(Rudra’s POV)

The last car disappeared down the driveway, leaving silence in its wake. Rudra stood at the window, a glass of whiskey dangling from his fingers, his reflection staring back at him. The mask he wore all evening — the perfect husband, the powerful king — cracked the moment the door closed.

Behind him, Ayesha stood like a fragile doll dressed in silk and emeralds. The jewels glittered like chains, trapping her in the role of Mrs. Rudra Thakur — a role he forced upon her at gunpoint.

He hated her. He loved her. He wanted to destroy her. He wanted to hold her.

"Take it off," he said, voice cold.

She flinched slightly, but her hands moved to remove the heavy necklace, the bangles, the earrings. Each piece hit the dresser with a soft metallic clink, echoing in the quiet room.

"All of it."

Her fingers trembled as she untied the saree, letting the fabric pool at her feet, leaving her in only her blouse and petticoat. Rudra’s gaze dragged over her skin — the bruises he left, the marks of his revenge — and something dark twisted in his chest.

"You played your part well tonight." He took a slow sip of whiskey, watching her from over the rim. "My partners think I’m a lucky man."

Her voice was quiet. "Aren’t you?"

The glass slammed down onto the table, shattering the silence. "Lucky?" He strode toward her, fingers gripping her jaw hard enough to bruise. "You think I’m lucky to have a woman who lied to me? Who left me for money?"

Her tears were instant, sliding down her cheeks silently, but he didn’t let go.

"Three years, Ayesha. Three fucking years I lived with that betrayal. Do you know what that did to me?"

Her lips trembled, but she didn’t speak. She knew the truth wouldn’t matter — not yet. Not when his hate was still louder than his love.

"Say something," he growled, shaking her slightly. "Defend yourself. Lie to me again if you dare."

She swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper. "What’s the point? You’ve already decided I’m guilty."

His grip loosened, but he didn’t step back. His thumb traced her lower lip, rougher than necessary. "I respected you tonight," he said softly. "Because no matter what you are… you’re mine."

The word burned between them — mine — heavier than gold, sharper than glass.

"That respect ends now," he added darkly.

Before she could react, he spun her around, pushing her against the wall. Her palms hit the cold surface, and he pressed his body against hers, his breath hot on her neck.

"You want to know why I didn’t humiliate you in front of them?" he whispered. "Because no man alive gets to see you broken except me."

His hand slid down her spine, over her bruised waist, gripping her hip with bruising force. "No one touches what’s mine. No one sees what I see. Your tears, your cries, your shame — they belong to me."

Ayesha’s breathing was ragged, her mind caught between fear and something darker — something that terrified her more than his touch.

The fact that, even after everything, her body still remembered loving him.

"You’re a monster," she whispered.

He spun her back to face him, slamming his palm against the wall beside her head. "And you made me this way," he hissed. "When you walked away, you killed the man who loved you. This—" he gestured to himself, to the cruel version of Rudra — "This is your creation."

Tears slid down her face, but she didn’t look away. "I didn’t leave for money."

"Liar."

"I didn’t—" Her voice broke, but she forced the words out. "I left to save you."

His body went still. For a heartbeat, the air froze between them. But then his jaw clenched, his hand gripping her chin again. "Don’t you dare rewrite history to ease your guilt."

He pulled back abruptly, pacing the room like a caged animal. "I should punish you," he muttered. "I should make you beg for forgiveness."

She stood there, trembling, but not from fear alone. "Then do it," she whispered. "Hurt me. If that’s what it takes to make you feel better… then do it."

Rudra’s fist hit the wall, knuckles splitting against the plaster. "Stop making me feel guilty for hating you!" he roared.

The words stunned them both.

For a moment, the only sound was their ragged breathing, the storm of emotions neither could control.

Finally, Rudra turned his back to her. "Get out of my sight," he said hoarsely. "Before I forget I still have some control left."

Ayesha didn’t move at first. But then she gathered her saree from the floor, wrapping it around herself like armor, and walked toward the door.

Before she left, she glanced back at him — this man she once loved, now a stranger wearing his face.

And for the first time, she saw it. Not just hate. Not just revenge. But a man drowning in his own guilt, his own love, his own darkness.

"Goodnight, Rudra," she whispered.

The door closed softly behind her, leaving Rudra alone with his ghosts — and the love he couldn’t kill.

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End of Chapter 8

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