between the two curtains on the window and for a long time I lie there still, pretending that the room is mine and that if I don't move maybe none of it will be real.

But after a little while, I hear light footsteps padding across the floor after the door creaked just a little and a giggle in front of me.

"Why is she sleeping on the floor? Silly girl.

" That voice said and giggled again before I heard the footsteps moving away from me towards more inside the room.

I opened my eye to see what was going on and saw that little boy from the day before trying to hide under the bed but as soon as I saw him, he was about to look at me and I shut my eye close again.

Before I could decide whether to sit up or ask him who is he hiding from, another sound cuts through the room. Deep, steady and familiar in a way that makes every muscle in my spine lock instantly.

"Ishaan."

That voice.

My breath stumbles in my chest and I clamp my eyes shut tighter, as if not seeing him could somehow erase his presence.

Why is he here again?

There is a tiny gasp from under the bed, the little boy's whisper, Uh-oh and then the shuffle of him trying and failing to become invisible.

I hear his footsteps then.

"Ishaan," he called again, voice deeper now. "Come out."

Ishaan.

The little boy.

I heard the smallest laugh from under the bed and Rudra's steps moved to the bed.

"Go to your mother," Rudra said, steady and unbothered, like this was routine for him. "Now."

I peeked again and Ishaan was nodding with a tiny pout and turns to leave, but pauses halfway, pointing a tiny accusing finger at where I lie on the floor. I immediately closed my eye again.

"She sleeps on the floor like like a puppy."

My heart sinks to my stomach.

Rudra's silence after that is worse than any reaction.

"Ishaan." His tone sharpened, just slightly.

The boy squeaked and ran out and the room gets too quiet.

I felt him standing there. I don't need to open my eyes to know exactly where he is, just a few feet away, his gaze dropping to me lying here like a discarded thing on the floor.

"You really have no intention of listening to anything I say, do you?"

Oh god.

His voice was low enough that it doesn't need to be loud. My heart gives a painful thud, and my nails press into my palm because I don't want to look at him. Not today. Not yet. Not when last night's words still cling to me like bruises.

I kept my eyes shut, holding onto the last bit of pretense that maybe he can't make me get up if I don't acknowledge him.

It was stupid but I hope he realises that I am sleeping.

He stands beside me, and I can practically feel his disapproval prickling against my skin.

"Miss Sharma," he said, quieter this time, "open your eyes."

I don't.

I squeeze them shut even harder. He knows I'm awake. Of course he knows.

"Miss Sharma," he said again.

I did not respond.

I focused on my breathing instead. Slow. Careful. If I didn't move, if I stayed very still, maybe he would leave. Maybe he would decide it wasn't worth it.

A sigh left him.

"I do not have the habit of repeating myself," he said. "And you don't seem to have the habit of obeying."

There it was.

Still, I didn't open my eyes.

There was a slight shuffle of his feel and I knew he had bent down because suddenly his presence felt closer than before.

"You are sleeping on the floor again," he said, not angry, just stating a fact. "After I told you not to."

I felt stupid, childish and exposed. But I also felt cold and hollow and so very tired.

"I am not asking," he continued. "Get up."

I swallowed.

"I'm fine here," I murmured without opening my eyes. "I can...."

"Parthvi."

My name stopped me.

That made me open my eyes at once.

He was standing right there, looking down at me. His face was unreadable but his eyes flicked over me quickly, taking in things I wished he wouldn't notice. My pale face. The way my arms were wrapped around myself. The faint tremble I was failing to control.

"You are not fine so I suggest you stop repeating those words to me every time you see me." he said.

I pushed myself up anyway, because the last thing I wanted was to give him the satisfaction of helping me.

My hands pressed into the floor. My head swam immediately.

For a second, everything tilted.

The room spun and my knees buckled before I could even straighten fully. I took a step back blindly, my foot slipping slightly when his hands grabbed my arms.

I gasped.

My breath punched out of my lungs when he steadied me and instinctively I clutched at his sleeve because the floor suddenly felt very far away.

"Enough." he muttered, his voice laced with irritation but I couldn't care less. "Do you have even the slightest regard for your own body?"

Before I could answer or protest, his arms moved and I felt that clearly this time.

One of his arm slipped under my knees and the other came around my back.

I froze.

"No...." I started, but the word died in my throat as my feet left the floor.

He picked me up just like that.

My heart slammed against my ribs. Heat rushed to my face, humiliation burning behind my eyes.

"Put me down." I said softly, weakly, because I didn't have the strength to say it louder.

He didn't even look at me.

"You are dizzy because you did not sleep properly and you did not eat." he said, walking towards the bed. "Argue with me later."

The bed was right there and before I could do anything, he lowered me onto it carefully, released me and stepped back immediately.

I pushed myself up on my elbows instinctively, panic rising.

"I don't want to sleep," I said quickly. "I'm awake now. I can...."

"Lie down." he interrupted.

I shook my head.

"Please...."

He looked at me then properly and for one second, something flickered across his face. Annoyance gave way to assessment and assessment to something close to concern.

