Divorce

Ch 20 : Divorce

Kanika’s POV

Now I finally understood why Anakveer married me.
So that he could have both—the CEO’s throne and the Mafia King’s crown. Both positions demanded a married man as per their protocol, and I… I was the most convenient pawn.

But Anakveer, if only you had told me the truth instead of stabbing me with silence, I would have searched for the perfect life partner for you myself. At least then, betrayal wouldn’t taste this bitter.

And in all of this, your Dadasa was your strongest ally. With what ease he spun tales, polishing every stain into shining silver. I am manglik? Bound by a child marriage? And apparently, I gave my consent for my own vidai?
Seriously? Did I lose my memory somewhere on the way, or is everyone treating me like I’m suffering from some “Amnesia”? She scoffed bitterly.

My gaze drifted sideways, landing on Dadisa and Maa. A sharp suspicion pricked my chest—
Were they also part of this elaborate game? Pretending kindness, while standing in the same team as you?

Well, no more.
Tonight, I would make everything clear. You got what you wanted, Anakveer. This time, I’ll make sure I get what I want.

The house was strangely unsettled that night. All the men were absent—pulled into chaos of meetings, legal tangles, and back-to-back media interactions. Dinner felt like a distant thought to them.

By 10 p.m., Dadisa finally took her place at the long dining table, her voice crisp, commanding authority.

“There’s no need to wait for anyone. You all eat—none of them will return before midnight. Tonight, their meals will be outside only.”

Her tone left no room for argument. Yet, the married women except Kanika, out of habit and respect, hesitated. Plates clinked softly as they reluctantly began to take their seats, though unease lingered in their eyes.

Just then—
The faint rustle of shoes echoed in the marble hall.

Every head turned sharply toward the sound. One by one, the family’s men appeared in the doorway, their presence filling the silence like a storm entering a quiet room.

Dadisa drew in a long, angry breath, her eyes narrowing, blazing straight at Dadasa.

Caught under her burning stare, Dadasa chuckled low, lifting his hands slightly as though to disarm the tension.

“I guess we are right on time… haha.”

But the humor in his voice couldn’t hide the weight of the moment.

They were headed straight to the dining table when Dadisa’s voice cut sharp and stern through the silence.

“First go and wash your hands and face, only then join the table. This is not a suggestion, it’s an order.”

Though the words were directed at everyone, her eyes remained fixed on Dadasa—unyielding, commanding.

Dadasa dipped his head slightly, a faint smile playing on his lips.
“Yes, you are right. We are also feeling very tired. Bas paanch minute ruk jao, we’ll be back.”

And just like that, all the men disappeared into their rooms, leaving a heavy hush behind.

The women busied themselves with laying the plates, decorating them with steaming food, but not a single hand lifted to eat. The air in the room felt taut, stretched like a bowstring, waiting for release.

Soon, the men returned and took their seats. Silence sat with them at the table, thick and unrelenting.

When Dadasa asked for two chapatis, Dadisa instead placed five on his plate. The small act, harmless to others, turned every head with a quiet frown.

Dadasa raised his brows, his tone soft, almost teasing,
“Sonpari, I only asked for two.”

Dadisa’s reply came sharp, edged with mockery.
“Oh, is that so? I thought in your language two means five.”

Her words left most of the family puzzled, but Dadasa caught the barb immediately. He had promised he’d return in two days, but instead, five long days had passed.

He looked at her apologetically, lips pressing into a thin line, but Dadisa only lowered her voice into a whisper.
“Finish everything… I don’t like food wastage.”

For her, this was not food—it was a lesson.

The dinner dragged on, muted and heavy, until it ended with ghewar—sweet, syrup-soaked, golden brown. A gesture from Dadasa, bought on the way home, a forced celebration of Anakveer’s appointment as CEO.

As the last bites melted away, it was Anakveer’s father who finally broke the suffocating silence. His voice trembled slightly, but his resolve carried him forward.

“Babasa, aapne aisa kyun kiya?”
(“Father, why did you do this?”)

Chandrashekhar looked up, eyebrows arched in offense, his face wordlessly asking: What exactly did I do?

Gulping, his son continued, words tumbling out in a rush.
“Babasa… Anakveer is short-tempered. He never showed interest in business, always stayed distant from family. Then why back him instead of Randhir? Dekhiye, he even dragged Kanika into his mess—what was her fault in all this? He didn’t even seek his elders’ blessings before marrying her.”

