His fist is poised midair, his knuckles cracked and raw, but he glances at me. And in that single glance, everything changes.
His eyes soften. Just for me. The fury is still there, raging like an untamed fire, but it bends, it pauses. For me.
“Please… let it go,” I plead, the words shaky, fragile, but carrying everything I feel. The fear, the desperation, the strange comfort of knowing he is here, with me, for me.
“No,” he growls, his voice low, final. “I’m not done yet.”
And before I can stop him again, he grabs Ranbir by the collar and drags him across the floor. Books topple from the table, chairs scrape against the wood. Ranbir curses, spits blood, but Vihaan doesn’t falter. His grip is iron, his body radiating a terrifying determination.
I don’t follow them. I can’t.
My legs won’t move. My hands are trembling. The room feels too heavy, the walls too close. I clutch at my lehenga, my breath uneven.
All I can think about is water.
I want to bathe. I want to scrub every inch of my skin until the memory of Ranbir’s touch is gone, until his smirk is washed down the drain. Until I no longer feel the lingering heat of his arms around me.
I want to be clean again.
The library is silent now except for my own shallow breaths. The air feels tainted, every corner echoing with his laugh, his accusation. My knees ache from where I had fallen, but my heart aches worse—from fear, from relief, from a whirlwind of emotions I can’t begin to name.
But above all, one thought pulses, steady and unshakable.
Vihaan didn’t doubt me. Not for a second.
CHAPTER 35
On his knees
VIHAAN
I don’t feel my knuckles anymore. I don’t feel the sting of skin tearing against bone or the burn of blood dripping down my fingers. The only thing I feel is him—the filthy weight of Ranbir’s presence under my grip, his collar bunched in my fists, the struggle of his body jerking against mine as I drag him through the corridor.
He twists, curses, claws at my wrists, but I don’t let go. I tighten my hold until the fabric of his shirt strains and the buttons snap loose, scattering to the ground.
“Vihaan—leave me—” he spits, his words broken, his lip bleeding.
“Shut your mouth,” I snarl, shoving him forward, his back hitting the marble pillar before I yank him upright again.
Every muscle in my body is thrumming with fury, hot and sharp, but beneath that fire is another wound, deeper, more unbearable—the sight of Poorvi on her knees.
Her voice, broken and pleading, still echoes in my skull.I didn’t do anything. Please believe me.Her eyes, wide and desperate, rimmed red. Her hands folded in supplication. Her body trembling in front of me like she had no shield, no protection, no worth of her own.
And all of it because of him.
The rage is endless. I could carry him like this across the world and still not exhaust the hatred coursing through my veins.
“Vihaan Bhai-sa!” Sitara’s voice slices through the corridor. She comes running, her dupatta flying behind her, her face pale with shock. “What happened? What are you doing?”
I don’t slow down. I don’t even look at her.
“Not right now,” I bark, my voice a whip. “Go to your room.”
She stops in her tracks. Silence hangs between us, broken only by Ranbir’s grunts and the echo of our footsteps on the marble floor. For a moment, I feel her fear, her hesitation—but she doesn’t protest. She doesn’t dare. I hear her soft footsteps fading as she turns back, and the sound disappears into the distance.
Good. She doesn’t need to see this.
Technically, yes, I should wait. I should drag this bastard to Bhai-sa, let him pass judgment, let the weight of his authority decide the punishment. That’s what I was raised to do—follow order, follow hierarchy, never forget the chain of command in this palace.
