Nayan's POV

I slowly stepped out of Thakurain ji's room, my heart pounding in my chest. Each step felt heavier than the last, and I could feel the sting in my feet from the weight of the day's events. My legs wobbled, and it felt as though the ground beneath me was shaking. The plush carpet underfoot felt like quicksand, pulling me deeper into the reality I couldn't escape.

I tried to steady my breath, but the suffocating atmosphere of this mansion pressed down on me, making it difficult to breathe. My hands trembled, and I clenched them into fists, trying to ground myself. I felt like crying. 

This is my life now.

I thought, feeling the reality of my situation settle like a heavy stone in my chest. Every word Thakurain ji had spoken echoed in my mind.

His happiness is your responsibility.

Suddenly, I heard the faint sound of footsteps behind me. Startled, I quickly turned around, my heart skipping a beat. Standing there was Jyoti ji, Thakurain's personal aide.

She was a petite woman with a composed demeanor, her face always set in a mask of professionalism. But tonight, there was something in her eyes—perhaps a hint of pity or concern—that made my anxiety spike even higher. She had been with the Thakur family for years, and though she was a servant, her loyalty to Thakurain ji made her a powerful presence in this house.

"Come with me, Choti Thakurain," Jyoti ji said with a respectful bow of her head.

"You can call me Nayan," I replied, my voice softening. "I'm much younger than you."

She glanced at me briefly, her expression unwavering. 

"Choti Thakurain, this is the custom of this family. I have to abide by them."

"Okay..." I murmured, accepting her words with a sigh.

"Come with me," she repeated, her voice gentle but firm. 

I hesitated for a moment, then nodded, falling into step behind her.  I was led through the same claustrophobic corridor, but this time I managed to steady myself a little better. The walls still seemed to close in on me, but I focused on keeping my breathing even, my steps firm. After a few minutes, we reached the staircase that led upstairs, and soon we were standing in front of a large, intricately carved door leading to Yashvardhan Thakur's room.

Jyoti ji turned back to me, her expression calm but serious. 

"Please go inside," she instructed. "Thakur ji will be coming shortly."

I nodded, my throat too tight to speak. Without another word, Jyoti ji gave me a slight bow, then turned and walked away, leaving me alone in front of the door.

The silence that followed was almost deafening, the stillness of the hallway pressing down on me. I stared at the door, the heavy wood seeming to loom larger with each passing second. This was it—the moment I had been dreading, the culmination of all the anxieties that had been building up since the day Sadhna Thakur decided to wed me to her son.

I want to go home. 

With a deep breath, I reached out and grasped the cold metal handle. My hand trembled slightly, but I willed myself to be strong. I pushed the door open and stepped inside, the air in the room cool and still, as if holding its breath in anticipation.

The room was dimly lit, with dark, heavy drapes drawn over the windows, blocking out most of the moonlight. The decor was as intimidating as the rest of the mansion—dark colors and an overall sense of foreboding.

The curtains were black-washed, heavy, and devoid of any embellishment, casting the room in a somber gloom. The walls were bare, stripped of any decor or personal touch, making the space feel cold and unwelcoming. It was as if I had stepped into a prison cell rather than the room of a man. 

There was no sign of life—no photographs, no mementos, nothing that hinted at the personality or preferences of the person who lived here. The emptiness of the room mirrored the emptiness I felt inside, a hollow, echoing void that swallowed any semblance of comfort.

A shiver ran through my spine as my eyes settled on the bed at the middle of the room. It was large, imposing, and covered in dark, heavy linens that matched the room's somber tone. My mind raced with unsettling thoughts, flashes of possible scenarios that made my stomach churn with fear. The idea of being forced by him, of having no choice in what was to come, sent a wave of panic crashing over me.

Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring my vision. I blinked rapidly, trying to keep them from falling, but it was no use. The dread that had been building inside me all day finally broke through, and a single tear escaped, sliding down my cheek.

I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to find some semblance of comfort in the midst of this suffocating dread. The room felt even colder now, as if the very walls were conspiring to drain the warmth from my body, leaving me vulnerable and exposed.

I wanted to run, to escape from this place and from the terrifying uncertainty that lay ahead. But I knew there was no escape. This was my reality now—my duty, my fate. And no amount of tears could change that.

