(Ayesha’s POV)

The house was silent, shadows stretching across the floor like dark secrets. Ayesha lay in the center of the vast bed, curled on her side, the red bridal sheet still untouched between them — a reminder that their marriage was not born from love, but from ruin.

The clock struck 2:30 AM when the door creaked open. The faint scent of whiskey mixed with Rudra’s cologne filled the room. Ayesha’s heart clenched at the sound of his uneven footsteps.

She didn’t turn.

The mattress dipped under his weight, the silk sheets rustling as he collapsed beside her. The warmth of his body, the sound of his breath — everything felt too close. Too dangerous.

"I know you’re awake," his voice was low, rough with alcohol and something deeper — pain.

Ayesha squeezed her eyes shut. "Go to sleep, Rudra."

But he didn’t listen. His hand brushed her bare arm, fingertips tracing the curve of her shoulder. "I can’t sleep," he whispered. "Not when you’re here… and I’m like this."

She turned slowly, her heart pounding, finding him lying beside her — his shirt half open, exposing his broad chest, his hair messy from restless fingers. His eyes were red, but not just from the alcohol.

There was guilt in them. And longing.

"You hate me," he said softly, his thumb brushing a tear she didn’t realize had fallen. "I hate me too."

Ayesha didn’t reply. What was there to say? The man who once held her like she was his world had become the man who broke her into pieces.

"You think I wanted this?" Rudra’s voice cracked slightly. "You think I wanted to be this monster in your life?"

Her silence hurt more than her words ever could.

"I loved you," he confessed, voice barely a whisper. "I loved you so damn much, it scared me. And when you left… when you said you used me for money, I broke."

Ayesha’s breath caught. "Rudra—"

"No," he cut her off, fingers sliding into her hair, cupping her face with surprising gentleness. "Let me talk, Ayesha. For once… let me tell you the truth, even if it’s ugly."

She stayed still, her skin burning under his touch, heart aching at the vulnerability in his eyes.

"I hated you for leaving," he said, voice trembling slightly. "I hated you for making me weak. For making me love you so much that it hurt to breathe without you. And I thought if I took revenge, if I humiliated you enough… maybe it would stop hurting."

Tears slid down her temple, soaking into the pillow.

"But it never stopped," he admitted, forehead resting against hers. "Even when I made you cry, even when I forced you into this marriage… I was still that stupid boy who couldn’t sleep without hearing your voice."

His lips brushed against her forehead — soft, tender, nothing like the Rudra who had owned her body in rage and revenge.

Ayesha’s hands trembled as they rested on his chest. "If you loved me so much… why didn’t you ever ask why I left?"

His body stiffened. "Because the truth scared me more than the lie."

The weight of his confession settled between them like fragile glass — breakable with a single wrong word. But then, his lips found hers — slow, hesitant, like a man afraid to touch something he already destroyed.

This kiss was different — not brutal, not punishing. It was apology wrapped in desire, longing coated in regret.

Her hands slid up to his neck, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. His body pressed against hers, heat melting between silk sheets and broken hearts.

"Tell me to stop," he whispered against her lips. "If you hate me, tell me to stop."

But Ayesha couldn’t. Because despite everything — the pain, the humiliation, the hatred — she still loved him too.

Her silence was all the permission he needed.

His mouth claimed hers again, deeper this time, his hands exploring her body with the tenderness of a man touching a memory — afraid it would vanish if he held on too tightly. Clothes fell away between stolen kisses and whispered apologies. His fingers traced every mark he’d left on her skin, kissing each bruise like it physically hurt him to see.

"I’m sorry," he murmured against her collarbone. "For every time I hurt you. For every time I forgot how much I loved you."

Ayesha’s hands shook as they clutched his shoulders, pulling him closer. "Then show me," she whispered back. "Not with words. With this… with us."

He entered her slowly, reverently, like he was rewriting every cruel touch with something softer. They moved together, bodies finding a rhythm they’d lost years ago, a language only they knew. Each thrust was a confession. Each moan, a promise. Each tear, a piece of their broken love story stitched back together — painfully, beautifully.

And when it was over, Rudra didn’t pull away.

He stayed, holding her against his chest, his fingers tracing patterns on her back. "I’m still angry," he admitted softly. "But I’m also still yours… even if you never want me to be."

Ayesha pressed her ear against his heart, listening to the beat that still belonged to her. "We’re both broken," she whispered. "But maybe… maybe we can fix each other."

He kissed her hair, and for the first time in years, they fell asleep together, not as enemies… but as two shattered souls still searching for the pieces they lost in each other.

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End of Chapter 11