Chapter Twelve
Author's POV
Ever since the wedding, Aansh Rathore hadn't stepped foot into the mansion.
He didn't want to see her.
He didn't want to see his grandfather.
He had locked himself away in his penthouse, the silence broken only by the relentless ringing of his phone. Again and again. The name "Dadaji" lit up the screen. He let it ring. Then again. And again.
Finally, he answered. "What is it, Dadaji?" he snapped, irritation clear in his voice.
"Come home, Aansh."
Did he really expect him to return after everything?
"I married that girl," he said bitterly. "But I don't want to breathe the same air as her, let alone live in the same house."
"Come home. I won't repeat myself," Dadaji said, then disconnected the call.
Aansh stared at the phone.
In the entire world, only one man dared to speak to him like that - Pratap Rathore. And Aansh could never say no to him, no matter how much he wanted to.
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At exactly 2:04 AM, Aansh walked into the Rathore mansion like a storm. The guards stood up straight, not daring to breathe too loudly in his presence. He didn't glance at anyone. He didn't speak. His steps echoed like warnings through the sleeping corridors of the mansion.
Rules didn't apply to him.
He was the rules.
He reached his room, grabbed the handle, and pushed the door open.
The strong scent of jasmine hit his senses. His jaw clenched instantly.
He hated jasmine.
His eyes scanned the dim room, and his gaze landed on a shadowy figure curled up on the bed.
Her.
His lips curled into a cold sneer. He slammed the door behind him, loud and sharp, causing the figure on the bed to jolt upright.
He didn't acknowledge her. Didn't even look at her properly. Just stalked into the bathroom and let the water scald his skin. He stood there until his anger boiled over and numbness took its place.
When he stepped out, dressed in a black t-shirt and sweatpants, the lights were still off. The room was quiet - too quiet - but he could sense her fear even in the silence. He switched the lights on, and his gaze snapped back to the bed.
She was still there.
Still on his bed.
No woman had ever touched it. It was sacred - untouchable. And now, she had dared to sleep on it?
He marched forward, his presence dark and overpowering. "Girl," he said icily, "what was your name again?"
He watched her eyes widen. She looked up at him as if he'd just shattered her soul.
Tears welled in her eyes, but he didn't care.
He wouldn't allow himself to care.
Even she could tell - her own husband didn't know her name. Did he ever even know it?
"Why... why are you here?" she stammered, clutching the bedsheet close to her chest.
Aansh's brow arched. She dared to question him?
"This is my house," he said, stepping closer, "Has the money already gotten to your head?"
She flinched like she'd been slapped. "I... I don't need your money," she whispered.
He gave a cold, humorless chuckle. "Don't fool me with your crocodile tears. Let me make this simple for you. If you want to stay in this room - live here without trouble - follow these rules."
Her lips parted in silent confusion, but she didn't interrupt him.
"Rule number one - don't touch anything that's mine. Not my things. Not my space. Not me.
Rule number two - you don't speak to me unless I speak to you first.
Rule number three - don't ever cross the line between us.
And lastly," he said, voice dropping to a threatening whisper, "In front of others, you're my wife. But in this room? Behind these doors? You are nothing but an unwanted burden."
He stepped closer, backing her up against the headboard. Her breath hitched, tears sliding down her cheeks.
"Why?" she whispered. "Why did you marry me?"
He leaned in, his eyes dark and dangerous. "To punish you," he hissed. "To ruin you. To break you... and rebuild you into what I want."
Her eyes filled with a silent storm. "I'm not some object you can break and fix."
A sharp smile spread across his face. "You already destroyed my peace by forcing me into this farce. You'll pay the price."
"You've already destroyed my dreams," she replied, trembling. "You forced me into this nightmare."
His expression turned vicious. "That sharp tongue of yours? I'll break your confidence. I'll make sure it never rises again."
But she lifted her chin slowly, eyes still glistening. "Then you married the wrong girl, Mr. Aansh Rathore. Because I'll never break for you."
His patience snapped.
How dare she?
With a rough shove, he pushed her off the bed.
She landed hard on the cold floor, a soft cry escaping her lips. Pain shot through her elbow and back as she curled up in shock.
"Find somewhere else to sleep," he growled. "But not in my bed."
Ria slowly pulled herself up, blinking back her tears. She refused to cry in front of him. She wouldn't give him that satisfaction.
"One more thing," he said, not even looking at her as he walked toward the light switch, "If you tell anyone what happens behind these walls... I will kill you."
And with that, he flicked the lights off and walked to the bed.
She stood frozen in the darkness, heart shattering silently.
Then, wordlessly, she walked to the couch.
Her body ached. Her heart bled. She curled into herself, one hand over her mouth to muffle the sobs.
On the bed behind her, the devil slept peacefully, not caring he hurt the most caring person.
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