At that, Kanika’s hand clenched tightly, her left fist curling into the pleats of her saree, the other gripping her water glass. Her gaze stayed lowered, but her silence screamed louder than any words could.

The entire table waited.

Finally, Dadasa set his spoon down with deliberate calm, his voice heavy, final, leaving no space for argument.

“Aur yeh kisne kaha… ki Anakveer ki dulhan uske bado ki pasand nahi? Woh meri pasand hai. Maine usse chunaa tha. Usne shaadi se pehle meri ijaazat li thi.”

(“And who said that Anakveer’s bride is not the choice of his elders? She is my choice. I chose her for him. He took my permission before marrying her.”)

The revelation cracked through the dining hall like venom, leaving silence trembling in its wake. Every breath hitched, every throat tightened, every gaze darted in disbelief. The only person who remained utterly unbothered was Anakveer, sitting back in his chair, his face carved in stone, eyes unflinching.

Dadasa’s voice cut again, sharp, steady, lethal.
“And you talk about your “good candidate “ with a good temperament… he was caught in a drug deal. It was Anakveer who worked behind the scenes and pulled him out before the matter reached the media or law. And none of you ever knew… not even your so-called good man.”

The air thickened instantly, turning heavy, suffocating. Gasps rippled like a wave, pupils dilated wide as though panic itself had entered the room and taken its seat at the table.

Dadasa’s gaze locked on Randhir, his tone firm, merciless.
“Tell me, Randhir… am I wrong?”

Randhir’s pride burned like a flame too close to skin. His shame unraveled thread by thread before the very family he wanted to impress—before his newly wedded wife. His lips trembled, but he couldn’t gather a single lie to stand against his grandfather. Slowly, silently, he shook his head, confirming Dadasa’s words were nothing but the truth.

Shyam pressed his forehead into his palm, as though trying to block out the humiliation. His mother’s hand flew to cover her mouth, trembling. Beside them, Ridhima’s face stiffened—eyes wide, chest hollow—as if betrayal had pulled the ground from under her feet.

But Dadasa wasn’t finished. His voice carried the weight of years, sharp with the bite of truth.
“And saying Anakveer never showed interest in business—because you never tried to involve him. And as for family? Who knows better than you why he is so distant from all of you?”

The words struck a spark somewhere deep inside Kanika. Her brows furrowed; her thoughts trailed into dangerous waters. What is wrong between him and his family that he is so distant? Even now, his own father stands up for someone else instead of him.

Her chest tightened with something she couldn’t name.

Her POV:

Like my family doesn’t like me because I was always the unwanted one. They wanted a child and got my sister. Then they wanted a son but got me. And again they tried until they finally got my brother. I was always just the extra piece in their puzzle. That’s why I never felt like I belonged in their dynamics. But him? He’s their only child. Their only son. Then why… why does he carry the same distance in his eyes that I carry in mine?

For the briefest of seconds, her eyes dared to wander toward him—toward Anakveer. And to her shock, she caught him already looking at her. His gaze was steady, unreadable, but heavy enough to make her heart stumble. She immediately looked away, feigning coincidence, as if nothing had happened.

Dadasa’s voice once again seized the hall, pulling all attention back to him. His gaze settled on Randhir, tone both stern and strangely tender.
“Randhir bannasa, you too are my grandson. And I know you are not a bad person. But you fall under others’ influence far too easily. That is what makes you unfit for this position.

The truth is—you never wanted this chair by your own will… you only claimed it because your father and uncle wanted it. Tell me… do you really want to be the CEO.”

The question fell like a blade, cutting through Randhir’s silence, leaving the entire family breathless.

Randhir’s throat worked, dry and reluctant, yet the truth slipped out like a blade pressed against skin.
“I never liked business…”

His voice was quiet, but it echoed across the hall.

Shyam and Utkarsh’s jaws clenched hard, their pride stung raw, the guilt of never truly understanding either of their sons seeping through the cracks.

The silence that followed was thick, almost suffocating—until Dadisa’s voice broke it like a whip.
“ I am done with dinner. I’m going to my room…aap bhi jaldi aaiye.”

Her words were not mere suggestion, but command. And the man they were meant for knew it.

