18. Forced Circumstances
DHWANI
“What is this girl doing in our house? Throw her out. Right now.”
I was halfway up the stairs when Mr. Raizaada’s Daadi shouted, her voice echoing like a temple bell set on destruction mode.
I genuinely love elders. They’re usually wise, funny, low-key legends.
Mine were cool.
But she?
She was a walking, talking ITV prime-time villain.
“She’s not going nywhere,” Mr. Raizaada replied, firm.
I turned back slowly.
Why miss free drama? My life was boring anyway.
“Why?” Daadi snapped, eyes blazing with fury. “Why will she not go?”
“She can’t go, Daadi,” Yugant repeated.
“She will go, Yugant. And that’s final.” She marched toward me like she was about to evict me from existence itself.
I exhaled.
God, I asked for entertainment, not a full Saas–Bahu crossover episode.
I just wanted a shower. A peaceful one. With ater. And silence.
I turned to leave but Daadi suddenly grabbed my arm.
“You will not go inside,” she said coldly. “You will go outside. Now.” She started dragging me toward the door. I walked with her. Quiet. Blank.
Because if I stepped out of this house today, the next place I’d go to… was back to the Ranawats.
And that would burn lives.
Mine included.
But I was ready.
“She won’t go anywhere, Daadi.” This time Yugant souted. His voice was low until now, but it also raised just like his Daadi.
“Sharda,” Daadu said sharply, “stop. If Yugant is saying something, at least listen.”
“Why should I?” Daadi screamed back. “Did he listen to us? He lied! He said he brought her here for revenge. To punish her brother through her. Is this revenge? We lost our whole family, and he is here laughing with this girl, whose brother burned everything?”
Silence fell.
I felt something twist in my cest.
I know how hard everything is for them, because they lost their family. But who taught them to turn grief into poison?
“I did it, Daadi,” Yugant said.
“ You did what?”
“ I took revenge…” he answered.
Excuse me, sir?
Her head snapped toward him. “Yes, you did. By not letting her go.”
He looked at me. Just for a second. He looked helpless.
“NO…” his voice raised. “ I married her.”
“WHAT—” The word tore out of my mouth before my brain could catch up.
My eyes widened.
My soul?
Married?
Married???
What???
When???
I stared at him like he’d just announced we were moving to Mars with no oxygen.
This man had lost his mind.
He grabbed my wrist and pulled me to his side, fingers firm, unyielding.
“Yes,” he said calmly, almost lazily. “We’re married.”
Sorry what?
“You don’t need to hide anything from them,” he continued, eyes never leaving mine. “They’re my grandparents.”
My brain short-circuited.
“But—” I tried.
“No buts.” His grip tightened just enough to warn me. “I married you for revenge. And I won’t let you leave until I’ve taken every ounce of it.”
His voice dropped, darker. Closer.
“You’ll bear my hatred. My punishment. My torture. Everything.”
Torture? Really?
I almost laughed.
You have no idea who Dhwani Ranawat is.
For the first time since this drama began, Daadi said nothing.
Yugant turned slightly, his tone suddenly businesslike. “Now come. It’s time to give you punishment for the mess you created in the kitchen.”
Punishment.
Of course.
He began dragging me with him.
I turned my head instinctively, half-expecting Daadi to explode, to scream, to object, and please push me away from this madhouse.
But no.
She stood, stunned.
Amused
Pride.
As if she’d just witnessed a masterstroke.
What kind of family celebrates cruelty like achievement?
The moment the door slammed shut behind us, I didn’t even pause to breathe.
I slipped out of my slippers and threw one straight at his head.
He ducked.
The slipper smacked the door instead.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asked, voice calm—too calm.
I grabbed the second slipper.
“Oh, I don’t know,” I snapped, flinging it. “Maybe reacting to the fact that you just married me in front of your entire family?”
He bent again.
Thud. Door. Again.
“Married?” I laughed bitterly. “No, no, revenge-married.” I grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it at him.