Suddenly, the door burst open with a jolt, slamming against the wall with a loud, thunderous crash that echoed through the room. I flinched, my heart skipping a beat as I looked up, my breath catching in my throat.

There he stood—Yashvardhan Thakur, my husband, or more specifically, the man who would claim ownership of my soul tonight. His tall, imposing figure was framed by the doorway, casting a long, ominous shadow that stretched toward me.

His eyes were a watery, bloodshot red, glowing with a wild, untamed fury as if the beast within him had been unleashed, ready to devour me at any moment. His entire bulky frame was trembling, each muscle taut and quivering as though he had been drugged. The veins in his neck and arms bulged, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, and his breath came in ragged, uneven gasps. 

However, his gaze wavered, flickering between rage and something else, something less certain. His eyes darted from the bed to the floor, then back to me, as if he was struggling to keep his focus, fighting an internal battle that was pulling him apart.

It was as though he was losing himself, his mind slipping through his fingers, unable to hold on to a single thought for more than a fleeting second. The wildness in his eyes was still there, but now it was tinged with confusion, like a predator unsure of its prey.

"Run!" He growled, his voice reverberating through the room like the growl of a wounded beast. The sheer force of it made me flinch. 

His command was not just a warning—it was a desperate plea, a cry torn from deep within him as if he was fighting against something dark and uncontrollable inside himself. But I was rooted to the spot, my legs refusing to move even as my mind screamed at me to run, to escape before it was too late. 

"I said run!" He roared, his voice booming through the room with a ferocity that made my heart leap into my throat. "Lock yourself in the balcony!"

No doubt this was not just a suggestion—it was a lifeline, a way to protect me from whatever darkness was threatening to engulf him.

Without another thought, I turned on my heel and sprinted towards the balcony, my heart racing as I fumbled with the latch. My hands trembled uncontrollably, the urgency in his voice echoing in my ears as I struggled to get the door open.

Finally, the latch gave way, and I stumbled onto the balcony, slamming the glass door shut behind me. I turned the lock with shaky hands. 

I pressed my back on the railing, breathing heavily and closing my eyes shut. The night air was cool against my flushed skin, but it did little to calm the storm of fear swirling inside me. I could still hear his heavy breathing from the other side of the door.

I opened my eyes just in time to see him shakily shut the door behind him. His tall frame seemed to collapse as he crumpled to the ground, knees hitting the floor with a dull thud. The sight was jarring, this powerful man reduced to such a vulnerable state.

His hands traveled to his long hair, fingers clutching the dark strands with an almost desperate intensity. He pulled at them, undoing the loose and messy ponytail that had barely held together, as if the act could somehow release the turmoil raging inside him.

He crawled towards the tea table and his hand reached out, gripping one of the table's legs with a desperate strength. As he pulled it towards him, his body sagged against the effort, and the table lurched forward, colliding with the edge of the sofa.

The impact sent the table toppling over, its glass surface shattering upon hitting the floor. The sound of breaking glass echoed through the room, sharp and jarring, as shards scattered in all directions. He didn't flinch as the pieces flew around him, didn't seem to notice the cuts that must have formed on his hands. Instead, he remained there, clutching the table leg as though it was the only thing anchoring him to reality.

Blood trickled down his palm as he gripped his forehead, the red liquid stark against his pale skin. His fingers dug into his scalp, smearing the blood across his forehead, but he seemed oblivious to the pain. The sight of him, so wounded and lost, sent a surge of panic through me.

Without thinking, I rushed to unlatch the door, desperate to reach out to him, to help in any way I could. My heart pounded in my chest, the instinct to care for him overriding the fear I had felt just moments before.

But as soon as I began to push the door open, his voice cut through the air as he shouted.

"Don't come near me!"

I froze, the door halfway open, my hand still on the latch. The intensity of his command sent a chill down my spine, and I could see the wild, untamed look in his eyes as he glanced up at me. It was as if he was battling with himself, struggling to keep whatever darkness he harbored at bay.

"Move back!" he shouted, his voice a strained growl that left no room for argument.

I didn't waste another second. I stepped back quickly, my pulse racing as I closed the door, retreating to the other side.

The chilly wind hitting my skin didn't help calm my frayed nerves.

But then suddenly, I smelled something burning—something rotten and acrid. The scent was unmistakable, a sharp, unpleasant odor that cut through the cold night air. It made my stomach churn and my senses snap to attention. 