Inside the bedroom

Dadisa sat in the middle of the bed, upright, still as stone—waiting the way a predator waits for its prey. The soft glow of the lamp caught the steel in her eyes.

When Dadasa finally stepped in, something in him shifted. He shut the door gently, almost cautiously, and turned toward her with a hesitant, tight-lipped smile.

He made to sit on the bed beside her—
But her voice thundered, sharp enough to halt him mid-step.
“Don’t you dare step on this bed before answering my questions.”

The air dropped cold.

He nodded quickly, almost like an obedient boy caught in mischief, and without protest dragged the stool from the dressing table, placing it before her. He sat, gaze lowered in respect—or fear.

Dadisa leaned forward slightly, her face stern, tone leaving no space for excuses.
“By now I understand that Kanika is your choice. And this marriage of Anakveer’s—it wasn’t sudden, it was planned… by you.”

Her pause lingered, sharp as a knife’s edge.

“Now the question is—why Kanika? And has Anakveer taken her with him… to be a part of your world?”

Her eyes bore into him, unblinking, the weight of her suspicion thickening the space between them.

Dadasa drew in a sharp breath, steadying himself.
“Sonpari… aapke har sawaal ka jawaab dene se pehle, main aapse mafi maangna chahta hoon. Mafi… is baat ke liye ki maine aapko insaab cheezon se hamesha alag rakha.”

For a fleeting moment, a softness flickered across Dadisa’s face—just a flicker, almost invisible. But she caught herself swiftly, masking it with the same hard demeanor.

Dadasa met her gaze, his voice firm now, carrying the weight of confession.
“Yes… I made Kanika one of us.”

Dadisa’s chest rose and fell with a long, restrained breath. The room vibrated with the tension of truths half-spoken and revelations yet to come.

Dadasa’s voice dropped lower, words carrying the weight of decisions made in silence.
“And the reason I chose her… is because I know Kanika is capable of being what other women are not — anakveer rajput bindani, a mafia queen, and, most importantly, the only one who can handle Anakveer with ease.”

He paused, eyes softening.
“If I see myself in Anakveer… then I see a glimpse of you in her. I wouldn’t be here today had I not had your support. You may never have accepted the title of mafia queen, Sonpari, but I was always assured—even while I spent most of my years overseas—that you were handling everything here with an iron hand. You have always been my silent strength, my shadow of protection—unyielding, constant.”

His voice gentled, memories of her sacrifices brushing against his words.
“You know it better than anyone—once we step into the underworld, there is no way out. We make enemies, and they do not strike with morals. They don’t just take revenge on the man standing in front of them… they go for his family, the innocent ones. Even now, I regret… spending the last years of our old age apart from you. But none of my sons had the spine to take my place, and retiring meant putting this entire family’s life at stake.”

A shadow passed across his face, before resolve tightened his tone.
“But Anakveer… he has that aura. That deranged power to own the world I ruled. And because of him, I could finally take retirement. Yet—darkness is never balanced by power alone. To sustain the empire, SOVRANO and SOVRANA must stand as equals. In my case, I was fortunate—my younger sister shared the same fire as me. I could never allow that balance to fall into unworthy hands.”

His eyes narrowed, glinting with conviction.
“Kanika—she is passionate, psychotic when needed, ruthless in ways others don’t dare to be. I’ve seen it—the authority she holds over Anakveer, something even his own family doesn’t manage. She is the perfect SOVRANA. She only needs a little shaping, and together… they will rule.”

He leaned closer, voice dropping almost to a whisper.
“That is why I had him marry her. Not just as CEO… but as—”

Dadisa cut him off sharply, her tone brimming with the smug assurance of someone who already knew.
“You don’t need to spell it out. I know. I know. Both CEO and Sovrano positions require a married man. And since you had already chosen her… waiting for a traditional marriage would’ve taken years, as her elder sister is still unmarried. So you chose this path instead.”

Her eyes glittered with a dangerous stillness.
“And if I am not mistaken—which I never am—today’s interview wasn’t coincidence either. It was your plan. A perfect whitewash to protect her… and the family’s image.”

Dadasa’s lips curved into a proud smile.
“That’s what I like about you, Sonpari… you understand me so well.”

Dadisa arched a brow, her tone still edged with authority.
“Hmmm… now tell me, since when did you decide she would be the one?”