“Dhwani, you’re losing it,” he said, catching his breath as the pillow smacked his chest. “I lied. It was a lie.”
“A lie?” I lunged for another. “You announced a marriage in front of your entire family, Mr. Raizaada. Do you know what kind of lie that is?”
“Put. The. Pillow. Down.”
I didn't, I threw it and he again pulled away.
“Punishment?” I asked sweetly, eyes wide with mock innocence. “Is this the punishment you promised?” My gaze flicked to the vase on the coffee table.
He saw it at the same time.
“Don’t you dare—”
Too late.
We both rushed for it. My fingers closed around the ceramic, his hand clamped over mine, and the next second he pulled the vase harshly, I lost my balance and we crashed onto the couch together.
“Get off me! You’re pissing me off.” I shouted.
“You were the one who charged like a missile!”
I pointed a finger at him. “You—”
He caught it in his fist and said quietly, almost absentmindedly, “Calm down, you crazy little cute mute ghost…”
The words slipped out of him so naturally that they stunned me, soft, melodic, and dangerously beautiful.
As I kept staring at him, realization dawned on his face. He looked away at once, leaving my finger and clearing his throat—suddenly far too aware of the words he’d let slip.
He cleared his throat and looked away.
“It… just slipped out,” he said, a little too quickly.
“Yeah,” I replied, pushing myself back and sitting on the couch still looking like a tragic flour-covered ghost. “I noticed.”
His eyes flicked to the couch. The formerly grey couch.
“Go take a shower,” he said flatly. “You’ve ruined my couch.”
I glanced around. The couch was now very much white.
“It’s your fault. You dragged me here.”
“Because you were behaving like a child.”
I stared at him, deeply offended. “I was behaving like a child? Then what was that downstairs, huh? You lied without my permission.”
He scoffed. “Since when do I need your permission to lie?”
I resisted the urge to bang his head against the wall.
“Dumbo. Why did you even lie? We’re not married.”
He paused. “But one day we will.”
“What?” I blinked. “What do you mean?”
He looked around, avoiding my eyes. “I mean, Daadi was about to throw you out. I couldn’t risk that. Not until I find the truth. You’re not leaving before you regret what you did.”
“And what exactly did I do?” I asked.
“You betrayed me,” he said. “You played with me.”
“I was already trying to make up for my mistake,” I muttered. “In the kitchen.”
His gaze dragged from my head to my flour-drenched fee
“And who told you to make up like this?” he asked, pointing at me.
“You did,” I said simply. “Last night. You said I had to give you something. When I said I had nothing except myself, you said—exactly. So I assumed you wanted me to work for you.”
He suddenly grabbed his head, fingers digging into his hair, frustration pouring off him.
“…Fuck.” He cussed.
I frowned.
Did I misunderstand everything?
“Umm… what happened?” I asked cautiously.
“Get up,” he said suddenly.
“Why?” I frowned.
Instead of answering, he turned toward me and grabbed my hand, already dragging me forward.
“What the hell are you doing?” I protested, trying to pull free, but his grip only tightened.
Seconds later, we were inside the washroom.
Before I could react, he shoved me into the glass-walled shower and turned it on.
Cold water crashed over me.
“What the hell is this behaviour, Mr. Raizaada?” I shouted, shock and anger mixing as I tried to shield myself.
He didn’t respond.
He just stood there, letting the water soak me completely.
I clenched my jaw but didn’t step out. Truth be told, I hated being covered in flour almost as much as I hated him right now. I rubbed my face, letting the water wash everything away—flour, chaos, and whatever dignity I had left.
I wiped the water off my face and glared at him.
“You’re a nihayti badtameez, control-freak, overgrown idiot, you know that? Dimag ghutno mein leke ghoomte ho kya? Who the hell drags someone into a shower like that?”
“I may be a mess,” he said coldly, eyes raking over her, “but at least I’m not an opportunist who slips into people’s lives wearing fake innocence.
I don’t pretend to be fragile to earn sympathy, or helpless to hide betrayal.
