Chapter 10 - Fire and Ashes (Ayesha’s POV)

The morning air was heavy with the scent of sandalwood and fresh marigolds. The temple space inside the Thakur mansion had been decorated to perfection — brass lamps glowing, flower garlands hanging in delicate patterns. Ayesha stood near the altar, dressed in a deep red saree Janki had chosen for her, her hair braided with jasmine.

To everyone else, she looked like a perfect newlywed bride, glowing beside her powerful husband. Only Ayesha knew the truth — the bruises beneath the bangles, the ache in her heart that no ritual could wash away.

Rudra entered, wearing an ivory kurta, his hair slightly damp from an early shower. He looked calm, collected, every bit the obedient son and dutiful husband. No one could see the man who had broken her just nights ago. No one could hear the cruel words he whispered in the dark.

But Ayesha could.

And now, they were expected to sit side by side, hands clasped, performing sacred rites meant to bind their souls — souls already tangled in hate, regret, and untold truths.

The priest motioned for them to sit. Ayesha folded her legs beneath her, and Rudra lowered himself beside her, his knee brushing against hers. The touch sent a sharp jolt through her body — not out of desire, but memory. Memory of his hands gripping her hips, his voice a mixture of rage and longing.

She kept her eyes down.

"Hold your husband’s hand," the priest instructed.

Ayesha’s fingers trembled as Rudra’s larger hand covered hers. His grip was firm, fingers curling around hers with possession, not tenderness. To the world, it looked like devotion. To Ayesha, it felt like a leash.

The priest began chanting, his voice weaving through ancient mantras. They circled the sacred fire, tied together by a silk cloth, each step a promise — to protect, to cherish, to trust.

Ayesha almost laughed. There was no trust left between them.

As they completed the final circle, the priest blessed them. "May your marriage be strong like this fire, unbreakable by wind or storm."

Rudra’s thumb traced the inside of her wrist — a small, deliberate gesture only she could feel. It wasn’t gentle. It was a warning.

After the pooja, Janki beamed with pride. "You both looked so beautiful together. Like Ram and Sita."

Ayesha forced a smile. Rudra, too, played his part perfectly, arm resting casually at her waist, fingers warm against her skin.

But as soon as they stepped away from the family’s eyes, his grip tightened. "You’ve gotten good at pretending," he whispered near her ear.

She turned to face him, her voice soft but sharp. "I learned from the best."

For a moment, something flickered in his eyes — something almost like pain — but it was gone before she could read it. His hand slid down her back, fingertips grazing her waist. "Remember," he murmured, his smile cold, "you’re my wife now. For the world… and for me."

Ayesha stepped back, needing space to breathe. "A wife isn’t a prisoner, Rudra."

He leaned in, his voice barely audible. "And a husband isn’t a fool."

Her heart raced. Every word between them felt like a blade wrapped in silk — polite to outsiders, deadly in private.

As the family gathered for lunch, Ayesha moved through the room like a ghost, serving food, pouring water, answering politely. But inside, her mind screamed.

She had to survive this. She had to find her strength again. Not just for herself — but for the truth she still carried. The truth that could either destroy Rudra or save him.

When Janki pulled her aside to talk about preparing for the future — for children, for building the family name — Ayesha felt her stomach twist painfully. How could she bring a child into this war? Into this house where love was just a distant memory and revenge was the only language spoken?

Later that night, after the house had gone quiet, Ayesha stood on the balcony, staring at the moon, her fingers clutching the railing like a lifeline.

Rudra found her there, his shirt unbuttoned, whiskey in hand. He stood beside her in silence for a moment before speaking.

"Do you regret it?" he asked softly.

She turned to him, confused. "Regret what?"

"Marrying me."

Ayesha’s throat tightened. "I never wanted to marry you like this."

"But you wanted to marry me once," he said, voice almost tender.

The memory hit her like a punch — the boy who once brought her roses, who kissed her under the rain, who whispered dreams into her skin. The boy who now stood beside her — a man made of scars and steel.

"That boy is gone," she said quietly.

Rudra set his glass down, fingers brushing her hair off her shoulder. "Maybe." His touch was gentle, but his eyes were dark. "But you’re still mine."

She stepped back, tears threatening to spill. "I’m not your trophy, Rudra."

He caught her wrist, pulling her close. "No. You’re my weakness. And I’ll either protect you… or destroy you completely."

His lips hovered near hers, and for a heartbeat, she couldn’t breathe. But then he let go, turning away before the moment could break them both.

"Sleep well, Mrs. Thakur," he said over his shoulder, walking away.

Ayesha stood alone, staring at the moon, realizing that this was her life now — a constant battle between the man she loved and the monster she created.

And somewhere beneath the hate, the bruises, and the broken vows… Love still lived.

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End of Chapter 10