It was gone almost instantly.

"I said lie down." he repeated. "You are not in a condition to play brave."

I lowered myself back reluctantly.

My head hit the pillow and the softness almost hurt after the cold floor. I turned my face slightly away from him, blinking rapidly and he pulled the blanket up to my chest.

"Today," he added, as if finishing a thought he had already made up his mind about, "I do not want to hear that you skipped your meals."

I turned my face just enough to look at him.

"I'm not hungry and you cannot make me eat." I said but I already knowing how pointless it was but how could he force me to eat?

My words made him look at me in a manner as if he was still deciding whether he wanted to laugh at me or get angry.

He did neither.

"Believe me when I say this Miss Sharma, I can." he said calmly. "And I will, if I have to. But it will be easier for the both of us if you eat by yourself."

My chest tightened because he said this so normally like he was not threatening me.

He continued, tone steady and unyielding, "You seem to keep forgetting where you are. You do not have the right to make choices here."

My jaw clenched automatically, but I held his stare.

Before I could say anything, there was a knock on the door and a maid entered with a breakfast trolley. She kept her eyes down as she arranged everything neatly on the table.

He didn't move or acknowledge her, didn't even look away from me until she quietly left.

Then he walked to the couch and sat down, one leg crossed over the other with an arm spread across the back of it, his posture annoyingly relaxed.

"Eat." he said simply.

I exhaled through my nose, long and slow. Of course he wasn't going to leave. Of course he wanted to watch.

I pushed the blanket aside and stood up, only for him to rise from the couch immediately and walk toward me.

"Looks like you do not enjoy simple things," he murmured. "You insist on complicating every step."

"I'm not complicating anything," I snapped before I could stop myself.

He arched an eyebrow.

"And yet here you are, arguing about something as basic as eating. I meant every word last night. I will force you to eat if I must."

Something hot and sharp sparked inside my chest.

"I'm going to freshen up first." I said, lifting my chin a little. "I'm not a cavewoman."

His eyes flickered between amusement and annoyance but said nothing.

I walked away from him towards my bag and pulled out fresh clothes. My hands were literally shaking from a mix of anger and cold. Then, I pushed the washroom door shut harder than I meant to.

The sound echoed.

Good.

Let him hear that.

The hot water from the shower hit my face and for a moment I felt like I could breathe. I took a head bath, changed into clean clothes, and tried to gather whatever pieces of myself were still left.

By the time I opened the bathroom door again, I had prepared myself for emptiness but he was still there, sitting back on the couch and I stopped myself right outside the door of the washroom, crossing my hands over my chest.

"What are you still doing here?" I asked, unable to hide the shock in my voice.

He didn't blink.

"Last night you ignored what I told you." he said. "So now I will make sure you eat every meal and sleep on the bed every night. If I have to supervise it myself", his gaze cooled, "then so be it."

I hated the way my throat tightened at his words.

I rolled my eyes when he turned slightly, convinced he didn't see.

I walked to the small table, picked up a toast, and ate it as fast as I could without choking. Anything to get him out of the room.

Then I wiped my hands and turned to him.

"I'm done."

He didn't even pretend to stand, that arrogant prick.

He leaned back on the couch more instead, making himself comfortable in a posture that just told me that he was not going anywhere.

His gaze stayed on me and under that stare, something in my stomach twisted and I found myself reaching for the glass of juice even though I didn't want it.

I drank it in one go.

"This is how much I eat in the morning," I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

He nodded slowly, eyes dragging from the empty plate to me.

"That," he said, "explains why you are malnourished."

Heat flared in my cheeks from anger, humiliation and something else mixed painfully together but I swallowed it down and refused to react.

I refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing anything on my face.

So I said nothing.

I simply placed the empty glass on the table.

His eyes still stayed on me and I dug my nails in my palm to control myself from squirming and letting him know that I was intimidated by him just because he was looking at me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A week passed.

Seven slow, quiet and suffocating days.

I stayed in the room. Mostly because I did not even know if I was allowed to, partly because no one invited me anywhere and maybe a little because the world outside that door felt too sharp.

But I ate. Not because he glared at me, though that memory alone was enough pressure but because skipping meals made my body feel like breaking glass.

And I slept on the bed. Not comfortably or peacefully but it was still sleep.

Thankfully, I did not see that cruel asshole after the morning he sat here to make sure that I had eaten. Neither did I see anyone else except for the maids who brought me food and made sure that I slept on the bed or to ask if I needed something.

I never needed anything.

It was almost eleven in the morning and I was sitting on the bed with my book open, trying to read the same paragraph for the third time. The words didn't really go into my head, but staring at them felt better than staring at the walls.

The door opened without a knock, making me look up.

The old woman I had seen once in the courtyard, the one the maids called Dadi Ranisa walked in. Her back was straight, her chin high, and her eyes sharp enough to cut.

"So the murderer's daughter reads." she said.

The words hit like a slap.

I gripped the book tighter and kept my eyes down.

