Chapter 19
Meera
My fingers tremble as they trace the mangalsutra resting against my skin, the tiny black beads pressing into my collarbone, forcing me to feel the essence of what it means.
I can almost hear my mom’s voice echoing from years ago, when I’d roll my eyes and ask why she still wore her mangalsutra in these so-called modern times. She had always answered with the same unshakable conviction she lived by.
‘This thread isn’t just jewellery, beta… It is strength. It is faith. It is the power of two lives tied together as one.’
And now… here I’m. Wearing that same thread. His thread.
Flashes of last night keep tearing through my mind: his voice rough with jealousy, his touch scorching, his possessive words sinking into me… each one shaking the walls I’m desperately trying to hold together.
God, I want to rip the mangalsutra off, to feel the relief that would come with tearing it away.
But the other part of me, the part I hate even admitting exists, blatantly refuses. It won’t let me, as if forcing me to understand that this isn’t something I can break with a single angry, desperate tug.
Gosh… I’m such a mess from everything that’s happening that I couldn’t even bring myself to go to work today. Not when the first thing Samarth would do is notice the mangalsutra and sindoor, and start asking questions I don’t have the courage, or the words, to answer.
How am I supposed to explain why I’m wearing it?
And worst of all… how am I supposed to admit that a single chain and Dev’s words have left me so unsteady, that even saying his name sends everything inside me into a spin.
“Where is Dev?” Esha demands as she bursts into my room.
Just what I needed… the last person to shatter whatever tiny sliver of peace I was clinging to.
“That’s none of your business, where my husband is or isn’t,” I say flatly, pretending to flip through the magazine that’s been sitting in my lap for the past hour, even though I haven’t read a single word.
“As his wife, only I should know about his whereabouts, not announce them to random people,” I tell her.
The truth, though, is that I have no idea where he is.
I haven’t seen him since I woke up, and that actually bothers me more than it should.
Esha takes a step forward. “Oh, don’t start giving me that attitude.”
I simply shrug. “I can’t help it. You just bring out the worst in me.”
“Oh, really?” she snaps, stepping directly in front of me. “You are—”
Her words falter as her gaze drops, first to the mangalsutra around my neck, then tracing upward to the sindoor in my hair.
“Wha… what the hell is this?” she demands, her finger trembling as it points at me.
I arch a brow. “What does it look like? Or do you need it spelled out for you because you’ve suddenly forgotten how to use your brain?”
“Don’t you dare get smart with me,” she fires back, her voice rising. “And answer me what is all this drama? Why the hell are you suddenly sitting here looking like a stupid bride?”
I don’t look up from the magazine and reply coolly, “Why don’t you ask Dev? He’s the one who got it for me. In fact, he’s the one who made me wear it, and he’s the one who put the sindoor on me.”
Her mouth drops open, but no sound comes out. When it finally does, it’s a strangled mix of disbelief and rage.
“Bullshit! I know Dev. He doesn’t believe in all this drama, these rituals, this… show. He cares about nothing but logic and sense, not traditions!”
“Sorry to burst your bubble,” I say, looking up at her with a sweet, poisonous smile, “but you clearly don’t know your ex-boyfriend as well as you think.
He really is something.” I push myself up from the couch, deliberately letting my eyes gleam.
“God, it was so romantic. You should’ve been there to record the moment. ”
“I don’t believe you! This has to be your doing again. Trying to lure him in, to snatch him away from me!” she snaps.
“Snatch him from you?” I repeat, my fingers brushing the mangalsutra, and watch her visibly flinch. “Esha… sweetheart, he was never yours. So the question of snatching doesn’t even arise. And trust me, I don’t need to lure him. He’s already mesmerised by me.”
“You think wearing this stupid little chain makes you his?” she sneers.
“Please. Dev gets bored fast. You’re just…
temporary. A distraction. And once he’s done using you, he’ll come back to me.
” She leans forward, mockingly tapping the pendant with the tip of her finger.