I took a moment and realized the smell was traveling from downstairs. I bent over the railing, my heart racing as I peered down the staircase. The sight that greeted me made my breath catch in my throat: black smoke was billowing out of a window in one of the rooms below. The thick, dark clouds of smoke curled and twisted, filling the air with an ominous presence.

Through the smoke, I could see flickers of flames dancing against the window, their glow casting an eerie light that flickered in the dim hallway. The sight was both terrifying and urgent.

Panic surged through me. But then I heard another loud bang from the room, followed by a gut-wrenching scream. I pushed open the balcony door and ran inside, my heart racing with fear and urgency.

The scene inside was chaotic. Thakur ji was in the midst of a violent frenzy, smashing anything within reach. His eyes were wild, filled with a mixture of pain and rage, as he threw objects against the walls and floor. His anguished screams pierced through the air, echoing off the walls and intensifying the sense of dread in the room.

"Aahhh!" He screamed at the top of his lungs, his voice a raw, tormented howl that reverberated through the space.

The room was a mess of shattered glass and overturned furniture. Everything felt disoriented and surreal. I was paralyzed. The uncertainty of how to react was overwhelming. Every instinct told me to escape, but my concern for Thakur ji kept me rooted to the spot. I knew I needed to do something, but the confusion and fear left me feeling powerless.

Despite my fear, I knew I had to reach him, to somehow calm him down. I tried to clear a path through the debris. I shouted, my voice trembling.

"Thakurji!"

He stopped abruptly and looked up at me with defeated eyes, his expression conveying a profound sense of helplessness. His gaze was a silent plea, as if he was trying to communicate the depth of his despair and his inability to control the turmoil engulfing him. I took a tentative step closer, my heart aching for the man who was both my husband and a stranger, lost in his own suffering. 

 I could see was the raw vulnerability in his eyes. It was as if he was silently admitting that he was trapped in a situation far beyond his control, and he needed help but didn't know how to ask for it.

"Thakurji..." I tried to use the calmest version of my voice, my tone steady despite the chaos around us.

As my words reached him, I saw his body slightly relax, the tension easing from his rigid form.

"Its okay, Thakurji."

His breaths, once erratic and laboured, began to slow, and his eyes, though still clouded with distress, seemed to soften. I kept advancing slowly.

"You're okay. It's fine," I reassured him, my voice soft and soothing.

As my words reached him, the anger and desperation that had driven his frantic movements began to dissipate, giving way to a more subdued, vulnerable demeanor. His body, once rigid with tension, started to weaken, and he nearly collapsed to the floor. Thankfully, I was able to catch him in time, my arms steadying him and preventing a fall.

And he burst into tears, loud tears of pain and agony. His shoulders shook with the intensity of his emotions, and the tears streamed down his face, revealing the depth of his pain and exhaustion.

I held him close, my own emotions welling up as I watched him break down.

The sound of his sobs was raw and heartbreaking. I had no idea why all of this was happening. I had never imagined, even in my wildest dreams, that someone as infamous and formidable as him would break down like a child in front of me—especially on our first night, when I had braced myself for a much darker fate. The irony struck me hard: he was so emotionally torn apart that he was incapable of ripping me apart.

My hands traveled to his head, and I gently stroked his rough hair in an attempt to calm him down.

"It's alright, Yash," I said softly, my voice trembling slightly. As I tried to speak his name, it got caught in my throat. 

He looked up at me, his eyes red and swollen from crying, and sniffed as he spoke.

"Stay away from me. I'll only hurt you."

His voice was hoarse, filled with a mix of sorrow and a warning that seemed to come from a place of deep self-awareness.

I looked into his eyes, seeing the conflict and fear within them. It was clear he was struggling with his own inner demons, and his warning felt like a desperate plea for me to protect myself from the pain he was certain he could inflict.

I didn't reply. Instead, I gently pushed his head into my chest, cradling him as I continued to stroke his hair. The warmth of my embrace was meant to offer some semblance of comfort amidst the chaos. His body trembled against mine, and I could feel the weight of his distress.

After nearly half an hour I assume, he calmed down entirely. lifting his head up he stepped away from me.

Looking down, awkwardness visible in his demeanor, he spoke with a heavy voice.

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay, Thakurji," I replied softly, trying to ease the tension between us.

