He thought that tear was because of that guard's hit. So he whispered, voice low and bitter, "Don't cry because of them... cry because of me. Only I have that right." Her eyes widened faintly, confusion mixing with pain — before her lashes fell shut. Then he lifted Siya's limp body carefully in his arms. A strand of her hair brushed against his face as he carried her upstairs.
He laid her down gently on the bed of his room, brushed his thumb across her cheek, and whispered almost to himself, "Aapne apna dard khud shuru kiya hai, Siya Trivedi. And soon everyone will suffer with whom you are involved."(You have started your pain by yourself) And then he walked away into the darkness, towards his grandfather's room.
The corridors of the haveli stretched endlessly under the dim lights, the silence broken only by his heavy footsteps. Every servant he passed bowed their head, too afraid to even breathe in his presence.
But tonight, even his anger felt hollow. He'd left her lying unconscious in his room — her face pale, traces of dried tears on his cheek as well the slap mark, her pulse faint but steady. That last sight haunted him with every steps.
She slapped me.
No one had ever dared. Not even his rivals, Not even his family. Yet, when her small hand landed right across his cheek, it hadn't enraged him the way it should have. It was different. It had... unsettled him the way he can't even understand.
"Hukum sa," one of the guard stammered while opening the heavy door, "Doctor sahib aapka intezar kar rahe hai." (The doctor is waiting for you.) He just nodded and entered the grand bedroom which now smelled like medicine. On the bed, lay an old man — weak, his head bandaged, eyes tired but awake. The moment he saw his grandson, he smiled faintly. "Avinash", he rasped. That one word — his name — broke the silence he had built around himself. "Dadaji," he said quietly pulling the chair beside the bed. For the first time that night, his voice wasn't harsh. "You're awake."
The doctor nodded. "He regained consciousness just an hour ago. It's a miracle he survived that poison." Avinash's gaze hardened. "I have found the one responsible. She won't see the daylight again." The old man chuckled weakly. "Still the same, hmm? Always ready to destroy the world for me." Avinash looked down. "They tried to poison you, Dadaji. You could've—" His throat tightened.
"Sit here", his grandfather murmured, placing a trembling hand on bed. "Bhairav told me everything." He suddenly looked in the direction where bhairav was standing with fire in his eyes. Bhairav is the right hand man of Avinash who could take lives as well as give his life for him. He could do anything for him. Bhairav looked down immediately, because Avinash doesn't like when these matters are opened up with the family member. How he handles things and all. But Bhairav didn't have a choice. After all, that old man is the elder and even his hukumsa's grandfather, how could he disobey him? His grandfather continued," Usse ghur ne ki zaroorat nahi hai. Usne wahi kiya jo humne kaha. And there's something you must know."(There's no need to stare at him. He did exactly what he was told to.)
Avinash turned his eyes towards his grandfather. "That day, when I was at the restaurant..." The old man paused to breathe. "I forgot my wallet. I didn't have the heart to ask my men for money. If i'd then you might get to know that I've started eating outside food again. But one girl... a stranger... she paid my bill." He smiled faintly remembering the memory. "Two hundred and twenty-five rupees. She refused to take it back. She said, 'Bhagwan sab dekhte hain, baba. Paise se bada karam hota hai."' Avinash frowned. "What was her name?" "I didn't ask, she left hurriedly before i could ask", his grandfather replied softly. "But she was wearing a yellow dupatta. Kind eyes."
Avinash's breath caught. Yellow dupatta. Siya had been wearing one that day — the same shade he'd seen in the CCTV footage. Avinash's jaw tightened, his fist clenched at his side. She was the same girl who had dared harm his dadaji with his enemy and now she will see the hell. "Dadaji," he said after a pause , his voice low but edged with steel, "Yes, she is the one who had harm you and the chef himself confessed. He said that girl... was involved. He didn't know much but — only that she was seen near your table before and after the food was served."
His grandfather smiles faintly. "And you believed him?" Avinash frowned upon hearing this. What does he mean? I believed that chef. The old man sighed. "Avi", he said softly. "I've lived long enough to see the difference between a sinner and a pure soul. That girl... whoever she is, she cannot be the one. Her eyes — they spoke of faith, not deceit. Even if I met her for a minute, I could tell."
