Page 21 of Mrs. Rathore

But what caught my attention was the bed.

Roses were scattered across the covers like some romantic movie set, and scented candles rested on the cabinets, flickering gently. A beautifully decorated basket sat near the pillows. It was filled with chocolates, fancy snacks, and a small gift box.

I know what that small gift box is.

Ugh! What the hell is this?

Rhea noticed my expression and smirked.

“I, Mom, and Pa will be out the whole night. We’re visiting some relatives,” she said, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Until then… enjoy your evening.” She winked dramatically, like she was handing me over to some secret lover.

I stared at her, unimpressed. “How old are you?”

“Eighteen, why?” she asked with a shrug.

“You sound like you’re eighty.” I sighed, rubbing my temple. “You may leave, Rhea.”

She didn’t move. Instead, she knelt beside me, her eyes searching mine. “Are you nervous?”

I blinked, startled by her perceptiveness. “The only feeling I have for your brother is hate,” I said truthfully. She winced. “I’m sorry, but this marriage is just… an arrangement.”

Rhea placed her soft hand over mine. “I still wish you could be my Bhabhi. There’s something about you that makes me want to respect you. I haven’t figured it out yet, but… you’re different, Avni.”

I winced at the sound of my name. Still, something about the way she said “Bhabhi” made my heart ache in a strange, unexplainable way. For a moment, I let myself imagine being a real part of this family. A real sister to Rhea.

“You’re just different,” she repeated, standing up. “Like my brother is different. And you both are… epic.”

A genuine smile tugged at my lips. I reached up and caressed her hair like a big sister. “Thank you.”

She nodded and gave me a quick wave before leaving the room.

And just like that, the silence returned.

I looked at the clock. Half past eight. I grabbed a glass and poured myself some water from the jug on the bedside table, downing it quickly. Then I wheeled myself to my purse, fumbling to pull out my painkillers. My legs felt like dead weight. Sometimes, I couldn’t even feel them at all.

I swallowed the tablets and kept the crutches nearby, just in case I needed to go to the bathroom later.

Then I closed my eyes and Aryan’s face flashed in my mind. I remembered how he looked during the ceremony. The stiffness in his jaw. The pain in his eyes. The helpless fury. I’d seen those same emotions when he held his sobbing girlfriend—what was her name again? Ira? Her tears had soaked into his shoulder, but he hadn’t let go of her. He had just stood there, paralyzed, a man ripped in half.

And that moment—watching him break had satisfied something dark in me.

Suddenly, the screech of tires ripped through the silence. I flinched and straightened in the chair, heart pounding. I turned my head toward the window and caught a glimpse of Aryan stepping out of the car. He was alone. No Ira.

So he didn’t bring her back. Interesting.

He tossed his car keys to a servant and stormed toward the entrance. I heard the heavy front gate creak open, a long, drawn-out sound that made my stomach tighten.

I looked at the bed again, then at the small couch in the corner. I couldn’t sleep on that couch because it would hurt my back too much. But could I sleep in Aryan’s bed?

No. I didn’t want to.

But where else could I go?

And then another thought struck me. What if he tried something? I shook my head immediately. Aryan didn’t seem like that kind of man. He might hate me, but I’d seen how he treated other women with decency, with respect.

Still, this was our wedding night, in the eyes of the world.

And the man walking through that door was now my husband.