I stepped closer to him, gently taking his hand to pull out a few pieces of glass embedded in his palm. He didn't flinch or wince, his stoic expression unchanged, but his gaze remained fixed on my face as I worked.

As I carefully removed each shard, I could feel the roughness of his skin beneath my fingers. The silence between us was filled with a strange mix of vulnerability and unspoken understanding As he let me tend him.

Finally, I removed the last piece of glass and gently wiped away the blood.

"There," I whispered, looking up at him. "All done."

He blinked twice, as if shaking off a trance, and then shook his head slightly. His eyes, still locked onto mine, seemed to be searching for something—something elusive and deep, as though he was trying to understand the kindness I had shown him.

Maybe he was trying to make sense of my compassion, or perhaps he was simply lost in thought, grappling with emotions he couldn't fully comprehend or express. The intensity of his gaze made me feel exposed, as if he was seeing me for the first time, truly seeing me beyond the surface.

But then, the look started to come back—the same wild, untamed expression that had frightened me earlier. His eyes grew bloodshot, the red veins creeping in like cracks in glass. The vulnerability I had glimpsed just moments ago was swiftly being overtaken by something darker, more primal.

His body stiffened, and the tension returned to his muscles, his breathing growing heavier and more erratic. It was as if the fragile calm we had shared was slipping away, replaced by the storm that raged within him.

He began moving back, his eyes wide with panic, waving his right hand at me as if warding off me.

"Do not come near me," he warned, his voice laced with desperation.

But I couldn't let him break again. Steeling myself, I slowly stepped forward, even as he retreated, his steps unsteady and desperate. He shook his head forcefully, tears streaming down his cheeks, his eyes wide with a mix of fear and pain.

"Don't," he whispered, his voice breaking as he kept signaling me to stay back, his hand trembling in the air between us.

 I took another step forward, my heart aching at the sight of his anguish.

"Thakur ji."

Finally, I reached him. Slowly, I extended my hand, gently gripping his bicep. The contact made him flinch slightly, his muscles tensing under my touch, but he didn't pull away. His breath was ragged, his tears still falling.

But I was taken aback when he suddenly twisted my arm and pinned my chest against the nearby wall. The cold surface pressed into me as he leaned in, his breath hot against my ear. My heart pounded in my chest, a mix of fear and confusion surging through me.

He pressed himself against my back, his voice low and rough as he whispered, "I warned you, Nayan. I told you to stay away." His grip on my arm tightened, but there was a tremble in his touch, betraying the turmoil within him.

"Hahhhhhhhhhhhhh!" he growled, his voice rising in pitch and volume, echoing through the room. The sound was filled with anguish, and it reverberated deep within me. Before I could even begin to comprehend his pain, everything shifted in an instant.

He turned me around with a sudden, forceful movement, and before I knew it, his hand was around my throat, tightening in a vice-like grip. My breath caught in my lungs as fear surged through me.

With terrifying strength, he pulled me up, lifting me off the ground so that I was hanging against the wall, supported only by his grasp on my throat. My feet dangled helplessly, my fingers clawing at his hand in a desperate attempt to loosen his grip, but it was no use. The room spun around me, and I could feel the life being squeezed out of me.

His animalistic eyes bore into mine. The strength in his grip made it hard to breathe, my vision starting to blur at the edges.

Despite the overwhelming rush of adrenaline and the numbing terror, I forced myself to think, to act. In that moment, a single thought crystallized in my mind.

With all the willpower I could muster, I retracted my hands from his and slowly, carefully, placed my right wrist on his forehead, pressing the rudraksh bead against his skin.

For a moment, time seemed to freeze. His grip loosened slightly, a flicker of confusion crossing his eyes as he halted growling.

My back scraped roughly against the wall, but fortunately, the veil—though now tangled and disheveled—provided some protection, cushioning me from the worst of the scratches.

I saw his face and body gradually relax. The wild, feral intensity that had consumed him moments before began to fade. His eyes, once blazing with uncontrollable rage, softened as the reality of what he had been about to do sunk in.  Without a word, he let go of me completely, stumbling back, his eyes wide with horror.

When he finally loosened his grip, I slipped down and stumbled to the floor, my legs barely able to support me. My breathing was ragged, my neck hurt as blood clot under the layers of my skin. 

It felt like an eternity as I steadied myself against the wall, my legs trembling beneath me. I took deep, ragged breaths, trying to calm my racing heart and clear the blur from my vision while massaging my neck. 

