Chapter Thirty Three
Ria's POV
The car came to a halt before a grand hotel-its golden lights shimmering against the night sky, casting reflections on the wet pavement.
For a moment, I forgot how to breathe. My eyes widened, taking in the marble steps, the glass chandeliers glowing through the tall windows, the red carpet that screamed power and prestige.
Everything about the place screamed Rathore.
I turned my head, still lost in the glow, and found Aansh's gaze already fixed on me.
My heart stumbled.
The intensity in his eyes felt like a storm I could never outrun.
Something about the way he looked at me-like he was torn between wanting to pull me closer and push me away forever-made my chest ache.
For a second, the world stopped spinning.
I forgot who he was. I forgot the cruelty, the fear, the silence between us.
There was only that gaze-dark, sharp, almost broken.
Then his voice shattered it all.
"Get out."
Just like that, I was reminded who I was-his wife, not by love but by force.
I scrambled out of the car as if oxygen existed only outside.
He stepped out after me, fixing his cufflinks, straightening his suit jacket.
God, he looked devastatingly perfect. The kind of man every girl would dream of-except the man behind that beauty was one every soul feared.
Sometimes, I wonder what it would have been like.
.. if things were different. If he wasn't Aansh Rathore, and I wasn't the girl he despised.
If our marriage wasn't made of ashes and threats but of choice and love.
But then, I always end up laughing at my own foolishness.
Because fairy tales don't exist for people like me.
Before I could drown in my thoughts, I felt his arm slide around my waist. I froze instantly. My breath hitched as his fingers pressed against my side. His touch burned, his nearness suffocated me.
"I-I didn't-" I stammered, not even sure what I wanted to say.
"Don't act like this in front of my guests," he muttered coldly, his lips brushing against my ear.
"Act like what?" I asked, barely a whisper.
"Like it's my first time touching you," he said in a voice so low, so rough, it sent shivers down my spine. My knees weakened.
My eyes darted to the ground, heat rising in my cheeks, shame and confusion tangled inside me. What did he mean? What game was he playing this time?
Before I could think, his hand caught my chin, forcing my face upward. My lips parted slightly, trembling as my gaze locked with his. His eyes... God, those eyes-they looked like fire trapped in ice. Unreadable. Dangerous. Beautiful.
"Inside," he said, voice like silk over steel, "you don't leave my side. You don't talk to anyone. And if I see you getting too comfortable with someone... that person won't live to see tomorrow."
My blood ran cold. He wouldn't-would he?
But then I remembered-Rathores never say things they don't mean.
"I-I understand," I whispered.
"Good," he said, smirking as if he could sense my fear.
And then he led me in, his hand still at my waist, possessive and firm.
The moment we entered, silence swept through the crowd. Every pair of eyes turned toward us. Whispers floated through the air like daggers cloaked in velvet. I could feel the weight of their judgment-the girl who stole the Rathore heir.
I swallowed hard, forcing a smile, that fake smile I'd mastered so well. The smile that hid the chaos inside. The smile that pretended everything was fine.
Aansh's grip on my waist tightened, reminding me exactly where I stood-in his world, under his rules. He moved with confidence, power radiating off him as he greeted business partners, investors, men in suits who looked at him like he was both God and devil.
And me? I stood beside him like an accessory. A trophy. Something that glittered but didn't speak.
While he talked about money and deals, I counted chandeliers, glasses, the tiles beneath my heels-anything to fill the silence inside my head.
That's when I saw him.
A familiar face. The man from the reception. Ishan Mehra.
My stomach twisted. What was he doing here?
He walked up to us with a confident smile. "Mr. Rathore, always a pleasure," he said.
Aansh didn't even bother to smile. He just gave a stiff nod.
Then Ishan's eyes shifted to me-his gaze scanning me from head to toe, slow and deliberate. I felt disgust crawl over my skin.
"If you value your eyesight," Aansh said icily, "don't look at my wife like that."
Wife.
That one word, so casually spoken, hit me harder than I expected.
Ishan laughed softly. "Relax, Aansh. I was just admiring her beauty. You're a lucky man."
Aansh's expression darkened. "Her beauty is for me to admire, not you. And I don't relax when it comes to what's mine."
His hand tightened around my waist until it almost hurt. I gasped softly, my body betraying me, because even through the fear, something inside me stirred-something I didn't want to name.
Ishan finally walked away, muttering something under his breath.
"Excuse me," I whispered, voice trembling. "I need to use the bathroom."
Aansh looked at me, cold and unreadable. "Five minutes."
I didn't need to be told twice. I rushed out, my heels echoing against the marble floor. The moment I entered the washroom, I shut the door and leaned against it, my chest heaving.
Finally, silence. Finally, I could breathe.
I pressed my palms against my eyes. Why did I feel like this? Why did he affect me so deeply-his voice, his anger, his presence? I hated it. I hated that even in my fear, I could still feel my heart race because of him.
I tried fixing my hair, forcing myself to look composed. That's when I heard the door open.
I didn't turn. Not until a voice said, "So you're Aansh's wife."
I looked up, startled.
Standing beside me was her.
Ruksar Mehra. The woman every magazine called "the it girl."
She smiled-a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "You look... simple. Not what I expected."
I didn't know what to say, so I just murmured, "Yes, I'm his wife."
Her eyes sparkled with mock pity. "Tell me, Ria, how does it feel being the second woman? Wearing his vermilion while someone else owns his heart?"
Her words hit me like a slap. "What do you mean?" I asked, my voice barely audible.
She leaned in closer, her perfume suffocating. "I mean, darling, I'm the one he loves. The one he was supposed to marry."
The ground beneath me seemed to vanish. "And yet am his wife, so tell me who is the other person here?" I said helding my ground while my heart broke.
She laughed-a cruel, beautiful sound. "Oh, tell yourself that if it helps you sleep. But the truth doesn't change."
She walked away, heels clicking, leaving me frozen.
I stared at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes were red, my lips trembling. My heart... it hurt.
Not because I loved him-how could I love someone who'd destroyed my life?
But because somewhere deep down, I'd started feeling.
And that terrified me.
I stumbled out of the washroom, my vision blurry. And there he was-Aansh-standing at the hallway, his expression shocked when he saw my tears.
"What happened?" he asked, voice gentler than usual.
But I couldn't. I couldn't speak. Because how could I tell him that the thought of him loving someone else hurt more than it should?
"I need to go," I whispered.
For the first time, he didn't stop me.
I walked away, each step heavier than the last, until I reached the car. The moment the door closed, I broke.
The tears came like a flood-silent, unstoppable, raw.
"Why, God?" I choked. "Why me? Why this?"
Why did I care? Why did it hurt to think of him with someone else? Why did I still crave the warmth of the man who had only shown me coldness?
The night outside blurred into streaks of gold and black as the car drove on. I pressed my hand against my chest, feeling the ache there, sharp and merciless.
"Aansh Rathore," I whispered through my tears, "you've broken me in ways I can't even understand... and I still don't hate you."
A sob escaped me.
"That's what hurts the most."