(Ayesha’s POV)

The sun spilled through the windows, warm and golden, but Ayesha felt nothing. She sat at the vanity, brushing her hair with mechanical motions, her mind replaying the night before — Rudra’s rage, his broken confession, and the cruel tenderness of his touch.

Her reflection looked hollow. Eyes puffy from tears she swore she wouldn’t shed. Skin marked with bruises, reminders of his hands — hands that once worshipped her, now only knew how to punish.

A knock at the door broke her trance.

Before she could answer, a maid entered, bowing her head slightly. "Madam, Malik Saab and Ammaji have arrived. Sir asked you to get ready and come downstairs."

Ayesha’s stomach clenched. Rudra’s parents.

She hadn’t seen them since the wedding — the forced marriage where Rudra dragged her into his world with blood-stained vows and cold, empty promises.

She stood, her legs unsteady, but there was no time for weakness now. With trembling fingers, she chose a soft pink saree, simple but elegant, paired with diamond earrings Rudra had gifted her — not out of love, but out of ownership.

The moment she stepped into the living room, she felt their eyes — Rudra’s father, Karan Thakur, a man whose mere presence could silence a room. And beside him, Janki Thakur, Rudra’s mother, a woman with eyes sharp enough to see through lies, but a heart hidden behind layers of silence.

"Ayesha beta," Janki’s voice was surprisingly soft. "Come sit."

Ayesha forced a smile, her heart pounding as she lowered herself beside Janki on the couch. Rudra sat across the room, leaning back in his chair, expression unreadable — as if last night never happened.

"You’ve become more beautiful," Karan said, his voice deep and serious. "My son chose well."

The compliment felt like ice against her skin. He didn’t choose me. He captured me.

Janki’s fingers brushed over Ayesha’s bangles, inspecting them like they told a story only she could read. "Rudra told me you take good care of the house. That’s important. A wife’s grace keeps a family strong."

Ayesha couldn’t look at Rudra, afraid her face might betray too much. Grace. Strength. She had neither last night, crushed beneath the weight of his hatred.

"We’re hosting a small pooja tomorrow," Janki continued. "A ritual for prosperity and harmony in your marriage. As the eldest daughter-in-law of the Thakur family, it’s your responsibility to perform the rituals with Rudra."

Ayesha’s heart twisted painfully. Harmony? In this marriage built on revenge and shattered trust?

"I’ll do my best, Ammaji," she said softly.

"Good girl." Janki patted her hand gently. "And after the pooja, we’ll discuss…" She hesitated, her smile tightening. "…heir matters."

Ayesha’s stomach dropped. Rudra’s gaze snapped to her, dark and dangerous. She saw the flicker of something — rage, possessiveness, maybe even guilt — but he said nothing.

Karan stood, smoothing his kurta. "We’ll stay here tonight. It’s been too long since the family sat under the same roof."

Ayesha’s fingers curled into her saree. One night — one whole night of pretending, smiling, and being the perfect wife to the man who tore her apart in private.

As they moved to the dining room, Rudra’s hand caught her wrist in the hallway, his grip firm but not cruel. "Don’t disappoint me," he whispered against her ear, his breath sending a shiver down her spine. "Play your part, Mrs. Thakur."

She pulled her hand free, chin lifting slightly. "I’ve been playing this part since the day you dragged me back into your life."

His jaw tightened, but before he could respond, Janki called for them both.

Breakfast was a quiet affair — Karan discussing business, Janki asking about household matters. Ayesha answered when necessary, her voice calm, but inside, she felt like a prisoner performing for her captors.

Rudra never touched her, never even glanced at her too long — but beneath the table, his foot brushed against hers once, a fleeting touch that confused her more than his anger ever could.

By the time the meal ended, her heart was exhausted from pretending. As she cleared the plates, Janki joined her in the kitchen.

"You’re doing well," Janki said softly. "I know marrying into this family isn’t easy — especially with Rudra’s… temper."

Ayesha’s hands froze in the soapy water.

"Just remember, beta," Janki continued, her voice softer now, almost maternal. "A wife’s patience can calm even the fiercest storms. Whatever happened before… leave it behind. Build something new."

Ayesha bit her lip to hold back the truth — there was no building something new when the foundation was already drenched in blood and lies.

"Yes, Ammaji," she whispered.

But as she stood at the sink, the weight of Rudra’s gaze burned against her back. Even from across the house, she could feel it — the storm still brewing between them, one no amount of rituals or prayers could ever cleanse.

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End of Chapter 9