Without waiting for her response, he turned away and disappeared down the corridor.
Mishti stood there, stunned.
The tears rolled down her cheeks despite her efforts to stop them. Maria hesitated nearby, clearly wanting to say something, to comfort her, but the fear and hurt on her own face held her back. After a moment, she quietly retreated inside, leaving Mishti alone in the silence.
It was not just his anger that bothered Mishti today. It was the way he had spoken about her parents.
Why did he hate them so much?
Her father had passed away when she was still too young to understand loss properly. Her mother had raised her and Daksh alone after that, carrying every responsibility with strength and grace. She had been a kind woman, gentle in her ways, someone who never spoke ill of anyone, let alone harmed them.
So why did Karan loathe the Goels with such intensity?
What she had seen in his eyes tonight was not just resentment. It was not bitterness or wounded pride.
It was pure rage.
And for the first time since marrying him, that realisation frightened her more than his cruelty ever had. Whatever Karan was still hiding from her, she had to find out.
***************
Midnight
Karan was in the private gym well past midnight, long after the house had fallen into silence.
Sleep had refused him completely. The dull ache in his head had eased because of the oil massage, and his body had accepted the relief, but his mind had not. The rage that had stirred themoment Mishti spoke about her parents refused to settle down even now.
That was why he was here in the dimly lit gym. He stood before the heavy punching bag, wearing a black sleeveless training vest that clung to his broad chest and shoulders, and dark workout shorts that hung low on his hips. He had not bothered with hand wraps or gloves because he had not come here to train. He had come here to unload.
Every time his fist connected with the bag in a solid, brutal strike, the bag swung back toward him, and he hit it again, harder each time.
Yet, he couldn’t stop Mishti’s voice from resurfacing in his mind again and again.
“My mother used to do this for my dad whenever he came home exhausted.”
He drove his fist into the bag again, hitting it harder than before.
“You married a Goel, Karan.”
The bag swung back, and he met it with another punch, his knuckles stinging faintly now, the skin already protesting under the repeated impact. But he didn’t care.
“You cannot crush my real identity. I am a Goel, and I will not tolerate anyone, not even my husband, disrespecting my parents.”
Each punch was fuelled by memory and anger. The skin of his knuckles split just enough to burn and bruise. But he still did not stop. Only when his breath turned rough and his arms began to tremble from exertion, did he finally slow, stepping back as the bag continued to sway in front of him.
Karan stood there, chest rising and falling heavily, sweat running down his temples and spine. He knew Mishti would not let this go.
For the first time, he had not just snapped at her or shut her down. He had shown her the depth of his hatred toward her family. And Mishti was not a woman who ignored signs like that.
She would question it. She would revisit every word, every reaction, every flash of anger and start looking for answers, relentlessly.
Damn! He could not let it happen.
She should not know the truth yet. Not until his revenge had moved far enough that nothing could derail it.
He wiped the sweat from his face, staring at the punching bag again. Whatever softness he had begun to feel for Mishti had no place in this plan. And he would make sure it stayed that way.
***************
