Ch11Shadows of the Past #3
“Rudraksh! I love you! Please, leave her. Take me back!”
Before she could even touch me, I stepped aside. She fell face-first to the floor.
Still crying, she got up again and screamed, “Please, Rudraksh! I love you!”
And before I could say or do anything, Rivanya stepped forward, eyes blazing, and slapped her so hard that Alisha fell again.
The slap echoed through the mansion so sharp, so loud that even blood trickled from Alisha’s ear.
I’ll admit I was impressed. Damn, that was one powerful slap.
Rivanya grabbed Alisha by the hair and hissed,
“If you ever look at my husband again, I swear I’ll gouge your eyes out!”
I couldn’t help but smirk.
So she’s not just calm like water… she’s fire too. And I like this fiery side of hers.
Naresh Bedi’s voice cut through the tension.
“Samita! Alisha! Get out of my house right now. Both of you.
And hear me well you’ll get nothing from my property.”
Samita, sobbing, fell at his feet.
“How can you do this to your own wife and daughter, Naresh? Think about Alisha’s future!”
Naresh’s voice thundered.
“Which daughter, Samita? You and I both know Alisha is not my blood. She’s not my child!”
Everyone gasped.
Rivanya’s eyes widened. “So… my grandmother was right…”
The truth hung heavy in the air. Samita’s face twisted with anger and shame.
She lunged toward Rivanya, but before her hand could even touch her, my father Pratap Raj Vardhan caught her wrist midair and slapped her hard across the face.
The sound was deafening. She fell to the floor, stunned.
“Don’t you dare raise your hand on my daughter again!” he thundered.
The room fell silent.
Everyone me included was shocked.
Did he just… call Rivanya his daughter?
Then, in a calmer voice, he said,
“You’ve hurt Rivanya enough. But from today onwards, she is no longer an outsider.
She is my daughter, my son’s wife, the queen of Vardhanpur, and no one no one will ever question her dignity again.”
He turned to Rivanya and gently placed a hand on her head.
“From the very beginning, you were the one I wanted for Rudraksh. But destiny had its own plans and today, I see why. You weren’t just my choice, you were fate’s choice too.
From this day forward, you’re not my daughter-in-law you’re my daughter.”
Rivanya’s tears flowed freely. “Thank you… Uncle…”
He smiled warmly.
“Not Uncle… say Papa, child.”
Her trembling lips curved into a small smile.
“Thank you… Papa.”
For the first time in my life, one of my father’s decisions actually felt right.
I’ve never called him “father” from my heart but today, when he called Rivanya his daughter, something inside me… softened.
---
That night, back at my mansion, Dadi Maa gathered everyone to explain what had happened.
The entire household was shocked.
My aunt, Mayuri Vardhan, asked quietly,
“So that means… the horoscope we saw for Rudraksh’s marriage was actually Rivanya’s?”
Dadi Maa nodded. “Yes, Mayuri. Rivanya’s destiny has always been bound to Rudraksh’s.”
I sat quietly, listening.
Tonight, everyone’s return to Vardhanpur was canceled.
Tomorrow morning, they all will go back together Dadi Maa, Devaditya, and Vishwraaj included.
Dadi Maa looked at me with concern and said, “Rudraksh, go just check on Rivanya. Make sure she’s alright. The poor child has been through so much… she has suffered far too much.”
I nodded and made my way upstairs to our room.
As I expected, Rivanya was standing on the balcony, gazing at the moon.
Its silver light washed over her delicate features, illuminating her fair skin so beautifully that it seemed to glow even more under the soft moonlight, like a pure white flower basking in the glow of the night.
The serenity of the moment contrasted sharply with the storm of events from earlier, yet there was a subtle tension in the way she held herself slight, almost imperceptible, but enough to catch my attention.
I approached her and stood beside her, careful to respect the space she seemed to want, though the urge to pull her close burned inside me. “Are you… okay?” I asked, my voice low.
