Her voice kept coming.
Smooth. Controlled. Possessive.
Each word brushed past my ears, but none of them reached me.
Inside, I was already elsewhere.
Radha… Radha… Radha…
The chant looped without pause, tightening with every breath. Not loud. Slightly desperate. Just constant like a rope I held onto so I wouldn't fall.
She spoke of cars.
Of homes.
Of staying where she could see me.
But all I could see were hands that were not mine.
Hands touching what I had never allowed anyone to touch.
The idol Of Radha.
Every morning, without fail, I arranged the flowers myself. Every petal placed with care. Every thread straightened. Every offering made in silence, not for show, not for ritual but for my soul.
And now—
Someone else had arranged it.
The chant intensified.
Save me, Radha.
Save me.
I meant it.
I had always believed in the power of the divine.
My body reacted before my face did. Heat gathered at my temples. Sweat slid down my spine beneath the crisp fabric of my shirt. My pulse stayed even, trained, controlled, but my hands felt distant, like they didn't belong to me.
I kept my expression neutral.
No fear.
No anger.
No panic.
She couldn't be allowed to see any of that.
Her fingers touched my jaw. Guided. Claimed.
I stood still.
The chant did not stop.
Radha… Radha…
And when I finally spoke, it wasn't planned. It wasn't calculated. It surfaced on its own, sharp, sudden, louder than I intended.
"Where are my things?!"
---
The elevator doors slid shut with a soft, expensive hiss.
Mirrors sealed us in from every side, reflecting the space until it felt smaller than it was. The air was thick with jasmine, my perfume layered over something warmer, sharper.
I didn't answer you right away.
Instead, I pressed the button for the sub-basement where my car waited.
Only then did I turn.
I turned to face you, backing you up until your shoulders hit the mirrored wall. I placed my hands on either side of your head, trapping you in the small space between my arms.
"They're exactly where they belong, Manu," I said quietly.
My eyes searched your face, hunting for cracks, for panic, for need.
"At the estate. In a room that shares a wall with my own bedroom. You should be happy, I've personally instructed my staff to handle every box as if it were made of glass."
I leaned closer, close enough to feel the tension rolling off you.
"But you're so worried," I murmured. "It's almost sweet."
My voice softened, then sharpened.
"What's in there?"
My fingers lifted your chin, forcing your gaze upward, but with ownership.
"A photograph?" I asked. "A memory?"
"Someone you think you belong to?"
The thought twisted something hot and ugly in my chest.
My hand moved down, grabbing your chin and tilting your face up so you were forced to look at my eyes, eyes that were wide, dark, and utterly consumed by the thought of you.
"Listen to me very carefully, Manu. If I find a single thing in those boxes that belongs to another woman... if I find that you've been keeping a heart for anyone else... I will destroy it."
My thumb pressed lightly beneath your jaw.
"You don't need fragments of another life anymore," I said. "You're stepping into mine."
The elevator chimed softly as it reached the garage.
I didn't let go.
"Now walk to the car," I said. "Don't make this difficult."
My smile returned beautiful, unhinged.
"I don't want anyone else touching you before I do."