The morning light filtered through the sheer curtains, golden rays stretching lazily across the royal chamber. Aayat stirred awake, her body aching with unfamiliar heaviness. The thin fabric of her saree blouse clung uncomfortably, but what made her freeze was the sharp sting along her collarbone. She blinked slowly, her heart sinking as memory rushed back—Anirudh's lips, his relentless kisses, the way he had claimed every inch of her face and neck until she had lost her breath.
She turned her face slightly, dreading what she might see. Anirudh was lying beside her, still shirtless, his arm draped across her waist as though he owned not only her body but her very existence. His breathing was even, calm, his features resting in dangerous serenity.
Aayat tried to move, gently lifting his arm, but the slightest shift made his grip tighten. His fingers pressed firmly, pulling her closer until her back collided with his chest. His lips brushed her hair as he murmured in his sleep-like haze, "You're not going anywhere."
Her breath hitched. Even in his half-sleep, he knew her every thought.
When she finally gathered courage to glance in the mirror across the room, her stomach knotted. Her skin was marked—tiny bruises and darkened hickeys scattered along her neck, shoulders, and collarbones. The sight made her shiver with shame.
What am I becoming? How much more of me will he take? she thought, her eyes stinging. But a part of her couldn't ignore the strange softness in his hold, as though he feared letting go would mean losing something far greater than she understood.
---
Anirudh stirred awake minutes later. His eyes opened slowly, locking instantly on her. He didn't blink, didn't smile—just watched her with that unreadable intensity.
"You're awake," Aayat whispered nervously, shifting under his arm.
His lips curved in the faintest shadow of amusement. "I could say the same about you, but you've been trying to sneak away since dawn." His hand slid up, cupping her jaw, tilting her face to meet his gaze. "And here I thought my bride would wake me with a kiss."
"Please…" she whispered, her voice trembling. "Don't… don't do this."
His eyes darkened instantly, the softness gone. "Don't do what, Aayat? Don't remind you that you belong to me? Don't remind you of last night, when you let me kiss you until you trembled?"
"That wasn't—"
"Don't lie." His tone was sharp, cutting. He pressed his forehead against hers, his voice dropping to a whisper that chilled her spine. "You can lie to the world, you can lie to yourself, but don't ever lie to me. I can read your body better than you ever will."
Her lips parted in protest, but no words came.
He kissed her forehead lightly, deliberately soft after his harshness. "Get ready. The family awaits us for breakfast. And…" he traced her collarbone with one finger, making her shiver, "…cover these marks, or else they will know exactly how I spent my night."
---
The dining hall was alive with the fragrance of saffron and spices, the clinking of silver cutlery echoing against marble walls. The royal family was already seated when Aayat and Anirudh entered.
Aayat's steps faltered, her hands nervously clutching the end of her dupatta to hide her neck. She could still feel the bruises burning under the fabric.
Anirudh, however, walked in with the unbothered grace of a king, his hand resting lightly on her lower back as if guiding her like a possession on display. He pulled out her chair himself, an act that shocked the others, but his smirk suggested he enjoyed their widened eyes.
As soon as they began eating, Aayat reached for her spoon with her right hand, but Anirudh caught her wrist under the table. Her eyes darted to him in panic, but his grip only tightened, forcing her to awkwardly switch to her left.
Rajveer chuckled from across the table. "Bhabhi ji, I didn't know you were left-handed."
Heat flooded her cheeks. She tried to free her hand under the table, but Anirudh laced his fingers tighter through hers, his thumb stroking slow, deliberate circles on her palm.
Rajmata's sharp eyes missed nothing. "It seems our younger king has finally found someone who can tame him," she remarked, her voice rich with amusement.
The table erupted in light laughter, the sound echoing like cruel bells in Aayat's ears. She wanted to disappear, to run. But Anirudh's grip wouldn't let her. His thumb pressed firmly, almost possessively, grounding her to him.
Every bite she took was torture. Every time she tried to pull away, his hold only grew firmer.
When the meal ended, and the family dispersed, Anirudh leaned close, his lips brushing her ear. "See? They already know. You can hide behind silence, behind your dupatta, but your body speaks louder. And soon, you'll stop fighting it."
---
Later, in the privacy of his chamber, Aayat finally snapped.
"Why do you do this?" she burst out, her voice trembling but fierce. "Why can't you let me breathe? Why do you hold me as if I'm your prisoner instead of your wife?"
Anirudh tilted his head, studying her as though she were a puzzle. Then he moved closer, his presence suffocating. "Because, Aayat… you are both. My wife. My prisoner. My salvation. My ruin. Do you understand now?"
Her throat went dry. "That's not love, Anirudh."
His jaw clenched. "Don't tell me what love is." He grabbed her wrist, pulling her against his chest. "Love is not soft poetry, Aayat. Love is blood. It is hunger. It is obsession. And mine for you is endless."
She tried to push him away, but his grip only tightened, his other hand cupping the back of her neck. "You think I don't see the fear in your eyes? Good. Fear keeps you close. But don't mistake it—I'll protect you from everyone else, even from yourself."
Her tears slipped, but his thumb brushed them away almost tenderly. His eyes softened for a heartbeat. "Eat when I feed you. Sleep when I hold you. Smile when I command it. That is all I ask."
"And if I refuse?" she whispered, broken.
His lips curved into a chilling smile. "Then I will teach you how to forget the word refuse."
He leaned in, kissing her forehead again, slow and deliberate, his obsession cloaked in the gentleness of the act.
---
That night, Aayat lay on her side of the bed, her mind a whirlwind. She hated him, feared him… yet somewhere deep inside, his words, his touches, his contradictions—care laced with cruelty—were starting to wrap around her soul like invisible chains.
And Anirudh Singh Rathore, lying silently beside her, watched her every movement, every breath, his mind echoing with a single, dangerous truth.
She was already his. The rest was only a matter of time.