The aftermath of the encounter left me shaken and disoriented with the intensity of what had just transpired. The near-death experience had left its mark, blood had clot under the layers of my skin and I struggled to regain my composure.

I had lost my voice, and despite the intense pain coursing through me, I was unable to make a sound. 

I looked at him through blurry eyes, and what I saw was a face twisted in torment. His expression was enough to reveal just how helpless he felt, how utterly out of control his actions were. It was as if he was battling a demon within, a force so powerful that it had taken over, leaving him a prisoner in his own body. The regret and pain etched into his features mirrored the chaos in my own heart, and for a moment, despite everything, I felt a pang of sympathy for the man who had just nearly killed me.

"I'm...I'm...I'm good," I managed to whisper, my voice barely audible.

Yashvardhan's eyes widened, and without a word, he rushed to the other side of the room. He grabbed a glass of water, but his hands were trembling so violently that the water spilled from the tumbler as he hurried back to me.

"I'm...I'm...sorry...I'm...my apologies aren't even enough," he muttered, his voice breaking as he handed me the glass, his eyes full of regret and shame.

I took the glass, still trying to steady my own shaking hands. Despite the burning ache in my throat from the trauma it had endured just minutes ago, I gulped the water down in one go.

Thakur ji stood there, watching me with those tormented eyes, his breath uneven as he wrestled his guilt and self-loathing  that were written all over his face.

"I...I...I...you cannot stay here...I'll kill you...Please understand...and leave...you need to leave...leave..." he stammered, his voice trembling with desperation.

He kept blabbering, repeating the words over and over as if trying to convince himself as much as he was trying to convince me. His eyes darted around the room, avoiding mine, filled with fear and confusion.

But I couldn't leave. Not now. I had married him to save my temple, to protect the one place that meant everything to me and my family. Walking away wasn't an option, not when so much was at stake.

"Yashvardhan..." I whispered, trying to reach out to him, but he flinched, taking a step back.

"Do not come near me. No! Please...I don't love. I hurt. I hurt everyone. I'll hurt you. I've hurt you. Already. On your first night...when...when you're expecting me to-"

"I'd expected worse, Thakur ji." I cut him off, my voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside me.

His eyes widened, a mix of confusion and realization crossing his face. 

"How low of me... my newly wedded bride was expecting me... huh... me to r*pe her."

The words hung heavy in the air between us. The raw honesty in his voice cut through the tension, and I could see the torment in his eyes. 

Suddenly, he started chuckling—loudly, and painfully.

"Well, I almost killed you a few minutes ago," he said, his laughter tinged with anguish.

The sound was jarring, a mix of hysteria and heartbreak.

"That's not what I meant," I said, my voice trembling. "I didn't expect that, but I was prepared for...for anything."

His face crumpled with a mix of shame and despair, continuing to laugh at his condition—a mockery of himself. He sank down onto the floor, his shoulders shaking with the weight of his emotions.

Suddenly, his laughter stopped. He looked up at me with eyes filled with a haunting blend of anguish and resignation.

"I'm sorry, but do not expect me to love you ever. If you choose to stay, you'll become a lifeless body."

"I'm fine with it, Thakurji," I replied, my voice unwavering.

He stared at me, confusion and disbelief etched into his features. "Why would you stay?"

His question hung in the air.

Does he not know about the deal?

"Thakurji, we can talk about it later. You need to rest."

He looked up at me, his eyes filled with a mix of exhaustion and confusion.

Slowly, he nodded, his movements sluggish. 

I approached him cautiously, offering him a small, reassuring smile. "We'll figure it out together. For now, just try to rest."

"Stay where you are!" He snapped, his voice carrying a mix of desperation and defiance.

I halted, my hand still outstretched, and gave him a nod. "Okay. I'll stay here."

His eyes softened momentarily, as if he was struggling between his need for isolation and a desperate yearning for comfort. He looked away, his gaze drifting to the scattered shards of glass and overturned furniture, remnants of his earlier breakdown.

He lifted himself up weakly, and slowly moved to wards the door. As he reached there, he paused and glanced back at me.

"Take care," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

With that, he left the room, the door slamming shut behind him with a resounding thud. The sound echoed through the room, leaving me alone in the dim light, surrounded by the remnants of his turmoil.

˜”*°•°*”˜