The hours stretched into eternity, the suffocating silence of the room amplifying every unspoken word, every unacknowledged pain. Sanya remained curled up on the cold marble floor, exhaustion pulling at her limbs, but sleep refused to come.
Aarush had not moved from his place on the bed. He sat still, his back to her, as if even looking at her would ignite a fury he wasn't ready to unleash. His fingers gripped the glass of whiskey tightly, the liquid inside untouched for the past hour.
The night had stripped away the grandeur of the wedding. The golden embroidery of her lehenga now seemed dull, its richness a mockery of the emptiness in her heart. The vermillion in her hair—proof of her new identity as his wife—felt like a branding, a chain she hadn't chosen.
Her body ached from lying on the hard floor, her muscles stiff from the cold, but she made no move to adjust her position. Any slight sound, any movement, might draw his attention, and she wasn't sure if she had the strength to bear his hatred again.
Outside, the sky had begun to shift. The deep black of the night gave way to the hesitant hues of dawn, casting a pale glow through the open window. The cool morning breeze whispered through the curtains, stirring the remnants of the roses that had adorned the room.
The scent felt suffocating now.
Sanya exhaled slowly, her breath shaky, her fingers tightening around the sheer fabric of her dupatta. She had to be strong. She had endured worse.
But the weight of the night, of his words, of his cruel indifference—it was too much.
She turned her head slightly, her gaze settling on Aarush's rigid form. He hadn't slept either.
Was he haunted too?
Did the ghosts of their past torment him the way they did her?
She wanted to ask him.
She wanted to tell him that she had nightmares too. That she had spent years drowning in guilt for something she had never done. That she had prayed, every single night, for a way to undo what had happened.
But she knew it wouldn't matter.
To him, she was the reason for his pain.
And he wouldn't let her forget it.
Suddenly, Aarush moved.
He placed his glass on the table with a sharp clink, his fingers rubbing his temple as if trying to rid himself of a relentless headache. Then, without sparing her a glance, he rose to his feet.
Sanya stiffened, instinctively bracing herself.
He walked past her, his steps slow, calculated. For a moment, she thought he was leaving.
But then—he stopped.
Right beside her.
Her breath hitched as she felt his presence looming over her, the scent of whiskey and his cologne mixing into something unbearably suffocating.
He didn't speak.
She didn't dare move.
And then—he tossed something onto the floor beside her.
A blanket.
Sanya stared at it, her mind struggling to process the action. It was a simple thing, a light cover that barely held warmth, but in the vast ocean of his hatred, it was the closest thing to mercy.
She slowly lifted her gaze to him, searching for something—anything—in his expression.
But Aarush wasn't looking at her.
His jaw was clenched, his gaze locked on the window, as if the act itself was something he refused to acknowledge.
Then, without a word, he turned and walked away, stepping into the bathroom and shutting the door behind him.
Sanya swallowed the lump in her throat, her fingers trembling as she reached for the blanket.
It was barely warm.
But after a night spent drowning in ice, it felt like fire against her frozen skin.
She curled into it, pressing her face against the soft fabric, allowing herself the smallest relief.
The night had ended.
But she knew—this was only the beginning.
The first rays of sunlight spilled into the room, casting golden streaks across the cold marble floor where Sanya lay curled, wrapped in the thin blanket Aarush had thrown at her. It wasn't warmth—it wasn't comfort—but it was something.
She had barely drifted into a restless sleep when the sound of the bathroom door opening jolted her awake.
Aarush stepped out, his presence commanding the space even in silence. Dressed in a crisp white shirt, the top buttons undone, and his sleeves rolled up, he looked every bit the powerful man he had become. But Sanya didn't miss the exhaustion lining his face, the shadows beneath his sharp eyes.
He had not slept either.
She remained still, waiting for him to speak, to acknowledge her existence—but he simply walked past her, his indifference cutting deeper than words.
Her throat tightened.
Maybe that was worse.
The silent dismissal. The way he made her feel like she was nothing.
She pushed herself up slowly, her body aching from the night spent on the hard floor. The reality of her situation settled deep in her chest, heavy and suffocating.
Aarush stood in front of the mirror, adjusting his cuffs with slow precision. His reflection flickered in the glass, his expression unreadable.
Then, finally, he spoke.
"Get ready," he said coldly. "We're leaving in an hour."
Sanya frowned. "Leaving?"
He turned slightly, his gaze flicking to her. "My house isn't your prison. If you want to sit and sulk, do it somewhere else."
Her fingers curled into the fabric of her lehenga. "Where are we going?"
Aarush exhaled sharply, as if her voice alone irritated him. "To the estate."
The estate.
His empire. His kingdom built on steel, sweat, and power. The place that belonged to him and him alone.
He had no family, no one to answer to.
Just his wealth. His influence. His control.
And now—her.
Sanya swallowed hard. "I—"
"Don't waste my time," Aarush cut her off, grabbing his blazer. "You're my wife now. That means you play the part."
Wife.
The word sent a shiver down her spine. Not because of what it meant—but because of how easily he used it, despite the venom in his voice.
She wouldn't argue.
Not when she knew it wouldn't change anything.
Aarush studied her for a moment longer, then, without another word, strode toward the door. But just before he stepped out, he hesitated.
His fingers curled around the doorknob, knuckles turning white.
Then—
"Don't expect kindness from me, Sanya," he said, his voice devoid of warmth. "I may have married you, but that doesn't mean I've forgiven you."
The door shut behind him.
And with it, any lingering hope she had foolishly held on to.