The ride to Rudra’s mansion was silent, except for the sound of Ayesha’s uneven breath. Her wrists throbbed where his fingers had dug into her skin, but the pain wasn’t just physical. It was the weight of every mistake, every lie, every shattered piece of their past pressing down on her.

She sat beside him in the backseat, her bridal lehenga pooling around her feet like spilled blood. Rudra didn’t speak. He just sat there, one arm draped across the back of the seat, his other hand wrapped around a glass of whiskey, the ice clinking softly as the car jolted forward.

When they reached his estate — a sprawling mansion wrapped in shadows and guarded by men with guns — Ayesha’s stomach twisted. This was no home. It was a cage.

Rudra dragged her inside, his grip unforgiving. The heavy doors slammed shut behind them, the sound echoing like the closing of a tomb.

Without a word, he shoved her against the wall, his palm braced beside her head. The soft fabric of her dupatta slid down, leaving her exposed to his brutal gaze.

“Three years,” he said, his voice low, dangerous. “Three years I spent turning into this man, Ayesha. Because of you.”

She swallowed hard, trying to find her voice. “Rudra, I—”

His hand closed around her throat, not enough to choke, but enough to remind her who held all the power now.

“Shut up,” he growled. “You don’t get to speak. Not after what you did.”

His eyes scanned her face, his grip loosening just slightly — as if some part of him still remembered the girl he used to worship. But then that softness was gone, buried beneath the cold fury that had become his second skin.

He spun her around, pushing her toward the grand staircase. “You wanted a rich husband, didn’t you? Congratulations, Mrs. Thakur. Now you belong to the richest devil in the city.”

Ayesha stumbled up the stairs, her heart pounding in her chest. Rudra’s footsteps followed closely behind, like a predator stalking prey. When they reached his bedroom — their bedroom — he shoved the door open, the force so strong it rattled the frame.

“Take off that dress,” he ordered.

Her breath caught. “Rudra, please—”

“Now.”

Her trembling hands reached for the pins holding her dupatta, her fingers clumsy with fear. The silk slid down her shoulders, pooling at her feet. The rest of her bridal outfit followed, leaving her standing there in only the thin slip beneath — her skin goosebumped under his cold stare.

Rudra stepped closer, lifting her chin with brutal gentleness. “Do you know how many nights I dreamed of this?” His thumb traced her lower lip, the touch both tender and cruel. “Of making you mine again… only this time, with no love. Just punishment.”

Ayesha’s eyes filled with tears, but she didn’t let them fall. “I never stopped loving you.”

The slap came so fast, she didn’t see it coming. Her cheek burned, her head snapping to the side.

“Don’t lie to me!” Rudra roared. “You left me for a richer man — told me I was nothing but your plaything. And now you expect me to believe you loved me?”

Her lip trembled, but she lifted her chin. “I lied to save you, Rudra. You were in danger, and the only way to protect you was to break your heart.”

He laughed — cold, bitter. “What a beautiful story, wife. Too bad I don’t believe in fairy tales anymore.”

He grabbed her wrist, dragging her toward the bed. “From now on, Ayesha, you will sleep beside the man you betrayed. You will wake up every morning knowing you belong to me — body, soul, and ruin.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but his lips crashed down on hers — not a kiss of love, but of punishment. It was bruising, relentless, the taste of whiskey and rage filling her mouth.

When he finally pulled back, his breathing was ragged, his pupils blown wide. “Welcome to your new life, Mrs. Thakur. You wanted money? Power? Now you have both — and a monster to go with it.”

He left her standing there, trembling in the middle of the room, as he poured himself another drink and disappeared onto the balcony, leaving her alone with her tears and her shattered heart.

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