You calculated every move, Dhwani—your silence, your fear, your softness. And that’s the ugliest kind of lie.”
He paused, voice dropping.
“Messy people break things by accident.
People like you break them on purpose.”
I shouldn’t have been angry because everything he threw at me was true.
I had betrayed him.
But the fury inside me needed somewhere to go. It clawed at my ribs, demanding destruction.
“I’m ashamed of what I did,” I said softly.“That’s why I tried to cover it up—”
“Cover up?” His laugh was cold. “By wrecking my house?”
“But that’s what you said—”
He suddenly grabbed my shoulders and slammed me back against the cold glass wall. The impact knocked the breath out of me.
“I told you to bring me something useful,” he hissed. “I never told you to pull this bullshit.”
“And what exactly is that useful thing, Mr. Raizaada?” I shot back, my voice cracking despite my effort. “What do you want from me?”
“You really want to know?” His gaze dragged over me—slow, deliberate, unforgiving.
Fear punched through my chest.
“Y-yes, W–what’s the price?” I whispered. “What’s the cost, Mr. Raizaada?”
Please don’t, I begged silently. I know I was wrong. But don’t force me to hate you, just the way you hate me.
His hand lifted slowly.
His fingers brushed my cheek, then his thumb hovered near my lips.
I shut my eyes.
My heart pounded so loud it felt like betrayal all over again. Whether it was fear, helplessness, or the way his presence swallowed the space around me—I didn’t know.
His breath warmed my ear.
“I want you.” My spine went rigid. “Pay properly Ms Rathore, Five nights… in exchange for those five designs.”
“So… you’re telling me to sell myself to you for five nights?” I asked, my voice steady even though my chest felt tight.
He studied me for a moment. “Is that what you think?”
“Isn’t that exactly what you’re asking for?” I shot back. “Five designs in exchange for me?”
He didn’t flinch. “But haven’t you already crossed that line in your head?” he said quietly. “Haven’t you thought about it before—about what you’d be willing to sacrifice for him?”
The words hit harder because they were true.
I had thought about it. I had been ready if it meant saving my brother.
The difference was this: back then, it would’ve been my choice. Now, it felt like a price being demanded.
“What if I refuse?” I asked quietly.
“Hm?” He hummed, taking two slow steps back before leaning against the glass wall, arms folding across his chest. Calm. Detached. Cruel.
“Nothing,” he said lightly. “Except the deadline given by the person whose orders you’re following will expire. And when that happens… you lose your brother.”
The words hit exactly where he knew they would.
Damn me for telling him the truth. Now he was using my desperation like leverage.
“You can’t put conditions like this,” I snapped, rage tightening my jaw. “This is blackmail.”
He smiled, cold and unimpressed.
“Blackmail is when I threaten to expose you or send you to prison,” he corrected. “This is mercy.”
I laughed bitterly. “You’re disgusting, Mr. Raizaada.”
“And you,” he shot back, voice sharp, “are a thief. An opportunist who broke my trust and betrayed me.”
“You can’t buy me,” I said, fists clenched.
“I’m not buying,” he replied calmly. “I’m charging. The choice is yours.”
With that, he turned and walked away leaving the weight of that choice crushing my chest.
I turned on the shower and let the cold water crash over me, washing everything down, sweat, dignity, anger, pain.
He called me an opportunist.
Funny, when he’s the one turning my helplessness into his power.
I did everything to save my brother.
He’s doing everything to profit from my pain.
I should be crying like a normal Girl cry in moments like this. But I don’t feel like crying.
Maybe because I learned a long time ago that tears don’t buy mercy.
We come into this world alone, and we leave it alone.
This body is just a temporary shelter—a borrowed house that pain keeps evicting us from.
And if this body can save my brother, then so be it.
I’ll spend it.
Willingly.
Because years ago, when I had nothing, no safety, no future, no place to belong—he gave me life back.
Debts don’t disappear just because they’re painful.
They wait.
And tonight, I’m ready to pay mine.
???