The palace corridors were silent, bathed in the silver glow of the moon. Ranvijay pushed open the heavy wooden doors to their chamber, his footsteps barely making a sound against the marble floor. The flickering flame of the lone candle on the bedside table cast soft shadows on the walls.
His gaze fell on Myra.
She had fallen asleep, her body curled slightly on one side, exhaustion finally claiming her. The sindoor on her forehead had smudged a little, and the edge of her dupatta had slipped, revealing the delicate curve of her neck. Her breaths were steady, her chest rising and falling in a rhythmic motion.
For the first time since their wedding, she wasn't looking at him with fear, anger, or defiance. She looked... peaceful. Vulnerable.
Ranvijay sat on the edge of the bed, his sharp eyes taking in every detail. The dark circles under her eyes, the faint crease on her forehead—signs of the turmoil she had endured. He had expected resistance from her, but seeing how much this marriage had shaken her stirred something deep within him.
A sigh left his lips.
Lifting a hand, he hesitated before gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She shifted slightly but didn't wake.
His voice was barely above a whisper. "You hate me, don't you?"
She didn't answer, of course. She was lost in dreams, unaware of his gaze, unaware of the storm within him.
"You can hate me as much as you want, doll," he murmured, the nickname slipping out naturally. "But I won't let you go."
His fingers brushed over the thin mangalsutra resting against her skin. A symbol of their bond. A bond she had no choice in.
"I didn't do this just to trap you," he admitted, his voice laced with something raw. "I did it to protect you. Even if you never understand that."
She shifted again, her lips parting slightly, as if she could hear him in her dreams.
His chest tightened
Would she ever forgive him? Would she ever see beyond her hatred?
Reaching for the blanket, he carefully pulled it over her, ensuring she was warm. Then, without another word, he leaned in just slightly, his lips hovering over her forehead before he pulled back, stopping himself from crossing a line she wasn't ready for.
"Sleep well, sweetheart," he whispered.
Then, without another glance, he rose and walked toward the balcony, letting the cool night air calm the storm within him.
Tomorrow, she would wake up and fight him again. But for tonight, she was his to watch over, even if she didn't know it.
Ranvijay flicked the cigarette away, his gaze turning sharp as he walked back inside. Myra lay curled up on the grand bed, her delicate features relaxed in sleep. She looked so small, so vulnerable—nothing like the fierce girl who had tried to fight her fate.
His jaw clenched.
He hated pretending. Hated playing along with the monsters who had broken her spirit. But this was the only way to make them reveal their true faces.
His phone buzzed again. Her stepmother.
With a sigh, he picked up. "What now?" His voice was cold, irritated.
The woman chuckled. "Oh my, such anger, beta? Is my dear son-in-law already tired of his new bride?"
Ranvijay let out a scoff, his eyes flickering toward Myra. "Tired would be an understatement. She's insufferable. Weak. Always looking at me with those pitiful eyes like I'm some kind of savior." He let his voice drip with distaste. "I thought marrying her would make things easier, but I swear, I don't know how much longer I can tolerate her."
There was a brief silence before her stepmother laughed in satisfaction. "I told you, she's nothing but a burden. A foolish, useless girl who doesn't know her place."
Ranvijay's grip on the phone tightened, but he forced out a short, bitter laugh. "You were right. She's naive. Clueless. It's annoying." He turned away from Myra's sleeping form, forcing himself to sound as heartless as possible. "But don't worry. I'll handle her."
"Good. Keep her in control, Ranvijay." Her voice lowered, laced with cruelty. "Break her completely if you have to."
His blood boiled.
He wanted to lash out, to tell her that the only one who would be broken in the end was her.
But he couldn't. Not yet.
Instead, he let out a humorless chuckle. "We'll see."
Ending the call, he turned back to Myra.
His expression softened, the mask of hatred slipping away.
She had no idea what he was doing for her. No idea that he was playing this game to destroy the very people who had made her suffer.
For now, she could hate him. Resent him.
But one day, when the truth was revealed—
She would know.
And then, maybe, she would finally be free.
The soft rays of the morning sun filtered through the heavy curtains, casting a golden hue over the grand bedroom. Myra stirred, her lashes fluttering open as she shifted slightly—only to realize she was trapped in a warm embrace.
Her breath hitched.
Ranvijay's strong arms were wrapped around her waist, holding her close against his chest. His face was inches from hers, his breath warm against her skin, his grip possessive even in sleep.
Panic flared in her chest.
She tried to move, but his hold tightened instinctively, his fingers pressing against the fabric of her nightwear. Heat rushed to her cheeks as she realized just how close they were. Her heart pounded.
Why is he holding me like this?
Her mind raced, recalling the events of the previous night. She had been exhausted, completely drained, and had fallen asleep the moment her body hit the mattress. But when had he come to bed? And why was he holding her like this?
Carefully, she tilted her head to look at him.
Even in sleep, he looked powerful—his sharp jawline relaxed, his thick lashes casting shadows over his cheekbones. The usual hardness in his expression was missing, replaced by an unfamiliar peace.
For a fleeting moment, she forgot everything. The forced marriage. The hatred. The coldness he always showed her.
In this moment, he looked… different. Almost human.
Her fingers twitched as she hesitated, debating whether to wake him or slip away quietly.
But just as she started to move, a deep, sleepy voice rumbled near her ear.
"Going somewhere, Sweetheart?"
Her breath caught as she froze.
His voice was low, thick with sleep, yet laced with an edge that sent a shiver down her spine. She could feel the warmth of his breath against her skin, the slight pressure of his hand on her waist, still holding her as if he had no intention of letting her go.
Myra's pulse quickened, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts. Should she pull away or face him? She had to fight back the overwhelming urge to squirm under his grip. But she had no choice now. She couldn't run. Not like this. Not with him so close.
Trying to mask the unease in her voice, she managed to speak. "Let me go, Ranvijay."
He didn't respond immediately. She could feel him, his body still as if deciding what to do next. His thumb brushed against the curve of her waist, a small, unconscious movement, but it sent a strange tingle through her.
When he finally spoke, his voice was different—more aware, more deliberate. "If I let you go, Myra, where would you run to?"
Her heart hammered in her chest as she tried to ignore the way his words seemed to echo in her mind, taunting her. What did he mean? What was he implying?
"Why are you doing this?" she whispered, her voice trembling with the mix of anger and confusion. "Why are you holding me like this?"
There was a pause, and for a moment, it seemed like he was considering her question carefully. Then, in a move that surprised her, Ranvijay's hand gently cupped her face, lifting her chin to meet his eyes.
"Because, Myra," he said slowly, his gaze dark but tinged with something unreadable, "you're mine now."
Myra's breath hitched in her throat at his words, the weight of them settling on her chest like a heavy stone. She couldn't look away from his eyes—eyes that held a strange combination of possessiveness, control, and something more... tender, though it was hard to decipher.
She swallowed hard, the knot in her throat thickening. "No," she whispered, her voice shaking with the weight of defiance. "I am not yours. I never was."
Ranvijay's lips twisted into a faint smile, but there was no humor in it. "You're free to think that, Myra," he said softly, his thumb gently stroking her cheek as if the gentle motion were meant to disarm her. "But this—this is the reality you live in now."
Her breath was shallow, her heart racing as she realized there was no escaping him. No matter how much she tried to fight or run, there was something about him that always pulled her back.