The palace was loud, drowning in music, chatter, and hurried footsteps of servants. Yet under the banyan tree in the courtyard, silence wrapped around Aayat and Ishika like a fragile shield.
Ishika gripped Aayat's hands tightly. "Aayu… I have to go back. Work won't wait, and the family has called me. I can't stay."
Aayat's voice broke, her eyes shimmering. "Without you… I'll be all alone here, Ishu."
Ishika pulled her close, pressing her forehead to hers. "No, you won't. I'll always be with you. Here." She tapped Aayat's chest. "No distance can break us. But promise me, Aayu—no matter what happens, don't let anyone steal you away from yourself."
Tears spilled, and Aayat hugged her like a lifeline. Ishika's voice trembled, but she smiled through it. "You're my sister. Even if I'm not here, you'll never walk alone."
The goodbye was soft, yet it tore Aayat apart. When Ishika finally left, her absence hollowed the world around her.
—
That night, Aayat sat curled on the floor of her chamber, muffling sobs into her palms. The vast room felt colder, emptier, unbearable without Ishika's warmth.
The heavy door opened. She stiffened, but she knew. His presence filled the space before he even spoke.
Anirudh walked toward her—calm, silent, dangerous in his quiet. Without asking, he sank down beside her and pulled her into his chest. His arms locked around her like iron shackles disguised as comfort.
"Let me go…" she whispered weakly, her tears wetting his shirt.
"No." His voice was low, unyielding. "Don't ever ask me that again."
She tried to push him back, but his grip only tightened. "You're suffocating me, Anirudh—"
His lips brushed against her temple, his tone chilling. "No, Aayat. I'm keeping you alive. You'll breathe only where I allow you to. You'll cry only in my arms. You'll belong only to me."
Her heart thundered, torn between fear and the safety his arms strangely offered. "Why are you doing this?" she whispered.
He lowered his mouth to her ear, each word soaked in dangerous devotion.
"Because even your pain is mine. Every tear that falls from your eyes is a debt, and I'll collect it all—until there's nothing left of you that isn't mine."
Her sobs softened, exhaustion overtaking fear. Seeing her weakening in his hold, he gathered her up easily, carrying her to the bed. He laid her down, pulling the blanket over her, but didn't release her.
She tried one last protest, her voice faint. "I don't… want this."
Anirudh leaned closer, pressing a kiss to her damp cheek. His words were velvet over steel.
"You don't have to want it. You only have to accept that you'll never escape it."
"Sleep, Aayat. Fight me if you must in the daylight. But tonight… you're mine."
He laid her down with the same careful firmness as a man setting a fragile thing into a box he meant to seal. The blanket came up, but his hands did not leave her. He settled beside her, his body a heat that pressed her to the mattress. For a long, loaded moment he simply watched her breathe.
Then he bent forward, his lips barely touching the hollow of her throat. The whisper that followed was soft enough that it might have been mistaken for a confession — except beneath the softness lay iron.
"Listen to me, Aayat," he murmured, each word deliberate, a blade wrapped in velvet. "You will wake in this room. You will eat in this house. You will laugh, if and when I allow it. You will cry in my arms and not for strangers. Every step you take, I will know. Every breath you draw, I will count. If your feet think to run, if your heart thinks to hide, I will close the doors you love and open the ones you fear until there is nothing left in you that is not mine."
He paused, a faint, terrible gentleness in his voice. "Do you understand? I will be patient. I will be relentless. I will be everything you did not ask for and everything you cannot imagine surviving without. I will bend the world so that it has only one centre — you, reflected in me."
His hand smoothed across her hair, unexpectedly tender, and then tightened at the nape of her neck as if anchoring her to him. "Tonight, I hold you. Tomorrow, I will begin to teach you what it means to be mine."
He pressed a final, possessive kiss to her forehead — not mercy, not blessing, but a seal. "Sleep now," he breathed, voice as close as breath. "Rest while you can. When dawn comes, the world will know: you belong to me."
He drew the blanket higher, his arm sweeping over her like a guardrail. Outside, the palace celebrated two marriages; inside the room, only the soft rasp of her breath marked life. He lay stiff and watchful, a dark sentinel who had promised himself to possess.
Aayat blinked once, the line between fear and exhaustion blurring, and then sleep took her.