The sound of water hitting marble filled the bathroom, echoing faintly off the walls — rhythmic, steady, unhurried. Yet beneath that calm surface, my mind was anything but.
I watched the reflection in the mirror as I rolled my sleeves, letting the cool spray soak through my hands. My knuckles were still white from how tightly I'd gripped her shoulders just moments ago.
Her eyes — the way they'd widened when I made her wear that chain again — still haunted me.
The mangalsutra.
That small, fragile symbol that now felt heavier than any crown I had ever worn.
When I had seen it lying there on the dressing table, so still and harmless, it wasn't just anger that had filled me — it was fear.
Fear that the chain lying there meant distance. That somehow, in her innocence, she had forgotten what it meant. That maybe, she could forget me too.
I'd reacted like a fool. Like a man possessed.
The words I'd thrown at her — the warning, the threat — I could still taste them, bitter on my tongue.
And yet… even now, part of me didn't regret it.
Because in that moment, as I fastened it around her neck again, a wild satisfaction had surged through me. Seeing that gold rest against her skin — my claim visible, undeniable — it soothed something primal within me.
She was mine.
And the world needed to see it.
But the way she'd looked at me afterward — those tear-filled eyes, more hurt than afraid — that look had followed me here, into this silence.
You hurt her, a small voice whispered inside me. You scared her.
I closed my eyes and let the water run over my face, cold and cleansing. It didn't wash away the guilt. It never did.
I loved her more than I had ever loved anything. But sometimes, loving her felt like trying to hold fire in my hands — beautiful, consuming, impossible not to burn.
By the time I stepped out, I had decided — today, I would make it right.
---
She was standing by the window when I returned.
The morning light caught her hair, scattering gold across her shoulders. She looked ethereal — too soft for the world I came from, too pure for the man I had become.
But her back was stiff, her silence sharp.
I could tell, even before she turned, that she was angry.
"You don't even realize how frightening you can be sometimes," she said softly, without looking at me. Her voice trembled, but there was strength beneath it. "Do you even hear yourself, Anirudh? The things you say when you're angry?"
I didn't interrupt. I let her speak, because she deserved to.
"I didn't take it off to hurt you," she continued, turning now, her eyes glistening. "I just wanted to make you tea. I wanted to surprise you. But you—you made me feel like I'd betrayed you for forgetting it."
Her words sliced cleanly through me.
I walked toward her, slow and deliberate. "You didn't betray me," I said quietly. "But when I saw it lying there, something in me… snapped."
She crossed her arms. "You can't keep doing that, Anirudh. You can't lose control every time you're scared."
I stopped right in front of her, close enough to see the flicker of her heartbeat in the hollow of her throat. My voice was lower when I spoke. "I don't know how to be anything else with you, Aayat. When it comes to you… I'm either worshipping you, or I'm burning."
She shook her head, frustrated. "That's not love."
"No," I said softly, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear, "it's more than love."
Her breath hitched. She looked away, her lips parting to argue — but the sound died when I lifted her hand, pressing a slow kiss to her wrist.
"I shouldn't have scared you," I whispered against her skin. "I shouldn't have raised my voice. I hate myself for it. But when I saw you without it, all I could think was — if I lose you, I lose everything."
Her anger melted like wax under flame. "You didn't lose me," she murmured, her voice barely audible. "I'm here. I'll always be here."
My eyes met hers — soft, endless, dangerous. "Promise?"
"Promise."
The word trembled from her lips, and it was all the permission I needed.
I leaned in and kissed her forehead first — slow, reverent. Then her cheek, where a tear had fallen. Then her lips, gentle this time. No anger. No fire. Just warmth.
When I pulled back, she was smiling — small and fragile, but real.
"Now," I said with a faint smirk, "forgive me properly."
Her brows furrowed, but when I tilted my head in that boyish, mock-innocent way she couldn't resist, she laughed despite herself. "You're impossible."
"And yet you married me," I teased.
Her laugh filled the room like music. The tension that had been suffocating the air slowly dissolved.
I had her again — her trust, her calm, her smile.
---
By the time we reached the breakfast table, everything seemed peaceful again.
Rajmata sat poised at the head, and Veer — ever the charmer — lounged casually, tossing crumbs to the peacocks outside.
"Good morning, sister-in-law," he greeted with an easy grin. "You look radiant today."
Aayat smiled back politely. "Thank you, Veer. You always know what to say."
My jaw tightened.
"Actually," Veer began, glancing around the table, "I have some news. I'll be leaving for Udaipur tonight."
Aayat looked up immediately. "So soon?"
Veer shrugged. "Duty calls."
"You could stay another day at least," she said softly, almost pleading. "You barely spent time with the family this week."
That tiny, innocent request was enough to make the world tilt again.
I kept my face composed, but my hand on the table curled into a fist.
Veer smiled — that knowing, infuriating smile. "You'll miss me, won't you, bhabhi?"
Aayat laughed lightly. "Of course I'll miss you."
I could feel it — the monster inside me stirring, stretching its claws. The same beast I had drowned under cold water this morning.
Rajmata, unaware of the undercurrents, smiled approvingly. "It's good of you to return home, Veer. But visit again."
"Oh, I will," Veer said, his gaze lingering on Aayat for a beat too long. "After all, some ties can't be broken."
That was it.
I set my napkin down, rose, and gave a curt nod. "Enjoy your breakfast," I said evenly. "I have other matters to attend to."
But my mind wasn't calm.
It was too calm — the kind of quiet that comes right before a storm.
---
When she left the hall a few minutes later, she didn't even notice me waiting in the shadows.
Her soft hum echoed down the corridor, her steps light. She turned the corner — and I moved.
My hand shot out, catching her wrist, pulling her behind the marble pillar.
Her gasp was swallowed by my kiss.
It wasn't gentle — it wasn't meant to be. It was fire meeting silk, desperate and consuming.
She struggled for a second, her palms pressed against my chest — but the fight melted quickly, replaced by the familiar heat that always rose between us.
When I broke the kiss, her lips were red, her breath uneven.
"Anirudh," she whispered, half-angry, half-dazed. "Someone could've seen us—"
"Let them," I murmured, tracing my thumb across her lower lip. "They should know who you belong to."
Her eyes flashed. "You're jealous again."
"I'm not jealous," I said, lowering my voice. "I'm possessive."
My mouth found her neck, and I kissed her there — slow, deliberate, leaving faint red marks blooming against her skin.
She shivered. "Anirudh…"
"Every time you talk to him," I murmured between kisses, "I see red. Every time you smile at someone else, I lose my mind."
He lifted his head, his gaze dark, his tone softer but infinitely more dangerous. "Do you understand now, Aayat? What happens when I burn?"
She looked at me, breathless, her hand trembling against my chest.
And I whispered, voice like silk over steel —
"Never test the limits of my love, Aayat. Because when I start losing control… even love won't save what burns next."
Then I turned and walked away, leaving her against the pillar — her heart racing, the scent of jasmine and fire lingering in the air.
---
That evening, Veer stood in the courtyard, sunlight spilling behind him.
He bowed slightly to Rajmata, then looked at me with a faint smirk. "It's been an eventful stay, cousin. Try not to burn down the palace in my absence."
Aayat forced a small smile. "Take care, Veer. Travel safely."
Veer's eyes lingered on her for a fraction too long before turning to me. "Don't worry, Your Majesty. Some stories don't end — they just wait for the right time to return."
With that he left, the dying sun turning him into a silhouette of gold and shadow, and rode away — leaving the echo of his words behind, like a storm cloud waiting on the horizon.