Avinash's lips parted to argue, "You didn't even knew her. How could you defend her? And if guards haven't seen you near the table lying in blood —" he couldn't complete his sentence further. Emotions took over him. "And yet", the old man replied, "I know what I saw in her eyes. Kindness. The kind that doesn't vanish— even in strangers. Sometimes, one glance is enough to read a person's heart." He continued,"And about the blood, I hit my head on the table when I lost consciousness and couldn't stand anymore. It wasn't her fault."
The words struck deep inside him — something he doesn't want to name as well as feel. For a moment, Siya's face flashed before him. Those same eyes that had looked at him with courage and hurt. And the tears that had fallen — because of him.
He stood abruptly, the chair scrapping against the floor. "Rest, Dadaji. Don't worry. I'll handle everything". "Avinash..", the old man called out, but he was already walking towards the door, his silence heavier. "I've some work, we'll talk later", he replied.
The corridors stretched long and cold as he descended the stairs — each step echoing like a warning. He walked straight towards the basement. There were a total of 10 guards standing outside the basements. As soon as they saw there Hukum Sa, they bowed their heads. But Avinsh passed them and entered the gate.
Inside, the chef's wrist and legs were tied with ropes. He was on the ground, trembling with fear. In the corner , the guard who had hit Siya with the gun, was crumpled against the wall, his face bruised and his eyes full of fear. Avinash sat on the throne like chair which was present there, eyes fixed on the chef, completely ignoring the presence of that guard.
"So," he began, pulling a thin silver knife from his inner pocket. The steel shined in that dim light room. "Tell me the name of the man who sent you." The chef shook his head. His eyes wide and his lips were trembling from the fear. "I don't know anything, Hukum sa", he choked out. Avinash laughed like a madman. "But how do you know I'm the hukum sa!? You are from Mumbai, right?" The chef's eyes widened in pure horror. He began shaking his head in No. "I.. I.. I don't know anything", he choked out, a desperate lie. Avinash's patience snapped.
He stood up and knelt, grasping the man's chin tightly, pulling him towards him. "A lie", he whispered calmly, but his voice was more dangerous. "Lies hurt", and with that he pressed the tip of the knife just beneath the man's collarbone and dragged it lightly across the skin, leaving a fine line, from which blood was oozing out. A desperate cry escaped from that chef's mouth. Avinash just said two words, "The name", but that words could shook the entire life of that chef.
As soon as he pressed the knife deeper into the chef's body, he started sobbing, still shaking his head, unable to speak the truth. "Please, Hukum... Please Hukum sa, I.. I can't! They told me not to speak! My wife... my children..."
Avinash smiled — but that was not a smile, it was cold and terrifying. "I admire your loyalty. But it is foolishly misplaced." He then shifted the knife's position, pressing the sharp point hard against the man's right index fingernail, directly at the cuticles. The chef screamed so loudly, that it shattered the silence of the stone like basement. Avinash methodically used the point to separate the nail from the flesh, applying slow, continuous pressure, like it's the most natural thing in the world. "Each one of your finger will tell a different story, Chef," Avinash said, his voice flat, deprived of any emotion. "Or you tell me the only truth that matters".
Finally the chef broke completely. He collapsed, begging, crying, the pain and the fear overwhelming. "Stop! Please I beg you, stop!" he screamed, tears streaming down his face, mixing with the blood. "She was a great bait! A great bait to save my family! They told me if I said anything, if I opened my mouth, my wife and children would be dead before morning! I had to save them! So I used her, because except her there was no one near your grandfather and I thought, that way I can save myself."
Avinash straightened. "A great bait," he repeated, his eyes devoid of pity. "And who is the mastermind behind this?" The chef whispered the name: "Vishal... Vishal Kapoor"
Avinash's face darkened. He pulled a heavy handgun from the back of his belt. "You should have talked sooner", he stated. "You see, Vishal Kapoor is not a man who leaves loose ends. The moment he heard I had you, he would have known you were a liability." He leveled the gun at the trembling man. "Your family", he huffed. "They would have been long dead before you ever uttered his name. He cut you all , the second he got to know you were taken." The chef's eyes shimmered with tears, and then realization hit him. Avinash sighed heavily. "Perhaps... Perhaps if you hadn't lied, if you had chosen loyalty to the truth over a lie to save your family, there would have been a hope. But now.. It is too late".