Dadasa let out a small laugh, eyes misting with memory.
“It was years ago… during Kanyapujan. She was just three then. You had gone inside to fetch the aarti thal for the little devis. Since Kanika was the youngest, I made her sit on my lap, worried she might tumble. That very moment, Anakveer also came for the puja. So I settled him on my lap as well.Diyas burned bright in front of me, and his tiny hands kept reaching for them. Again and again, I stopped him. But that small mischief of his—oh, it managed to frustrate our little Kanika.”

He chuckled, shaking his head at the memory.
“Before I could even register her irritation, without budging from my lap, she gave him a tight slap and glared at him with all the fire in the world. And in her still-childish voice, she warned—
‘Shitt coitely!’”( sit quitely)

Dadisa’s lips twitched, trying hard not to laugh.

“The poor boy began sobbing, burying his face in my chest. But she wasn’t done! She grabbed his ear and hissed—
‘Keep coiett, walna sidha laat chhalti p dungi!’”( keep quiet warna sidha laat chati p dungi .)

Dadasa let out a hearty laugh, eyes gleaming.
“And that was it—he sat silently through the entire puja. That very moment, Sonpari, I knew. She wasn’t just the Sovrana of the future… she was his future.”

This time even Dadisa’s composure cracked; a low laugh escaped her throat despite her lingering anger.
“Ohhh… now I understand why his eyes were red that day.”

Her eyes softened with reluctant amusement. Dadasa leaned back, mischief still lingering in his smile.
“You know, she’s been like this since childhood. Naughty… fierce… yet protective. I remember another time—she must’ve been five. Her family had come for a party here. Her little brother, only two then, was playing in the garden, trying to eat mud. She kept stopping him. But when he wouldn’t listen, she yanked his hair and slapped him hard. He broke into cries, but before anyone could intervene, she scooped him up in her arms and began pacifying him, showering him with all the love in the world.”

Dadisa’s stern mask cracked further. Dadasa smirked, savoring the punchline.
“And when I told her—‘Beta, chhote bachchon par haath nahin uthaate’—do you know what she replied? She tossed her little chin up and said—
‘O handsome budhau, hum gyaan nahi maange toh mat dijiye.’

Then she walked off with full attitude! Bachpan se hi gundi rahi hai.”

Dadisa pressed her lips together, fighting a laugh, but her eyes betrayed her amusement. Finally, she inhaled, her voice lowering with concern.
“Hmmm… naughty she might be, fierce too… but she is still too innocent for your world.”

Dadasa’s laughter rolled again, but this time it wasn’t warm—it was a low, dark rumble that seemed to echo off the walls.
“You are mistaken, my Sonpari… She is something her family doesn’t know yet… even she herself doesn’t. But my old age has taught me to read people. Kanika won’t think twice before making someone bleed. And if time tests her… she will enjoy bathing in that blood. The unhinged side— I can already sense it in her.”

The aura of the room shifted with his words. Cold. Heavy. His voice carried a darkness that even age couldn’t soften.

Dadisa’s expression hardened, her voice firm.
“Jo bhi ho… hum apne bachcho ko pareshani mein nahi dekh sakte. Dhyan rahe.”

(Whatever it is, we cannot see our children in trouble. Keep that in mind.)

Dadasa’s reply was immediate, his tone suddenly boyish, obedient.
“Ji.”(ok)

He rose, ready to climb onto the bed beside her. But Dadisa, without even opening her eyes, yanked the blanket up to her chin and thrust out a palm to stop him.

“Na na… yahan nahi. Sofa pe. Jab tak aapko  2 aur 5 mein antar samajh nahi aata… tab tak aap wahi sooge.”

(No, no… not here. On the sofa. Until you learn the difference between 2 and 5… you’ll sleep there.)

Dadasa’s face fell, sulking like a child, though amusement lingered in his eyes.
“Hmph… chh. Chhe mahine baad aaya hoon aur tum ab bhi humein khud se door kar rahi ho.”

(Hmph… tch. I came back after six months and you’re still keeping me away from you.)

Dadisa gave the faintest smile, but her tone was all sass as she closed her eyes.
“Bol toh aise rahe ho jaise din mein teen ghante video call nahin karte the. Bina video call ke uthte nahi, bina video call ke sote nahi… aur khana bhi bina video call ke khate nahi. Bade aaye—‘chhe mahine baad aaye hai hum!’ Huh.”

