Chapter Forty Seven
Ria's POV;
I needed to get out.
The walls inside felt like they were closing in on me. The whispers. The stares. The weight of his presence in the same space.
I pushed open the balcony doors and stepped outside.
The evening sky was bleeding into sunset - streaks of orange melting into fading pink. The light softened the world, made it look almost kind.
Almost.
I gripped the railing and inhaled deeply.
One breath.
Then another.
"Pull yourself together," I whispered.
My heart was still racing from earlier. From the way he looked at me.
Like I was something he could easily destroy.
I closed my eyes and tilted my face toward the breeze. It brushed against my skin, cool and gentle, unlike the fire that seemed to follow me everywhere lately.
Then-
Footsteps.
Slow.
My spine stiffened. I didn't open my eyes. I didn't turn. But my body knew.
It was him.
I felt him before he spoke. The air shifted. Warmer. Heavier.
His scent wrapped around me - sharp, intoxicating, dangerous.
"Tired?" he asked. That voice, low, controlled, mocking.
"You don't look tired." My eyes opened slowly.
I kept my back to him.
"It doesn't concern you." There was a pause. Then a soft exhale.
A smirk. I could feel him smirking without even looking at him.
"Oh, it sure fucking does," he replied. His tone dropped. "Now tell me why you're avoiding me."
I almost laughed.
Avoiding him?
Like he hadn't made it clear from the beginning that I was an obligation.
"I don't answer to you," I said, pushing myself off the railing. I wanted to cry but not infront of him.
I took one step.
That's all it took.
His arm came around my waist swiftly, firmly, pulling me back before I could react.
My back hit the wall beside the door.
My breath left my lungs.
His body caged mine - not crushing, but close enough that I felt surrounded.
My pulse exploded.
"Let go of me," I whispered, pushing against him.
He didn't budge.
"Answer my fucking question, Ria," he said near my ear. His breath brushed my skin. A shiver betrayed me.
He noticed.
His grip tightened slightly.
"You were fine a minute ago," he continued. "Laughing. Talking. Smiling."
His voice hardened.
"But when it comes to me, you suddenly can't breathe?"
My throat tightened.
"You're imagining things."
"Don't lie to me."
His fingers flexed at my waist.
"You've been avoiding my eyes all evening. You walked away from the dance. You ran from the garden earlier. And now you're hiding here."
He leaned back slightly so he could see my face.
"Why?"
I looked at him. Really looked at him.
His jaw tight. His eyes intense. His ego wounded but masked.
"You want the truth?" I asked.
"Yes."
"I didn't want to pretend."
His brows drew together slightly.
"Pretend what?"
"That we're something we're not." His expression went still. "That this marriage isn't cracking," I continued, voice shaking now despite my effort. "That we're happy. That you don't treat me like a responsibility you can't wait to get rid of."
His eyes darkened.
"Careful."
"No," I said firmly. "You asked."
His grip shifted from my waist to my arm - not painful, but firm enough to remind me who I was standing against.
"You think I care about some stupid dance?" he asked coldly.
"No," I said. "I think you care about control."
His jaw flexed.
Silence.
Heavy.
His gaze searched my face like he was trying to read something deeper.
"Are you fine with people finding out our reality?" he asked quietly.
"Yes." I whispered trying not to cry.
He let go of my arm.
Stepped back.
The loss of his heat made the air colder.
"You're right," he said after a long pause.
His voice was flat.
"This marriage is a joke."
The words hit harder than any slap.
"And it's good that you finally understood that."
I felt my chest cave in.
But I refused to cry in front of him. I nodded shaking slightly from all the emotions running through me.
He looked at me - not angry.
Not soft.
Just distant.
His eyes dropped briefly to my lips before lifting again.
"But don't act like you're the only one suffocating."
That caught me off guard.
"What does that mean?"
But he was already stepping back.
His eyes full of something I couldn't read. He looked at me one last time. Unreadable.
Then he turned and walked away.
Just like that.
As if nothing our marriage was nothing. As if I didn't matter. The moment he disappeared through the doors, my legs gave out.
I slid down the wall slowly, the cold floor pressing against my skin.
The sky had darkened now. The sunset was fading. Just like whatever fragile hope I had been holding onto.
"Why does it hurt?" I whispered, tears finally spilling.
Why does it hurt knowing you'll never be mine?
I pressed my hand against my chest, trying to hold the ache in place.
"I didn't even want you," I sobbed quietly. "So why does my heart refuse to let you go?"
"I hate you, and I hate myself more for ever wanting you Aansh Rathore. God, please make this pain go away." I whispered clutching my chest.
Inside, music played.
People laughed.
Life went on
But on this balcony
I was mourning a love that never even began.
And the worst part?
He would never know how much he just broke me.