“Then you’ll be nothing but a pathetic joke, left with this chain around your neck. ”
“Don’t you dare touch it.” I shove her hand away with force. “Women like you will never understand the sacred strength of a mangalsutra. All you understand are selfish games, empty desire, and cheap tactics to play the mistress.”
“You bitch!” she snarls, shoving me with all her strength.
I stumble backwards, my foot catching on the edge of the rug as I crash to the floor. A sharp, blinding pain shoots up my wrist, and I clutch it instinctively, biting back a cry.
She crosses her arms over her chest and looks down at me with a triumphant glare. “This is exactly what you deserve for mouthing off to me.”
I can’t even respond. The pain overrides everything.
“You look perfect like this.” She tilts her head, watching me struggle on the floor. “In pain. At my feet. Exactly where you belong.”
She crouches slightly, her shadow falling over me, her smile twisting into something venomous. “Soon enough, you won’t be a problem anymore. I’ll get rid of you for good.”
I grit my teeth through the pain, forcing my shaking body to lift even an inch off the floor, but I can’t. My wrist throbs, my vision blurs, but I still manage to glare up at her.
“Go ahead and try,” I rasp. “Because whatever delusion you’re still clinging to about Dev ever wanting you… will break soon enough.” My breath shudders, but I don’t look away. “Hurt me, threaten me, scream all you want. It doesn’t change a thing. You’ll never have him.”
“Look at you… still clinging to your pathetic arrogance,” she sneers.
Before I can say anything else, there’s a shift in the air.
I look up to see Dev standing at the doorway, taking in the scene before him.
Esha’s face drains of colour as I struggle to rise, but the pain pins me down.
In a heartbeat, he’s at my side, dropping to his knees, and pulling me into his arms. My heart skips, then thunders wildly in my chest.
“Sweetheart… are you okay?” His voice is taut with fear as his eyes scan my face for every flicker of pain.
“I—I’m okay… just a little pain,” I manage, even though the throbbing in my wrist says otherwise.
“Where does it hurt?” he asks instantly.
“My wrist… I think I landed wrong.”
The moment the words leave my mouth, his fingers slide gently along the tender skin in reverence. He lifts my wrist just a little, testing it with careful precision, and the pain shoots through me again. Sharp, hot, blinding. A wince slips out before I can stop it.
“Shh…” he murmurs as he cradles my wrist carefully. “We’ll get this checked. You’re not going to be in pain for long, I promise.”
Then his gaze cuts to Esha. “Get an ice pack.”
She flinches at his voice but obeys without a word, scrambling out of the room.
With his free hand, he pulls out his phone, the other still steadying my wrist. He speaks to the doctor with clipped urgency, ordering him to come immediately.
When he ends the call and slips the phone back into his pocket, his gaze drops to me again, filled with a worry he isn’t even trying to hide.
“The doctor will be here soon,” he assures me softly, his thumb brushing lightly over my palm.
All I can do is nod, trying and failing to hide the rush of heat that floods my face under the weight of his concern.
Seeing this side of him… the gentleness, the care, strikes me harder than the pain itself.
It’s so different from the man who hurt Samarth, from the man who forced me into this marriage with threats.
And in that instant, I’m torn between a swirl of emotions—anger, confusion, and an undeniable ache that pulses with a strange, reluctant warmth I can’t seem to push away.
Esha walks back in with the ice pack, her hands trembling.
Dev doesn’t even look at her. He just snatches it from her hands and presses it gently against my swollen wrist. The cold burns at first, then settles into a numbing calm.
“How did you fall?” he asks, his eyes never leaving my face.
Before I can reply, Esha blurts out, panic flooding her face.
“Dev, I—I didn’t—she slipped—”
Dev doesn’t acknowledge her. His entire focus is on me.
“How?” he asks again, his voice low, intense.
“Esha,” I breathe out. “She… she pushed me.”
Dev’s expression changes in an instant, a shadow of pure, lethal fury sweeping across his face.