(You speak as if you didn’t video call me for three hours every day. You wouldn’t wake up without a video call, wouldn’t sleep without one… and even ate with me on video. And now you come acting like—‘I came back after six months!’ Huh.)

With that, she turned on her side, drifting into sleep, leaving Dadasa pouting on the sofa—forced to spend the night watching his angry bird from a distance.

_______________________________________

Kanika and anakveer room

Inside their room, the silence was restless. Kanika paced back and forth, her anklets giving off a faint, nervous rhythm as if echoing her heartbeat. She was waiting for him—waiting for Anakveer—because tonight she wanted to make things clear once and for all.

The door clicked open. Anakveer stepped in, shoulders heavy, the weariness of the long day etched deep into his posture. His eyes betrayed the exhaustion—yet also a strange awareness. He knew something was waiting for him inside these four walls, and somehow, he had braced himself for it.

The door shut behind him, and before he could even take a full breath, Kanika walked straight toward him. Her eyes were brighter than usual, her tone lighter—normal, even—so unlike the way she had spoken to him since their marriage.

“Anakveer…”

Just that. Just his name. No “Mr. Rajput.” No formality. His tiredness cracked and slipped away the moment he heard her voice soften around his name. Something stirred inside him, but Kanika went on before he could even process it.

“I understand… you married me to get this CEO position… and that mafia position too. Both wanted you to be married. Now you’ve got them, so please… free me as well.”

Her words landed like cold glass against his chest. His brow furrowed, not in anger but in something darker, sharper—something that twisted beneath his ribs.

Kanika’s eyes, though, shone with hope. She looked straight into his, unflinching, as though her freedom lay hidden inside his silence.

“And thanks to that reporter’s questions, my image and my family’s image has been whitewashed. Even my sister-in-law doesn’t have a problem with it anymore. So please… divorce me.”

She said it lightly, almost calmly ,as though she were asking for an ice cream.

His jaw clenched.

But Kanika didn’t stop there. She rushed forward with her words before his silence could crush her courage.

“I swear, I don’t want any alimony. Even the property that was transferred to my name in Italy—I’ll return it without hesitation. And I will never disclose our secret to anyone. After some time, you can just say that things didn’t work out between us and…”

Author POV

The moment the word divorce left her mouth, the beast inside him unchained. His jaw tightened, knuckles turning white, veins rising against his skin. His breath grew ragged, wild—like a predator losing control.

In the next instant, his restraint shattered. Both hands sought her out—one locking firmly around her waist, dragging her flush against him, and the other burying into her hair, gripping her scalp possessively.

He pulled her in, leaving no space—no air—just his rage, his desperation, his claim.

His eyes burned into hers, molten and furious, his voice dropping low but coated in darkness.

“Ani… main ek baar keh raha hoon, aur hamesha ke liye apne dimaag mein baithalo—I will never, ever DIVORCE you. In our family, neither has anyone taken divorce, nor will they in the future. I married you. You are my legal wife. And you will die with my name only- being anakveer rajput wife.”

His chest heaved as he spoke, his hot breath fanning across her trembling lips.

“Weren’t you the one saying your family was planning your marriage? If you were ready to marry someone else, then why not me? The one you’ve known for over a decade? Huh?”

His voice thundered with wounded pride, the bull-like snort of his breaths punctuating his words.

Kanika’s hands pressed desperately against his chest, her nails digging through his shirt. Fear flickered in her eyes—fear at seeing him so unhinged, so undone, stripped bare of every soft emotion she once associated with him. Still, summoning her courage, she tried to push him back, her voice trembling but defiant—maybe for him, maybe for herself.

“Anakveer… this is absurdity. You used to be my best friend. Sharing the same bed with you disgusts me to my gut. I never saw you that way.”

Her words sliced like knives, but instead of loosening, his grip only tightened. He dragged her impossibly closer, her body pressed fully against his, their breaths colliding. His voice broke, dark yet desperate, almost pleading beneath the fury.

“I—Anakveer Rajput—give you my word… I will never touch you without your permission. Even if it takes a lifetime, I’ll wait. Patiently… or maybe not patiently, I can’t guarantee that. But I will wait.”

His eyes bore into hers, flames of desperation dancing with madness.

“Then what else do you want from a husband, Ani? My family likes you. We’re compatible. I’m still far better than some stranger. Tell me—what’s wrong with me being your husband? Huh?”

