“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” I say, tightening my hold on her. “This hate you keep talking about? It’s not as solid as you think. It’s going to crack.” A slow smirk pulls at my mouth. “After all, we’re married. We live together. Every day,every night. You really must be naive to believe your hate will survive our close proximity.”
“You’re missing the part where I don’t accept this marriage.”
“I know. That’s why I have a gift for you.”
She narrows her eyes. “What gift?”
I let go of her arm and move to the cupboard, sliding the drawer open. My hand closes around something I’ve kept hidden since the day after our wedding. Something I always wanted her to wear but never knew how to convince her. Now, I finally have the right moment.
I turn back to her, and her eyes widen at the sight of the mangalsutra and sindoor in my hand.
“What is all this nonsense?”
“You don’t look married,” I say, stepping closer, my eyes never leaving her face. “And this,” I hold up the mangalsutra and sindoor, “will fix that.”
“I… I don’t need this,” she shakes her head, her voice quivering.
“You do,” I grab her wrist and pull her close. “Because you seem to keep forgetting you’re my wife.”
Before she can protest, I fasten the mangalsutra around her neck. She gasps, but I pay it no mind and dip my fingers into the sindoor.
“Don’t you dare—” she begins, just as I draw the red line through the parting of her hair.
She goes completely still.
I step back, taking in the sight of her.
“Beautiful,” I murmur softly, my voice low and possessive. “Much better.”
Her fingers rise instinctively as they brush over the mangalsutra at her throat. Something flickers across her face, but before I can catch it, it’s gone. She snaps her gaze at me.
“Have you lost your mind? Do you actually think that just because you put this on me, I’ll suddenly turn into your property in the eyes of the world?”
“It’s not about property.” I cup her jaw despite the way she twists, trying to break free. “It’s about making you, and the world, realise that you are my wife.” Her breath hitches when my thumb brushes the fresh sindoor on her forehead. “That this symbol of our marriage is not something you can wipe away whenever it suits you. It’s not something anyone can mess with.”
I tilt her chin up, forcing her eyes to meet mine. “This isn’t temporary, Mrs. Rathore,” I add, my voice softer but no less firm. “This is forever.”
She stares at me silently.
She needs to understand that no matter how far she runs, no matter how hard she fights, it won’t change a damn thing.
This marriage is real, and it won’t ever be undone.
Chapter 19
Meera
My fingers tremble as they trace the mangalsutra resting against my skin, the tiny black beads pressing into my collarbone, forcing me to feel the essence of what it means.
I can almost hear my mom’s voice echoing from years ago, when I’d roll my eyes and ask why she still wore her mangalsutra in these so-called modern times. She had always answered with the same unshakable conviction she lived by.
‘This thread isn’t just jewellery, beta… It is strength. It is faith. It is the power of two lives tied together as one.’
And now… here I’m. Wearing that same thread.Histhread.
Flashes of last night keep tearing through my mind: his voice rough with jealousy, his touch scorching, his possessive words sinking into me… each one shaking the walls I’m desperately trying to hold together.
God, I want to rip the mangalsutra off, to feel the relief that would come with tearing it away.