She lowered her gaze, a faint shadow crossing her soft features, and whispered, “Yes… I’m fine now.”
I studied her closely, noting the way her hands fidgeted slightly, how her fingers flexed as if trying to anchor herself, and I couldn’t help but ask, “Rivanya, are you sure you don’t want anything to do with the Bedi family or your father, like you said before?”
She drew in a slow, deliberate breath, keeping her gaze fixed on the floor of the balcony. “Yes… I’m sure,” she said quietly. “That family… they’ve hurt me so much. I don’t want to go back there. Not ever.”
A small, incredulous smile tugged at my lips. “Honestly… seeing you now, I wouldn’t have guessed you had so much strength. The way you slapped Alisha earlier… Damn. I’m impressed.”
Her lips curved into a proud, almost defiant smile, the kind that spoke of inner fire. “Oh… I’ve got plenty of strength. But you’d better be careful if my hand ever lands on you in anger…” she paused, a playful warning in her tone, “…then watch out.”
I smirked, letting the teasing edge of my voice come through. “And then? What happens, Mrs. Vardhan?”
She looked at me, eyes sparkling with quiet mischief. “When it happens… you’ll see.”
I took a deliberate step closer. “No… I want to know now. What will happen?”
Her brow furrowed slightly, and she instinctively stepped back.
Our silent game of proximity continued until her spine met the balcony wall, leaving her no room to retreat.
I stopped a mere breath away from her, the space between us electric.
Her body radiated warmth, her subtle tremors brushing against me in a way that was impossible to ignore.
She lowered her eyes, and I saw the blush blooming across her cheeks, her soft lips parting as she murmured, “Wh-what are you doing? Please… let me go…” Her voice was small, almost fragile, yet edged with the tension of her nervousness.
I slid my hand around her waist and gently drew her closer. My voice softened, almost hypnotic in its quiet intensity. “I will let you go… but first, tell me what will happen when your hand falls on me? Tell me, Sugarplump… what will happen?”
She froze, every fiber of her body tensing in response.
Her nervousness was a symphony of tiny, vivid details that pulled at me like gravity.
Her breaths came in quick, shallow gasps, rising and falling in uneven rhythms that spoke of both fear and anticipation.
I could see the subtle flutter of her eyelashes, the tiniest shiver running through her shoulders, the tremor in her jaw as she swallowed hard.
Her fingers instinctively curled at the edge of my shirt, knuckles whitening with the effort to steady herself.
Each small movement, each hesitant shift in weight, revealed a nervous vulnerability that contrasted with the fierce strength she had shown moments earlier.
I could feel the rapid beat of her heart beneath my palm, strong and insistent, a drum of life that mirrored the turmoil in her eyes.
Her lips parted, as if trying to form words, only to falter, the unspoken questions and confessions lingering in the space between us.
She leaned in, then drew back ever so slightly, a delicate dance of wanting closeness yet fearing it in the same heartbeat.
The faint scent of jasmine and warm spice clung to her, a heady, intoxicating perfume that made the air around us feel charged.
When I whispered her name Sugarplump her body stiffened, and for a heartbeat, the entire world narrowed to the fragile thread connecting us.
The blush on her cheeks deepened, coloring her porcelain skin like a warm sunrise.
Her fingers trembled slightly, letting go of my shirt and then gripping it again, a silent, desperate attempt to ground herself.
Her nervousness was everywhere in the hitch of her breath, the quiver in her lips, the subtle sway of her body leaning toward and away from me.
She was both delicate and fierce, afraid yet unyielding, a storm wrapped in moonlight and shyness.
Watching her like this, my own heartbeat quickened, and a protective, possessive instinct surged inside me.
Her eyes flicked up at me for a brief, stolen second, and in them, I saw everything she wouldn’t say the vulnerability, the courage, the electricity that hummed between us. And in that moment, I knew that her nervousness wasn’t weakness at all; it was honest, raw, and alive. It made her real.