She came closer, her steps slow and controlled. "Tell me, do you sleep peacefully in this luxury? Does your conscience not trouble you?" She clicked her tongue. "No, why would it? Girls like you have no shame."

I swallowed, but my throat burned anyway.

Two tears slipped out and ran down my face. I wiped them with the back of my hand, repeating inside my head, do not react. Do not give her anything.

She kept going.

"Your father killed my daughter-in-law. Your family destroyed my son's life. And now you sit here in comfort as if nothing happened."

My chest tightened until it hurt.

I stared at the blanket, focusing on a single thread just so I wouldn't fall apart.

"You will not sit in this room like a princess." she said sharply. "You will work. Today you will wash all the cars in the palace."

I lifted my eyes for the first time.

Washing cars? For a second, my heart warmed up because I used to wash our car at home with Jai bhaiya and Papa.

Bhaiya and I used to throw soapy water on each other till the time Papa had enough and sent us back inside the house as kids.

Then, as grown ups, it was just Bhai and I who would wash the car once every week and talk about what was going on and of course, throw soapy water on each other till Mumma had enough with my screams and his threats and we were called inside.

I was so engrossed into my memories that I did not even realise that she had grabbed my wrist and her hold was surprisingly strong for someone her age as she pulled me out of the room.

I said nothing because mostly, I knew that saying anything would only make it worse.

We walked across the palace grounds until we reached the garage area and there they were.

Car after car after car. Long rows. Hardly any space between them. I counted quickly in my head.

More than sixty.

And that was when I understood what she meant by punishment.

My stomach sank a little.

Still, I lifted my chin and didn't let it show. If she wanted me to cry or beg, she wasn't going to get it.

A worker handed me a bucket, a sponge, and a wiper.

"Start." she ordered and left.

So I did.

The sun was already warm on my back. Car 1... then 2... then 3. The work was familiar, even comforting at first. Soap, scrub, rinse. Repeat. My muscles warmed with the movement. I focused on the task and nothing else.

But the day grew hotter even though it was December.

By the fifteenth car, sweat was dripping down my neck. My arms began to ache. My head throbbed a little, but I ignored it.

By the twentieth car, my shirt stuck to my skin. My hands felt raw from scrubbing. I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand and kept going.

By the thirtieth car, the sun had burned the back of my neck. My fingers trembled every time I dipped the sponge in the bucket.

"Kyun Shivji, aaj hi itni dhoop kyun honi thi?" I asked, rolled up my sleeves even more, looking up at the sky as if someone will answer.

I did not stop because I did not want to give that old woman even a hint of weakness.

Then came the forty-eighth car.

It was almost 8 in the evening now. The sky was turning dark and my body felt heavier than it ever had in my life. My legs shook every time I bent to reach the tires. My vision blurred a little when I stood up.

I blinked hard.

Just one more wipe, I told myself. Just finish this car.

I lifted the wiper and started scrubbing the windshield and my world tilted.

At first, I thought it was just tiredness. But then the ground seemed to move, like it was floating away from my feet. My hands loosened and the wiper fell with a thud.

For a moment, I didn't even understand what had happened.

One second I was falling as my knees gave out and the whole world tilting like it had been pulled from under me and the next, something strong and steady wrapped around my waist and stopped the ground from meeting my face.

My breath hitched in my throat.

The hand at my waist tightened, holding me uptight and my shoulder brushed against a solid chest and that same cold, sharp scent hit me.

Rudra Adhiraj Raisinghania.

But my stupid heart still whispered, No, it can't be. Out of like two hundred people in this freaking palace, did it have to be him.

His voice answered that thought for me.

"Careful."

My stomach dropped even faster than I had. Of course it was him.

I immediately pushed against him, anger flaring up from somewhere deep inside me. Anger towards him, towards myself and towards everything.

"I don't need your help." I snapped, forcing my body to straighten even though my legs felt like a jelly.

His hand did not move right away. It stayed at my waist a second longer before he loosened his grip.

"Then try not to fall down." he said, the words calm but lined with irritation.

I did. Somehow.

My knees trembled, but I stood.

I took a breath, embarrassed, and bent to pick up the wiper again. I wasn't going to give him another reason to look at me like I was weak. I wasn't going to let him take even this from me.

So I lifted the wiper and pressed it back to the windshield.

Scrub. Scrub. Scrub.

My shoulders burned, my fingers barely held the handle but I kept going.

Then the pain hit.

A sudden, sharp stab in my head, so strong I almost cried out. It felt like someone had slammed a heavy door shut inside my skull.

I tried to hide it and clenched my teeth. Then I forced the wiper forward again even though I could barely see the glass in front of me.

But the world blurred again, the car swaying in my vision. My ears buzzed and hands slipped.

I told myself to just finish this one car but my body didn't listen and my knees buckled again.

My vision went white at the edges and before I even understood it, darkness rushed in again.

But I didn't hit the ground. The last thing I felt was an arm, his arm, wrapping around my waist again, this time even tighter than before.

And then everything went black.