Esha opens her mouth, panicked. “S—she’s lying, Dev! I didn’t—”
His glare cuts her off mid-sentence. “Esha, you’re lucky I have to tend to my wife right now.” He pulls me protectively against him, his body taut with restrained rage. “If I didn’t, I’d show you exactly what it means to lay a hand on her.”
Esha stumbles back a step, her lips trembling. “I—I… Dev, listen—”
“Get the fuck out of my house.” His tone drops even further, almost a growl. “Before I forget I am trying to stay civilised.”
Her face pales, and without another word, she turns around and rushes out of the room.
Dev then turns to me, his eyes softening as he gathers me into his arms and rises to his feet. The movement sends a sharp jolt of pain through my wrist, and I bite back a gasp. His hold steadies instantly.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, and without thinking, my head drops against his chest, my cheek pressing into his shirt. His heartbeat thuds steadily beneath my ear. It shouldn’t calm me… but it does.
He carries me to the bed and lowers me carefully, adjusting my position so my back rests comfortably against the headboard, pillows supporting me, all the while making sure my wrist doesn’t twist or strain even for a second.
“Does it hurt too much?” he asks softly.
I don’t even get the chance to answer, because the moment his eyes land on the angry, red swelling, his entire expression hardens like stone.
“I won’t let anyone hurt you like that again,” he mutters, so low, so deadly, that I can’t tell if he’s promising it to himself or to me.
All I can do is pray he doesn’t notice how shaken I’m. Not just from the pain, but from the way my chest tightens under the weight of his gaze. He’s looking at me like I’m the most precious thing in his world, like the very idea of me being hurt is something he cannot bear.
A few minutes later, the doctor arrives and examines my wrist, carefully wrapping a bandage around it. He assures us it’s just a sprain, that nothing is broken, but it needs rest and zero movement.
Dev nods at the doctor, who then heads for the door and takes his leave.
When we’re alone again, Dev sinks onto the edge of the bed and takes my wrist in his hands, his fingers lingering over the bandage as his eyes carefully examine it. Even after hearing that there’s nothing to worry about, he still doesn’t look relaxed.
“I am fine.”
“I know,” he replies, his gaze refusing to meet mine.
“Dev…” I whisper, and his eyes snap to mine. In an instant, his hands cup my face.
“I am so sorry… truly sorry. It’s me… I brought this on you. That… Esha—”
I shake my head. “It’s not you.”
His gaze softens, then burns with a desire that sends a flutter through my chest. Slowly, he leans closer, his lips hovering just inches from mine, his warm breath caressing my skin.
I don’t pull away. Instead, I close my eyes, my heart hammering…
aching for his touch. Every fibre of me is on fire, the intoxicating anticipation of our first kiss erasing all sense of caution.
Just as I feel his lips are about to meet mine, they don’t.
Instead, his voice brushes against my mouth. “Do you want me? Do you want my touch? Are you agreeing to be mine?”
My eyes fly open, a jolt of clarity cutting through the haze of desire. I pull in a sharp breath and force myself to break the spell.
“I… I need to go to the couch,” I stammer, shaking my head as I try to push myself up.
His hands land gently on my thighs, stopping me. “You don’t have to go to the couch. I won’t do anything you’re not ready for or comfortable with. Trust me,” he whispers, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from my forehead.
I swallow hard, then nod slowly as he helps me lie down, carefully tucking the blanket around me and making sure my wrist rests securely on a soft cushion.
“Rest now. I’ll be right here,” he whispers.
He leans down and presses a tender kiss to my forehead. The warmth of his lips sends a shiver down my spine, goosebumps rising along my skin. Every nerve in me seems to awaken at the simple touch, yet I force myself to stay still.
God, how badly I want to tell him to lie down next to me, to let me curl into him and melt against his warmth.
But I don’t.
My pride and stubbornness clamp down hard, trapping both my words and my longing deep inside me.