Chapter 18 #2
The moment I pull up in front of the house, I fling my door open and step out, rounding the car to her side. She doesn’t move, just stares straight ahead.
I open her door, take her hand, and pull her out. Her breath stutters, but I don’t slow down. I drag her inside. Through the hallway. Into the living room. It’s only when we reach our bedroom that I finally let her go and slam the door shut behind us.
She whirls around instantly, her eyes blazing. “What the hell is your—”
“You are,” I cut in, trembling with the effort to stay in control, “the most stubborn and egoistic wife.”
“I’m like this, Dev. If you wanted an obedient wife, you should have married someone else. In fact, you still can. Because this marriage means nothing to me, and I need out.”
My jaw locks as she continues.
“I feel suffocated in this house… in this room… with you. And trust me, I’m barely holding myself together enough to tolerate you. So do us both a favour and end this joke of a marriage—find yourself an obedient wife, and free me from this stifling bond.”
I step closer until our faces are inches apart, letting her feel every ounce of my anger—and the hurt her words have caused.
“Why do you hate me and like him so much?”
“Because you have nothing good in you,” she spits out without hesitation. “You made my parents hate me. And Samarth…” Her voice softens at his name, and my blood boils tenfold than what it already was. “Samarth brought my parents back to me. He made them forgive me. Samarth is my—”
My palm clamps over her mouth, pinning her words back into her throat as I press her against the wall. Her eyes widen.
“I don’t want to hear his name from your lips,” I snarl before letting my hand fall away from her mouth, only to have my fingers brush lightly over her soft lips. “And one day, my dear wife… you will stop hating me.”
“Never.” She shoves my hand away. “And don’t you dare touch me.”
I lean in, close enough that her breath stumbles against mine, and lock eyes with her.
“You hate my touch now, but the day is coming when you won’t.
” Her throat works, but she doesn’t move.
“Soon, you’ll want my hands on you. You’ll come to me on your own.
I’ll make sure of it, Mrs. Rathore.” My voice drops to a vow. “Wait and watch.”
“It will never happen. Never.” She pulls in a deep, shaky breath. “I don’t understand how revenge has made you so stubborn that you’d rather cling to this hateful marriage than be mature enough to end it.”
“I don’t hate you,” I say quietly.
“Well, I hate you,” she shoots back instantly. “And I always will.”
She moves to walk past me, but I catch her arm and pull her back, her body slamming into mine.
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” I say, tightening my hold on her.
“This hate you keep talking about? It’s not as solid as you think.
It’s going to crack.” A slow smirk pulls at my mouth.
“After all, we’re married. We live together.
Every day, every night. You really must be naive to believe your hate will survive our close proximity. ”
“You’re missing the part where I don’t accept this marriage.”
“I know. That’s why I have a gift for you.”
She narrows her eyes. “What gift?”
I let go of her arm and move to the cupboard, sliding the drawer open. My hand closes around something I’ve kept hidden since the day after our wedding. Something I always wanted her to wear but never knew how to convince her. Now, I finally have the right moment.
I turn back to her, and her eyes widen at the sight of the mangalsutra and sindoor in my hand.
“What is all this nonsense?”
“You don’t look married,” I say, stepping closer, my eyes never leaving her face. “And this,” I hold up the mangalsutra and sindoor, “will fix that.”
“I… I don’t need this,” she shakes her head, her voice quivering.
“You do,” I grab her wrist and pull her close. “Because you seem to keep forgetting you’re my wife.”
Before she can protest, I fasten the mangalsutra around her neck. She gasps, but I pay it no mind and dip my fingers into the sindoor.
“Don’t you dare—” she begins, just as I draw the red line through the parting of her hair.
She goes completely still.
I step back, taking in the sight of her.
“Beautiful,” I murmur softly, my voice low and possessive. “Much better.”
Her fingers rise instinctively as they brush over the mangalsutra at her throat. Something flickers across her face, but before I can catch it, it’s gone. She snaps her gaze at me.
“Have you lost your mind? Do you actually think that just because you put this on me, I’ll suddenly turn into your property in the eyes of the world?”
“It’s not about property.” I cup her jaw despite the way she twists, trying to break free.
“It’s about making you, and the world, realise that you are my wife.
” Her breath hitches when my thumb brushes the fresh sindoor on her forehead.
“That this symbol of our marriage is not something you can wipe away whenever it suits you. It’s not something anyone can mess with. ”
I tilt her chin up, forcing her eyes to meet mine. “This isn’t temporary, Mrs. Rathore,” I add, my voice softer but no less firm. “This is forever.”
She stares at me silently.
She needs to understand that no matter how far she runs, no matter how hard she fights, it won’t change a damn thing.
This marriage is real, and it won’t ever be undone.