His voice cracked under the weight of his obsession—no longer just dark, but bleeding with raw desperation.

Kanika twisted in his bruising hold, squirming first in resistance before realizing force would only fuel him further. Taking a deep breath, she steadied her trembling voice—calmer now, softer, the tone she knew could sometimes tame Anakveer.

But the beast in front of her wasn’t only Anakveer anymore… it was Sankveer, and with him, she knew submission was her only weapon.

“Anakveer… try to understand,” she whispered, her palms bracing against his chest, her eyes pleading into his storm. “I can still be your friend. Life long. We can forget everything—I understand your situation, I do. But you also have to understand mine. I’m not ready for you… or for marriage.”

Her lips trembled but she forced a small smile, the kind she used when convincing him as children.

“I promise I’ll search for a good girl for you. Someone perfect. Marriage is such a beautiful experience… once you find the right girl, she’ll love you, take care of you, cherish you. She won’t hurt you the way I do. You know me… I have anger issues.

I swear too much—you hate that. The moment you fall for someone else, you’ll forget me, forget this unwanted, forced marriage. Let’s just… end it here. Get a divorce.”

“I WON’T, KANIKA!” he roared, his voice ripping through the walls like a storm. His body vibrated with rage, veins straining on his neck, his chest heaving with each breath. “No matter the situation, no matter the reason—I married you. YOU are mine. And I am yours. For this lifetime… and every other that follows.”

His jaw clenched, his teeth biting into his lower lip, fighting to cage the demon clawing to get out. His hand shook as it rose, it traced obsessively, tucking a few wild strands of her hair behind her ear. His voice dropped to a lethal whisper, his breath scorching her skin.

“And from this moment onwards, if you dare bring that forbidden word—divorce—on your lips again…” he dragged in a ragged breath, his lips grazing the shell of her ear, “Ani, I might end up doing something I will regret for a lifetime.”

Kanika froze. The threat wasn’t shouted—it was whispered, and that made it even darker, heavier, like chains wrapping around her.

Something inside her snapped. Her hands flew up, gripping his collar in a tight fist. Her eyes blazed, her voice a dagger dripping venom.

“Can’t you fucking understand?” she spat, her chest rising and falling with fury.

“You’re choosing a loveless marriage over love and passion! Do you ENJOY getting slapped by me? Getting hit by me? Sleeping in the damn balcony of your own room? Hearing taunts from your so-called shadharmini every day?”

Her voice cracked into a scream, raw and ruthless.

“SANKI insaan! Isse jyada respect aur pyaar tumhe arranged marriage mein mil jaayega! At least there, you’ll have someone who actually wants you!”

Anakveer’s chest rose and fell like a raging bull, but instead of pulling her closer this time, he detach her away with a jolt, because he knew his inner demon is ready to unleash. And keeping her close will only cause ruinous outcome to their relationship.

Without sparing her another glance, he turned, his strides long, decisive, carrying him toward the door. But his voice lashed the air, low and cold, words twisted in his brand of madness. Controlling his beast.

“When you know I am your Sanakveer,” he spat, his hand already on the handle, “then you should also know this—I love pain over pleasure.”

The words hit her like a blade, but Kanika refused to stay silent. Fire roared in her chest, igniting her throat as she screamed after him, her voice splitting the air with equal rage.

“Believe me, Mr. Rajput! I will make you regret this sanak! You will regret marrying me!”

The door slammed shut with a brutal thud, leaving a ringing silence in its wake. Kanika’s body crumpled, collapsing onto the sofa as if all strength had drained from her bones. Her chest heaved, but her soul felt lifeless.

His words, his madness—they made one thing terrifyingly clear: he would never divorce her. Not in this lifetime. And to even whisper that forbidden word again would be like cutting open her own veins.

Her fingers tangled desperately in her hair, tugging in frustration, until they fell limp onto her lap. That’s when her eyes caught it—her palm.

A faint, almost faded stain of mehndi still lingered there.Not a delicate pattern, not some ritualistic design. No. Anakveer had carved his signature into her skin during rituals, boldly, as though branding her as his property. That moment hadn’t been about tradition—it had been his declaration. His silent claim that she belonged to him. And him alone.

A mocking smirk curled across her lips, bitter and hollow. The faint stain stared back at her, almost laughing, as though it knew what she was only now beginning to understand—over her, his rule would rule.