Without another word, Avinash fired twice. The sound of the bullets echoed in that room. The chef now laid lifeless on the ground. Avinash pushed the gun back into its place at his hip. He then looked down at the dead man for a brief second, then turned his gaze towards the paralyzed guard in the corner. Her face, that lone tear which he thought was for guard flashed in his mind again. The way she had collapsed. The tear that wasn't meant for anyone but him. He stepped closer, his voice low but dangerous, "You made a mistake when you hit her". He further continued, "Even if you didn't know she was innocent then, you should've known better than to touch what belongs to me. If anyone is to hurt her, it will be me, my hand and mine alone". He paused, the words a promise and a warning.
His gaze flicked towards bhairav who had entered the basement while he was torturing the chef. He didn't speak. His eyes, cold and demanding, were enough— they conveyed the brutality that required, a command for punishment that would last until the man begged for the peace of death. "Jo Hukum, Hukum sa", Bhairav muttered instantly, lowering his head in obedience.
Avinash turned and walked out — his footsteps echoing like a lion stepping out of its den.
_______________________________
Avinash's POV:
I was moving fast, yet my mind was miles away. What had I done? The question wasn't about the chef — it was about the room I was walking toward.
A sudden sharp image flashed: Siya's tear-streaked face, not from the hall, but from the moment I had forced the wedding mangalsutra around her neck. I still didn't have a clean answer for that sudden, reckless act of possession. Was it truly because she had dared to call me mannerless, or was it because she had looked me in the eye and called me a coward for relying on my gun and my guards? Whatever the reason, the consequences were: I had dragged this woman into my world, and she had been brutally hurt because of me.
Guilt. It wasn't a familiar feeling in my world, there was only responsibility, power and revenge. But this was different. Marriage was different. It tied her fate irreversibly to me, and it gave me a terrifying sense of ownership and accountability.
And she was not just any victim. I had learned one thing tonight: she was different from others. She matched my energy, not with the strength of arms, but with an unparalleled strength of will. She didn't accept disrespect, even when her life was on the line. She had slapped me — the untouchable Avinash Singh Rathore — knowing full well that a single movement could have ended her life.
I reached the heavy door of my room, my hand stopped before the polished brass handle. "Siya Trived. No Siya Avinash Singh Rathore". She was innocent, she was hurt, and now she belongs to me. And I had this terrifying feeling in my heart which I couldn't name it.
As I entered my room, my gaze fell on the girl who was sleeping without any care in the world. My mind screamed at me to leave the room right away, but my feet betrayed me. Step-by-step, they carried me near her until i found myself sitting on the edge of the bed. My eyes were fixed on her fragile form.
I didn't know what i was doing. Maybe i just wanted to check that she was alright. Maybe i wanted answers that her closed eyes couldn't give. My gaze lingered on her face — the faint trail of dried tears, glistening under the dim light — reminding me of her pain. Then my eyes shifted to her right wrist. The sight of dried blood made my chest tighten.
Without thinking, I reached for the drawer beside the bed, pulled out the first aid kit and started bandaging her wrist. I moved carefully, as if the slightest pressure might hurt her again. She stirred, but didn't wake. For a moment, I just sat there, watching her chest rose and fell, remembering the first sight of her —
Those eyes... small, brown, like honey, full of confusion and a thousand of unspoken questions. A loose strand of hair kissing her cheek, and her lips — soft pink, speaking something — had looked almost too delicate for the chaos around the mandap. She was wearing a pink lehenga, her dupatta draped gracefully across her shoulder, looking like she belongs to a world of light and calm ... not this one.
I couldn't tear my eyes away then, and i couldn't now as well.
But then reality struck — the reason I was there, who she was, and what she had done. The memory of the mandap burned in my mind still now. During the ceremony, I had forced myself not to look at her, afraid that even one glance at her tears would break something inside me. So i hadn't looked at her once — not in my private jet, not in the car, not even when we entered the mansion. I reminded myself again and again that – She was the reason my grandfather is suffering. Everytime i closed my eyes, i saw his bloodied forehead, the doctor informing us that he had been poisoned. And then her — Siya — daring to call him buddha in that careless, disrespectful tone.
My blood boiled all over again. Rage clouded every thought and before i could stop myself, my hand moved on its own — and i slapped her. Hard. The sound still echoed in my ears. And then she slapped me back. Me. She slapped me.
And yet, one thing is for sure — I wasn't going to let her go. Not now. Not ever.
Was it love? No
I refused to call it that. Because Avinash Singh Rathore can't fall in Love.
It wasn't love — i know that for sure. She is my wife now. Mine. She belongs to me. And whether she liked it or not, she will stay with me... no matter what.
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