Page 77 of Mrs. Rathore

A sudden thought struck me, twisting my stomach in knots. Had he overheard my conversation with Prashant? Did he plant a hidden device to spy on me? Was that even possible?

“Aryan…” I began, but my words were cut short by a sudden, violent crack.

His fist slammed into the wall just inches from my head.

The sound of bone hitting plaster echoed like a gunshot, and I jumped, my heart pounding in my chest.

What the hell?

If Aryan hadn’t joined the army, he would have made a terrifyingly good boxer. That punch wasn’t just brutal; it wascontrolled. I couldn’t help but imagine, for just a second, what my face would have looked like if he hadn’t stopped his fist.

Why was I thinking that? Why was he doing this? He was scaring the hell out of me.

“You’re making me uncomfortable,” I whispered, my voice steady but quiet. “Can you please move?”

He didn’t budge. His body stayed rooted to the spot, too close for comfort. I could feel the heat radiating off him and hear his heartbeat thudding in sync with mine. His chest heaved as if he had run all the way here in a rage.

Still, I held his gaze, even though every nerve in my body screamed for me to look away. I refused to flinch. I wasn’t going to let him see me break.

He leaned in even closer, his voice low and trembling with fury.

“You think this is funny? You think you’re clever, huh? Sending that video to Dadi and trying to make it look like I abandoned you?”

My breath caught. Wait… what?

He was referring to the lake video, the one that had gone viral. I had specifically told Rhea to make sure Dadi didn’t see it. I texted her to keep it away from Grandma.

My heart sank. This wasn’t just anger; Aryan felt betrayed, and he believed I was behind it all.

“Aryan… I didn’t...” I started, but the words caught in my throat. This was more than just a fight; it was something deeper, something darker, and I had no idea how to fix it.

“I didn’t send it,” I snapped, struggling to steady my breath beneath the weight of his fury. My heart thundered in my chest. “I didn’t even know someone recorded me. It just… went viral.”

“Oh, come on,” he scoffed, disbelieving, lacing his voice as he shook his head. “You think I’m that naive? You nearly drowned in the middle of a goddamn lake, and by some miraculous coincidence, a video of it shows up online? Then, somehow, it conveniently lands in my grandmother’s inbox? Are you even listening to how ridiculous that sounds?”

I froze. Was this really happening?

My pulse faltered for a moment. Did he think…I had planned it? Did he believe I staged my near-drowning just to manipulate his grandmother's sympathy?

I had seen the video yesterday but I brushed it off as random internet noise, just another stranger’s phone footage caught in the whirlwind of clicks and shares. I never imagined it would blow up like this, and I certainly didn’t think it would lead Aryan to accuse me of scheming.

“How dare you think I’d fake something like that?” I gritted my teeth. “I didn’t send it to her. I don’t know who recorded it. I don’t even know who pushed me into that water in the first place. I was drowning! I wasn’t acting. I wasn’t performing for sympathy. I was scared out of my damn mind.”

My body trembled with anger.

He took a small step back, enough for me to finally breathe. His eyes searched my face, flickers of suspicion dancing within them. But there was something else too, hesitation. A shadow of uncertainty broke through the surface of his rage.

“You expect me to believe this wasn’t planned?” he said, his voice quieter now but still sharp. “You, the woman who can’t stand me, just happened to stumble upon the perfect blackmail material to make me look like the world’s worst husband?”

“Yes!” I shouted, my restraint snapping under the weight of his accusations. “Yes, I hate you! I hate this sham of a marriage, Aryan! But I would never drag your grandmother into this mess. I would never use her like that. And I would never fake something that almost killed me!”

His eyes narrowed, and he abruptly turned away, raking a hand through his hair as if trying to yank the thoughts out of his head. He began pacing the room, tension crackling with every step. Then he stopped and turned toward me, pointing a finger.

“She cried, Avni,” he said, his voice breaking. “Dadi called me sobbing at three in the goddamn morning. She thought I left you to die. Do you even understand what that did to her?”

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, but I blinked them back. I wouldn’t cry in front of him, not for this, not now.

“And what about me?” I said, my voice trembling and sharp. “Do you even care what it did to me? Do you want to know what it felt like to be in that lake? Alone? Drenched, sinking, gasping for air, and knowing no one was coming to save me?”